#also this makes it seem like this is a very hot steamy fic but its actually straight up the fluffies thing i have EVER written | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunlight-moonrise · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much.

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness.

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name.

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major, I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit.

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top.

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag.

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him.

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears.

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door.

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed.

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face.

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us.

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony.

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead.

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?”

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus.

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door.

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work.

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly.

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do?

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped.

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D?

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel.

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist.

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions.

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me.

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man.

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.”

Fine, have it your way, Sir.

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion.

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat.

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point.

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?”

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy.

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner.

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added.

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

2K notes · View notes

kiribaku-queen · 3 years ago

Note

Heyyyy. So i was thinking a out mafia au fic like where kuroo is a mafia leader and youre his gf. Somehow, while his group were in a war, u got kidnapped which made him furious ofc and whiel saving u and trying to escape, u saw someone trying to shoot hima nd u go ahead and sheild him which made u got shoot. Its a angst but a hppy ending. Ill let u do what kind of ending u want 😁 anyway congrats and hv a great day!

Beginnings of a War

Angst

Kuroo x reader

Word Count: 3.5K

TRIGGER WARNING: violence, gun mentioned, blood

A/N: I had so much fun writing this piece and I literally couldn't wait to start this one! I thought of this Bokuto when writing this piece because I can't get enough of him

Happy reading and I'd love to know your thoughts!

The tension in the room was uneasy as the two leaders from opposite gangs stared each other down, neither saying a word. There was no easy conclusion to their mess but the longer they sat there, the more impatient both parties got. Yet, Kuroo was never one to give up easily. He was persistent and determined. Meanwhile, the two-toned haired man who goes by Bokuto was notorious for always getting his way. Right now, they were both stuck in the middle. Kuroo leans back on the black, leather couch, resting both arms behind the back.

“That’s my final bet. Take it or leave it. You either release him and take the money, or we’re gonna have some trouble,” Kuroo finally spoke up. Bokuto slants his eyes at him, clearly not persuaded by his offer.

“You’re a good comedian if you think I’m going to release one of your men for that small amount. After what he did to ten of my men?” Bokuto was trying to place the blame on the other leader but that only made Kuroo’s eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

“Your men attacked his family and his girl, leaving her in a hospital. If anything, your men deserved everything coming to them,” Kuroo set him straight. Even though Bokuto knew that, he knew that his men were in the wrong, he still had to protect them. So his comment visibly upset him as he slammed his fists down on the glass table in front of him, almost causing it to break if he hit any harder.

“I don’t give a shit what my boys did. All I care about is what your men did to mine,” he stated clearly. By now, Kuroo was getting a headache.

“Then what do you want? You don’t want the money, you don’t want anything else I offered. Stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want!” he grew impatient and raised his voice. Before Bokuto had a chance to open his mouth, the double doors behind him flew wide open and in you came, eyes only on your boyfriend as you walk towards him. Sexy and sultry-like, you come to greet your boyfriend after a long day of shopping, not paying attention to his special guest. But he was paying close attention to you.

The click of your heels meeting the floor caught the attention of all the men in the room. You loved it when all the attention was on you because you knew. You knew you were attractive. You had the confidence, the walk, the clothes, the attitude. Everything a girl boss should have. Even though eyes were on you at all times of the day, only one man caught your attention and you would do anything for him.

Striding towards the mafia boss who was clearly in the middle of an important meeting, you made your way into his lap. You made yourself comfortable, touching the back of his hair before pulling him in for a steamy kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate. You made sure to taste every part of him, your tongue gliding against his, purposely biting his lips ever so slightly. You kissed him like there was no one else in the room. But little did you know, Bokuto was looking you up and down, clear interest written all over his face.

You pulled away with a soft hum, satisfied to be with your boyfriend again. Kuroo, who was annoyed, is now smitten with you. He has, and always will have, a soft spot for you and isn’t afraid to show it.

“I’m a little busy, sweetheart,” Kuroo mumbled against your lips, lost in your eyes, your taste, your smell, your everything.

“I just missed you, daddy,” you cooed with a pout.

“Alright, I’m almost done,” he promises. He puts a protective hand over your waist and you wait in his lap like the good girl you were until he was done with his meeting. Kuroo focuses his attention back to his guest, acting like that whole interaction didn’t happen.

“What do you want?” Kuroo asks again. This time, Bokuto locks eyes with you and you just give him an innocent look that makes Bokuto obsessed.

“Her.” He points to you. That shocks both you and your boyfriend. You didn’t know what was going on, maybe because you just forced your way into their conversation, but you could tell that Kuroo wasn’t very fond of his answer. His hand tightens on your waist.

“She’s off limits,” he almost growls. Now that’s a voice you haven’t heard in a hot minute.

“Then the deals off,” Bokuto says simply, leaning back while shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. Kuroo slants his eyes and gives you a few soft taps to your butt.

“Go upstairs,” he demands. You know by the tone of his voice that he was upset and you knew not to talk back. Last time you did that, you couldn’t walk for two weeks. And that was… so long ago that you can’t even remember. So you immediately got up and walked out of there, but Bokuto still had his eyes on you.

When you left the room and completely out of sight, Kuroo sits back and crosses his legs. He lets out a deep sigh and glides his tongue across the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He didn’t understand why Bokuto wanted you all of a sudden, out of all people, but there was no way in hell he was giving you away.

“I’ll give you anything you want. Tell me and I’ll give it to you. You want the money? Fine. Take it. You want a woman? I’ll find you one who can’t resist you. Name your price, but she’s my woman,” Kuroo made things clear with the man across from him.

“I’m not leaving until I get her,” Bokuto was set on having you, taking you and making you his. Kuroo uncrosses his legs and leans forward on his knees.

“Oi. Can you fucking hear? I said she was off limits.” Bokuto copies his movements.

“Does it look like I give two fucks? If you want one of your men back, give me the girl,” he compromises. Kuroo clenches his jaw and leans back.

“Then there’s nothing to discuss. Leave.” Kuroo glares at him. And that was asking him nicely. But Bokuto lets out a loud chuckle.

“You’re gonna let a bitch get in the way of your men?” the mafia boss taunted. And boy, did it work.

“Do you want to die?” Kuroo asked through gritted teeth, a vein clearly visible on his forehead from how much anger he was trying to hold in.

“Is that a threat?” Bokuto turned serious, all jokes out the window.

“No. but this is,” he says, standing up and pulling a gun out of the inside of his jacket pocket and points in straight in his opponent’s face. With his fast reflexes, Bokuto saw it coming and also took his gun out. So now both men had guns pointed in their faces, neither of them moving. Just glares being exchanged.

“Tsk, tsk. Now is that how you persuade an old friend?” Bokuto shook his head in disappointment.

“Friend? More like business partner,” Kuroo corrected him. They had a silent face off. Pointing dangerous weapons at each other but neither wanting to pull the trigger first. Bokuto thought this was exciting. He laughs, spins his gun with his finger and places it back in his pocket. He turns around, looking unfazed by the whole situation and simply leaves. Somewhat relieved, Kuroo also puts away his gun and cautiously watches the other boss leave. Bokuto stops right as he’s about to step through the door to give Kuroo a wary warning.

“You better be careful. I always get what I want,” he said before making his disappearance.

You were waiting patiently in your shared bedroom, swinging your feet around with a pout on your face. You didn’t know what you walked in to, but it didn’t seem good from the looks of it. Kuroo looked so serious down there, you thought to yourself. But your mind wandered to naughty thoughts because you loved seeing him like that, even though the situation doesn’t call for it. He just looks so sexy what he’s serious.

Kuroo opens the door to the bedroom and before you could say anything to him or greet him, he smashes your lips together without any explanation. You were surprised by his actions but you kiss him back nonetheless. From the way his lips move against yours, you could tell that he was in a bad mood. Your lips were too smushed and teeth were rubbing against each other, so much that he was starting to hurt you. Kuroo moves on to attack your neck and then you were finally able to breath.

“Kuroo,” you whined, still short of breath. He ignores you and instead starts to suck on your supple skin, creating bruises of all kinds of sizes on your neck. He grabs your face again, smashing your lips together and he pushes you back so that the back of your knees hit the bed, causing you to fall backwards, Kuroo falling on top of you. His legs were on either side of you as he dominated the kiss.

“You’re mine. All mine,” he growls, hands wandering to grope your body harshly. He licks from the top of your breasts all the way up your neck and captures your lips again. Your hands go to tangle his raven locks and wrap your legs around him.

“I’m all yours,” you whisper against his lips. Kuroo smirks, quickly removing his jacket then undoing his tie before he goes to unbuckle his belt. Excitement started to rise in you. Angry sex? Fuck yes. You were in for a hell of a night and let’s be honest, one hell of a week.

You were kept inside for a time being because Kuroo was wary of what Bokuto said to him at that meeting. He wasn’t going to take any chances, but you understood where he was coming from. It was boring not being able to leave the fancy mansion you lived in, but you made your boyfriend make it up by letting him by you all sorts of gifts to apologize.

But after a while of nothing happening, your boyfriend lets you go on a shopping spree to make up for your boredom and loss of time. But you couldn’t leave until you brought extra bodyguards to look out for you. Annoying as it was, you obliged. There was no use in arguing because if you did, he probably wouldn’t have let you out. The whole threatening fiasco didn’t bother you one bit. You couldn’t count how many times people have said that to him and nothing has ever happened to you. You believed that nothing was going to happen this time around.

You were walking down the empty street after a successful day of shopping, having every single one of your bodyguards hold bags of clothes, accessories, shoes, food, things that you couldn’t resist buying. You skipped along the sidewalk, feeling happy and free, the warmth of the setting sun and the blow of the oncoming evening wind was making you feel content with life. You wonder if your bodyguards were feeling the same. Speaking of bodyguards, they were being awfully quiet. Spinning around, you realized that you were alone.

You paused, stunned frozen.

Where were your bodyguards? All of a sudden, several men appeared out of the shadows of the alleys. You sighed in relief, realizing that it was just your bodyguards pulling a prank on you.

“You scared me! How could you leave me alone like that!” you jokingly scolded them. But they were indeed not your bodyguards. The smile that was on your face was quick to drop upon realization. You took a few steps back, trying to get away from these men who were getting closer and closer to you. But you were stopped, running into someone’s chest. You looked up to see who it was and all of a sudden, everything turned black.

When you woke up, you found yourself sitting on a chair, arms wrapped together and duct tape covered your mouth. It didn’t take long to realize that you’ve been kidnapped. The classic empty warehouse and burning fire in a can was proof of that. You checked your surroundings and was surprised to see that your legs weren’t tied together. You weren’t blindfolded either, but you were tied down to the chair. It wasn’t long after you woke up that Bokuto makes his appearance, sitting backwards in a chair right in front of you. He looked happy to see you but you couldn’t say the same. You slanted your eyes at him, disinterested in whatever he wants to say or do. You tried to keep your composure by being still and keeping a poker face, because if you didn’t, you don’t know what he’ll do to you.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Bokuto greeted you. “You’re probably wondering why you’re not tied up.” He starts, then rips the duct tape off your mouth and cuts the ropes around your arms. Then he leans down to your level and smirks.

“Because I know you’re not going to run away. Look at you shaking,” he says and looks you up and down then going back to his chair. It was true. You were shaking. You’ve never been in this situation before. You’ve always imagined it: being nonchalant and bored of all the empty threats and your savior of a boyfriend would come save you from all the madness. But now you were second guessing yourself, now being caught in this situation. You were shaking, but you were still going to stand up for yourself. That’s what Kuroo taught you to do.

“You’re not going to get away with this. Kuroo is going to save me and you’ll regret ever doing this to me,” you ran your mouth. But Bokuto doesn’t respond. So you go on. “Kuroo is the strongest fighter I know. He could kick your ass in his sleep. You don’t even look like a fighter. I bet you’d do down so easy!” You said that anything that came to mind. Yet, Bokuto continued to stare at you with a bored expression. And that made you nervous.

“I would never date you. You’re ugly, mean, and-and… you suck!” you couldn’t come up with any good comebacks. But for some reason, that set him off. He stands up so fast that it knocks the chair over and that shuts you up real quick. He walks over to you, duct taping your mouth again.

“Noisy bitch. Maybe this’ll shut you up,” he says and tightly seals your lips shut with the silver tape. He then grabs your chin to look up at him. You glare up at him, already tired of how rough he was handling you. He tilts your face from side to side, getting a good look at you.

“See, you’re prettier when your silent,” he comments. He looks down at the tape and frowns. He tapped the tape that was over your mouth over and over again, like there was something missing. Bokuto opens the palm of his hand and one of his guys puts a bright red lipstick in his hand. With a swift action, he pulls the cap off with his teeth and applies the lipstick on the duct tape that outlines your lips. He spits the lid on the floor and smirks.

“There, that’s better,” he says. He grabs your chin again and pulls you in for a kiss. You struggle to get out of his grip but he was stronger than he looked. When Bokuto pulled away, the lipstick was smeared across his lips, but didn’t seem to care. He was about to say something until he heard screaming and grunts of pain. He turns around just in time to see your boyfriend getting thrown on the floor, all bloodied and beaten up. You gasp, tears beginning to form at the sight.

This was wrong. That couldn’t be your boyfriend. There was no way. Your boyfriend was strong. He beat up and sometimes even killed when anybody got in his way. How could this have happened?

Kuroo was thrown on the floor and a handful of men continued to beat him up, kicking him in all places. You shook your head in denial, not even wanting to watch but couldn’t look away. Bokuto was loving everything. Your expression. Kuroo’s sounds of pain. He was getting a kick that things were turning out how he had planned.

“Look who decided to show up,” Bokuto kneels down to his level, grabbing a handful of hair and picking him up to show his face. Blood was dripped down the sides of his face, from his nose and mouth, his cheeks were bruised and he looked like he was about to pass out.

“Let her go,” Kuroo barely manages to let out. Bokuto clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“I told you, didn’t I? I want her. Anything you want to say to your little girlfriend for the last time?” Bokuto allows him to say some final words. But Kuroo was too out of it to comprehend what he was saying.

“What about girlfriend over here!” he exclaims, presenting you perfectly fine and free from any scratches. Bokuto rips the duct tape off and cries ripped from your throat.

“Kuroo Tetsurou! You better get up! Stand up please! Fight back!” you cry but that just causes Kuroo to get more kick and punches to his body. Large tears escaped your eyes and you couldn’t stop the sounds of agony coming from your mouth.

“You’re the best fighter around, right? Fight back please!” you begged him. Getting beat up, okay. But not even trying to fight back? That’s not the Kuroo you know. What was wrong with him? Why was he allowing them to do this to him? Kuroo looks up and faces you with a smile.

“I can’t let you get hurt, baby girl,” he professes. And that just breaks your heart. More sobs escaped your mouth but the sounds of skin hitting skin was louder. Kuroo was being tossed around, kicked, punched, spit at. Blood was stained everywhere, and you didn’t know what to do. Even though he was getting beat up so badly, he was still standing. And that seemed to annoy Bokuto. Time was ticking and he was getting impatient. If he was doing to die like that, then he was going to have to do it himself. Bokuto pulls the gun out of his pocket, aiming for Kuroo. You see it just in time and as if your feet were moving on it’s own, you run to shield him before he gets shot. The moment you touched him, you heard the gun shot and everything went black

The feeling of soft sheets under your fingers woke you up. You jolted awake, sitting up in the bed that was all too familiar to you. You were at home, but how did you get here? You checked your body all over but there were no signs of pain or even wound marks. There was no bullet, no bruises, no scarring. So, what the hell happened? Then your mind went to your boyfriend. Getting right out of bed, you ran to his room and he was resting in bed, bandages covering his shoulder.

“Kuroo,” you called out to him, running to his side and grabbing his hand. He shifts in his position, sighing deeply. Then he brings your hand to his lips, placing a small but meaningful kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re up, my dear,” he says as a fact, eyes barely open. Concern washed over you and so many questions came to mind. You didn’t know what to ask first.

“How-what-but I… I took the gun shot for you,” you tried to recall what happened. Kuroo knocks your forehead and you pout.

“You think you’re so slick. I saw what you were trying to do. I flipped you over just in time. Now I have this to remember,” and then points to his shoulder with the bandage. He took the bullet for you. You pout again, feeling bad. Not only did he get beaten up pretty badly, but he also got shot that night? That was supposed to be your job.

“If I didn’t get shot, then why did I pass out?” you questioned, more to yourself.

“I think you passed out from the shock, baby,” he comforted you. It made sense… but when you looked at your boyfriend in this condition, it made you upset. You started to burst into tears and hit him in the chest.

“You idiot!” you yell, accidentally hitting the place he got shot and he jumps up in pain. But you cuddle right up to him to make up for it. But you thought he deserved it.

“What about Bokuto?” you shot up and looked at Kuroo was worry written all over your face. He softly smiles at you and pets your hair.

“We all retreated. For now. But it’s not over,” he tells you. Oh, it is far from over. This is actually just the beginning.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro angst #kuroo oneshot #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo imagine #haikyuu imagine #mafia au #bokuto kotartou

149 notes · View notes

jamlavender · 4 years ago

Text

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss: Mrs Coulter, misogyny and the His Dark Materials TV show

The show went hard on misogyny as a vital part of Mrs Coulter’s backstory, and I want to talk about how they did it, and why, and how it might have been done better. This is quite long (when is anything I write not, let’s be real) so it’s under the cut. Read on for thoughts on women, power and fictional villainy.

As a quick disclaimer, though: I’ve enjoyed the show a lot! I’m so glad they made it! Ruth Wilson is mesmerising as Mrs Coulter! There’s so much to appreciate about the show overall, including many aspects of Mrs Coulter’s portrayal. But the HDM team have also made gender politics and misogyny very explicit themes of the show – particularly season two, particularly season two, episode five – and I think it’s fair to critique that.

Let’s be clear: Mrs Coulter is a villain. She murders kids by tearing out their souls. She kills and tortures friends and foes alike without a second thought. She abuses her daughter. She upholds and advances a totalitarian regime. She’s a Bad Person, as confirmed by God himself with the unforgettable line: “You are a cesspit of moral filth.” She’s fucking terrible, but, in life as in art, many of us are fascinated by how such awful people are made. What drives someone to commit atrocities? I am keen to see such questions examined in fiction, because I don’t think exploring a character necessarily means excusing their actions, and because it’s interesting (I mean, of course I find her fascinating, I’ve written a novel’s worth of fic about her). However, after a few snarky comments (“What sort of woman raised Father Graves, do you think?”) and some subtler commentary on sexuality, gender and power (her unsettling MacPhail with the key in the bra in S1E2), S2E5 drew a weird line between sexism in Mrs Coulter’s professional and academic life and her vast and senseless institutionalised child murder, and the longer I’ve sat with that the more I’m like: what the fuck?

Look, Mrs Coulter doesn’t tear apart children to search for sin inside them and poison Boreal and break a witch’s fingers because she’s experienced sexism in the workplace and in her education. That’s… a very odd thing to imply. We have to remember that there are lots of women in Lyra’s world, all of whom will also have experienced sexism, misogyny and other forms of marginalisation (many in more expansive and pernicious ways than Mrs Coulter, who’s a woman, yes, but also white, wealthy, highly educated and very thin and beautiful), and none of them are running arctic torture stations. She will have experienced misogyny, absolutely, and that will have affected her in various ways that inform how she approaches her work, but to imply that being denied a doctorate is the reason she became a sadistic killer is frankly bizarre. Here are a few of the lines from that episode with my commentary:

“Do you know who I could have been in this world?” What does this mean? If she’d been roughly the same person in our world, the answer is: Margaret Thatcher, which is probably a step down for Marisa, all things considered, because the Magisterium is far more autocratic than any recent Tory government and would be a much easier institutional environment in which to enact her cruelty. What we’re supposed to think, clearly, is that she’d have been a different person: a scientist and a mother, and she’s had this realisation because she saw a woman with a baby and a laptop and had a three-minute conversation with Mary. This doesn’t make sense. We live in our world! It’s less repressive than Lyra’s world but it’s hardly a gender utopia. If Mrs Coulter had chosen the scientist-and-mother life (which, as I’ll revisit later, she could have done in her world but chose not to because of her megalomaniac tendencies), she’d still have been affected by misogyny here too. Our world is not kind to young mothers, nor young women embroiled in scandals, nor is the world teeming with female physicists. It might be a little better, sure, but it’s hardly as if those gendered challenges would have been solved.

“What do you mean she runs a department?” This is just the show forgetting its own canon. Marisa, you ran a massive government organisation (the GOB), including a huge murder science research initiative in the Arctic. That’s a much bigger undertaking and much more impressive than running a university department in our world. Pull yourself together.

“But because I was a woman, I was denied a doctorate by the Magisterium.” This is the show flagrantly ignoring the source material to make a clumsy political point. In the books, there are women with doctorates (notably Hannah Relf, also a major player in the new Book of Dust trilogy) and at least one women’s college full of female scholars. Now, would that women’s college likely be underfunded and disrespected compared to the men’s colleges? Almost certainly. But saying that is different than saying “I couldn’t get my doctorate!” when women in Lyra’s world can. The show knew what point they wanted to make, and were willing to ignore canon to do so, which is frustrating. Also, given that there are female academics and scientists in Lyra’s world, and that Mrs Coulter is a member of St Sophia’s college, it’s clear that she could have lived that life if she so desired. But she didn’t want that, because being a scientist and academic at St Sophia’s imbues her with no real power, and that’s what she craves.

I’m not opposed, in theory, to exploring Mrs Coulter and misogyny in more depth, but I think doing so through an examination of the sexual politics of her life would have made a lot more narrative sense and been much more powerful. It’s better evidenced in the text – her using her sexuality to manipulate people and taking lovers for political sway is entirely canon, as is her backstory where genuine love and lust blew up her life – and it links much more closely with the most shocking of her villainy, which involves cutting out children’s dæmons to stop them developing “troublesome thoughts and feelings,” referencing sexual and romantic desire (and what Lyra and Will do to save Dust is clearly a big ‘fuck you’ to those aims). She even says this to MacPhail in TAS, “If you thought for one moment that I would release my daughter into the care - the care! - of a body of men with a feverish obsession with sexuality, men with dirty fingernails, reeking of ancient sweat, men whose furtive imaginations would crawl over her body like cockroaches - if you thought I would expose my child to that, my Lord President, you are more stupid than you take me for.” Don’t get me wrong, she’d have been a villain regardless, but I do believe that there’s a much stronger link between her sexual and romantic experiences and her murder work than between professional and academic stifling and child murder. It would have been a lot more interesting and a lot less tenuous.

However, the show is trying to be family-friendly, and digging into why this terrible, cruel woman might want to cut the ability for desire and love (and other non-sexual adult feelings, I’m sure) out of people could get dark. We know that the show doesn’t want to go there, because they’ve actively toned down her weaponising her sexuality: in the books, she has an established sexual relationship with Boreal, whereas the show made it seem like she’s been stringing him along all this time, and made it about potentially ‘sharing a life’ together rather than fucking, which was clearly the arrangement in the books. Also, I think Ruth Wilson said she and Ariyon Bakare filmed a “steamy scene” together, and given that only a single chaste kiss between them aired it must have been cut. I think they deliberately minimised the sexual elements of the text, particularly regarding Mrs Coulter (the mountain scene with Asriel, which I did still love, was also a lot less horny than in the book) and replaced that with another gender issue, that of professional sexism, as if the two are interchangeable, which they are not. This is a shame, both for Mrs Coulter’s character and also for the story as a whole, because the characters’ relationships with sex and desire are an important part of the books! (If this minimised sexuality approach means that they don’t use the TAS scene where Asriel threatens to gag her and she tries to goad him into doing it, I’ll scream). Overall, I think they missed the mark here, which is a shame because I also think it could have been done well, if they’d been bolder and darker and more thoughtful.

Why might this happen? Why might the show take this approach? Why might it be latched onto by viewers? Personally, I think the conversations we have about women and power are very simplistic, which leaves us in a tight spot when we see women seizing power for themselves (even in fiction) and weaponising that against others, not just other women but people of all genders, because we struggle to move past ‘women have overall been denied power, so them taking it ‘back’ is good,’ even if that immediately becomes a hot mess of white, corporate feminism and results in the ongoing oppression of many people. I think we are so hungry for representations of powerful women that we – producers and viewers alike – struggle to see them as bad, because it’s uncomfortable to be so intoxicated by Mrs Coulter effortlessly dominating the men around her, subverting systems designed to marginalise her for her own benefit, and generally being aggressive and intelligent and ruthless, and then realise that you are entranced by someone who is, objectively, a terrible, terrible person. It can be hard to realise that if you channelled the energy of someone who mesmerises you, you’d be the villain. So instead of sitting with that (more on this below), a lot of legwork goes into reworking her villainy into, somehow, a just act, a result of oppression, as her taking back power that has been denied to her, rather than grappling with the fact that for anyone to desire power in such a merciless way, even if they have to overcome marginalisation to get it, is really, really dangerous.

The joy, of course, is that Mrs Coulter is not real! She’s not real! Adoring fictional characters does not mean condoning their (imaginary) decisions, nor do stories exist for each person in them to fit neatly into a good or bad box so you know who you’re allowed to love. Furthermore, fiction can be a fabulous tool for exploring and interrogating the parts of yourself that, if left to bloom unexamined, might perpetuate beliefs or behaviour that cause harm to others. Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be a feminist or taking down the patriarchy or a righteous powerful woman to illuminate things about gender, power and feminism for those reading and watching. In fact, it’s important that we explore what happens when women (most commonly white, wealthy women, as she is) continue to perpetuate brutal systems under the guise of sticking it to ‘men,’ because it happens all the time in the real world, and it’s a serious issue. Finding characters like Mrs Coulter so cool and compelling doesn’t make you a bad person, but it might tell you something about yourself – not that you want to be a villain or kill kids or whatever, but something about how you relate to your gender or women or men or power – and that knowledge can be useful! We all have better and worse impulses, and finding art that helps us make sense of ourselves, both the good and bad parts, is a gift that we should relish.

Anyway, tl;dr, Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be sympathetic or understandable or redeemable to be brilliant – but you wouldn’t know that from how she’s been portrayed in the new adaptation.

#his dark materials #marisa coulter #my analysis #this might be controversial idk #more thoughts that no one asked for #hdm meta

210 notes · View notes

captainrexisboo · 4 years ago

Text

Ice

-DJ Khaled voice- Another one.

What the fuck?? Four fics in just one weekend?? After two whole months of inactivity?? Aha, I am in no way as productive as you think I am. I’ve been sitting on all of these projects for almost three months now lmao- but they’re here now for your viewing pleasure, babes! This is a one shot Rex x Jedi!Reader, but they are not together. They do not get together. This is just Rex, pining for some oblivious Jedi General (you) and dealing with it by being grumpy and thinking he has the upper hand in teasing the reader. I left the gender of the reader pretty ambiguous I think? I hope?

No warnings apply, except I guess foul language if you don’t like that. And vague imaginings of semi steamy scenarios. Some angst if you squint. But really, it’s just fluffy pining, with a needy (and in denial) Rex. Comments, questions, reblogs and replies absolutely welcome and encouraged!

“T-take off the a-a-armor.”

The jaig eyes turned to you, the blue and white blending into the Pantoran ice and snow effortlessly. This would be the only environment suitable for their stark white armor as camouflage, and here you were demanding him stripped. Knowing you couldn’t read his bewildered expression, Rex tilted his head to you in a curious motion, “Why?”

“It’s fekkin’ f-freezin’ Cap,” you spoke through chattering teeth, pulling your robes tighter around you. He chuckled at your cursing, no other Jedi talked so blunt like you did, so casual. It was even worse when you were outside the temple, falling out of regulations and decorum the moment it was just you and your troopers. Hell, they didn’t even have to be your troopers. Force knows how often you’ve snuck around the barracks on Coruscant, going from battalion to battalion, whoever had furlough, making sure every clone gets at least a moment's worth of normalcy in their too-short life. Rex would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing, and he may have felt a slight smidgen of pride that, aside from your own men, you seemed to find yourself in the 501st bunks the most.

“So? I’m perfectly toasty in this specialized insulated armor. You’re the one that decided not to wear your cold-assault gear until we got to the surface, General L/N,” Rex teased, drawing out your name and title nice and slow, biting back a bit of laughter at the way you scrunch your nose whenever you got annoyed, “Why would you want me to de-kit? To be cold with you?”

“Don’t c-call me that, Rex,” you bit out, groaning at the formality, and the chill going down your spine, “Y-you know I’m just Y/N.”

“I’ll stop calling you proper, when you stop being a Jedi,” he chided, prodding some more at the fire in the dim cavern, the only light being the glowing embers in front of you and whatever was being illuminated off the snow right at the mouth of the cave. Your ship had crashed into the freezing moon in the midst of a brutal blizzard, luckily right next to the base of a mountain with accessible caves. Unluckily, you were also 15 klicks west of your rendezvous point, with the wind and snow causing major damage to your transmitters and interfering with the signal in your commlinks. You weren’t going anywhere, or talking to anyone, until the storm let up.

You huffed at his strict persona, you know Rex only acted so dogmatic to rile you up. You saw how nonchalantly he acted around Anakin and Ahsoka, even Obi-Wan at times. No, with you it was entertainment, a game to see how much you could take before breaking, and he loved it. Even without the Force, you could see it in the shake of his shoulders at his quiet laughter, hear the coy smirk in the dip of his drawl, watching the extra swing in his stride as he walked away triumphant every time, so sure he had succeeded in driving you crazy. This time, he had nowhere to run.

Ignoring his baiting taunt, you crawled around the fire to sit right next to him, “P-please, Captain? I’m r-r-really kriffin’ c-cold, and while the fire is so delightful, I think i-it’d be in both o-our best interests to h-have a second source of heat.”

Rex nearly dropped his stick he was using to poke at the kindles, tensing slightly before clearing his throat, “Oh? And what ‘source of heat’ did you have in mind?”

“D-don’t play dumb,” you shivered again, pouting at how you stuttered while he sat a little too well composed for your liking, “I know the K-Kaminoans t-taught you all about s-s-survival tactics. I d-do it with my boys a-all the time. Strip to your b-blacks, m-me to my t-t-tunic, then I’ll wrap my robes around the two of us. B-body heat, Rex.”

Your boys. Your affectionate term for your ever-faithful battalion, that apparently frequently slept and cuddled with you in the most innocent and familiar of ways. Still, something about it made Rex’s stomach stir, his mouth twisting from a smirk into a silent snarl under his helmet. He wasn’t against ‘cuddle puddles’ with the vode, every single brother took part in them, and it wasn’t unusual to find a stray jedi or padawan compacted in the very middle of the pile. He knew for a fact that the 212th had regular arguments as to who’s turn it was to use General Kenobi as a pillow (and that Cody never partook in those bouts- no, he was always the General’s pillow). In theory, he knows it's more than a possibility for you to be a part of them, especially with your extremely relaxed extroverted personality, but actually hearing you say it out loud had something ugly rear its head to sour the Captain’s mood. He attempted to shoo the little creature away, trying to scare it off with a forced cough to make it scurry back into hiding and leave his inner peace alone. His mind clear again, he peered into your pleading doe eyes through his visor, seeing the flames flickering reflections off your irises in a whimsical dance. His gaze went lower, following the slope of your nose, before tracing the shape of your full pout, lips trembling and reddened from the cold, nearly beginning to chap. The slight clicking of your teeth as he watched you shiver under your robes made him resign to your request, sighing as he removed the cowled helmet, “Fine. Why you didn’t just wear your own cold-assault gear is beyond me, but I’ll help you stay warm this time.”

“Oh, thank the force,” you whimpered, immediately dropping the outermost robe from your shoulders, staying on your knees as he stood up to remove his layers. Rex nearly dropped his cuirass, watching you unwrap your tan-colored linen underneath to reveal a gripping white tunic, clinging to your every curve and muscle, no part of you left to the imagination except the actual flesh itself. You even discarded your boots and breeches, leaving you in opaque black tights. Without the safety of his helmet, Rex tore his eyes from you, desperate to hold onto some semblance of rectitude, taking a deep inhale through his nose before continuing his own removal. Rex could feel the tip of his nose numbing just slightly, shaking his head at what the hell was he doing-

“You know, if we get found like this-”

“We’ll s-say I got hypothermia and you were ‘d-doing your duty t-to protect the Jedi’,” you giggled, a little forced, hands coming up to rub at your shoulders, attempting to create some friction, but wincing at the iciness of your fingers, “Rex, hurry!”

Your whine of his name had him hesitant to remove the bottom half of his armor, already starting to feel something forbidden gathering in the depths of his stomach. He tried to fend off the feeling by turning his head to the stone wall and talking- though whether that was an effective decision remained to be seen. “I’m just saying, can’t you use the Force or whatever to warm yourself up? Isn’t that something you can do? I know you can use the Force for healing purposes, this’d be like that, right?”

“If I had f-followed the path of m-m-medical practice, sure,” your breath came out in little clouds as you puffed through another tremor, wrapping your dark robe around your shoulders as you waited for Rex to finish, “But, I didn’t, I chose the kn-n-nights, and so I’m here, and n-now I’m your problem.”

“My problem,” Rex grumbled under his breath as he sat back down, tugging at the final parts of his boots, not caring that you could actually hear him, “Skywalker is my problem. Tano is my problem. Kenobi can even be considered my problem at times, but you, General? No, no, no. You’re not my problem, you’re-”

Turning back around to face you, he nearly choked on his own spit. He hadn’t realized how close you were, and without his helmet, his nose brushed against yours in an innocent bunny kiss, the brief friction making him jump back nearly a foot away. A teasing chuckle left you at his skittish reaction, cocking your head to the side as you opened your robe back up and beckoned him closer, “Wrong way, Captain. C’mere.”

His throat felt tight, closing off almost everything, even air, and despite his discarded layers he was certain the back of his neck was beginning to sweat. The way you so carefully had folded your legs, thighs pillowing together in such an enticing way, leaning on your elbow to pronounce the slope of your hips and curve of your waist...he could so easily wrap his arms around you perfectly, before settling his head to rest on your chest and memorize the beat of your heart- the pinch of his nails digging into the meat of his palm drew him out of his mind before he could fall any further down that rabbit hole. He cleared his throat, throwing his gaze to the floor as his entire being tensed, “This…i-is not regulation, General.”

“Oh my maker you’ve been hanging out with Echo too much,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically, “Rex, please?”

He swallowed down a hard gulp of air, inching his way over to you, without looking up from the floor. You met him halfway, dragging your thickest robe behind you, and sighed in relief at the natural waves of heat coming off of him. Every single clone ran hot, and you trapped that heat by throwing the robes over the two of you, wrapping your hands around the back of Rex’s head and pulling him into your neck as you leaned against a standing rock.

One minute his eyes were counting cracks and jagged holes scattered over the cave floor, and the next they were gifted with a gracious view of your form, so close he could smell your clean body wash, a soft mint that tickled his nose, and he had to count to ten to control his breath so he didn’t just inhale you instead of oxygen. It was a concentrated effort made extremely difficult due to the delightfully sharp pressure of your nails against his scalp. You already felt like heaven, he had to tense himself from wanting to grab for more of you- which he didn’t have to do anyways. You had pulled him into you, his nose brushing over your neck, the tip still chilled, making a breathless giggle leave you, “Oh, your nose is s-so icy!”

“Who's fault is that,” Rex grumbled into you, mumbling to try to keep his lips from mouthing over your exposed collarbone. What he couldn’t stop was the delighted shiver that ran through him as your hands started massaging the tired planes of muscle in his back, making him lose a bit of discipline and dropping flush against you. He made a horrified sound, the breath strangled in his throat as he felt a nervous sweat thickly dripping over the back of his neck, before that sweet amused sound left you once again.

“Rex, you're so tense! Here, lemme just-”

Your hands worked in smooth motions, rubbing deep into his tired tissue. He could feel his eyes roll back into his head, biting the swell of his lip to keep any lewd sounds from leaving him, focusing on syncing his breath with the flow of your touches. His form was finally slack, keeping you trapped underneath him as his arms tentatively found their way around your waist, holding you to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You hummed at the coverage of him over you, leaning to nuzzle against the side of his head, the prick of his blond tickling the tip of your numbed nose. You whispered to him, eyelids growing heavy as you curled into him, “Thank you, Captain.”

Your breathing evened out, deep and slow, your hands coming to a rest, stopping on the small of his back and between his shoulder blades. Rex couldn’t believe it; you had fallen asleep in his arms. His eyes slowly peeked open, and he wiggled a bit, getting to a place where he faced you instead of the rock you were both leaning on. His eyes were nearly level with your jawline, he could trace the profile of your parted lips, still threatening to chap in the cold air, but your breath didn’t stutter anymore from the chill. He really was helping keep you warm.

He had dreamt about those lips, memorized the way they shaped his name, watched the direction you preferred to run your tongue over them while you were deep in thought. He licked his own lips in just that way, thinking about how maybe it’d feel if he were to do that to yours.

Maker, he was awful. Thinking about his wretched togue playing at your perfect lips, while you laid so peaceful and trusting underneath him.

Rex prided himself as a man of honor, he wasn’t so foolish as to attempt anything, but even just thinking about you in this vulnerable way as you let him hold you… he felt slimy, unworthy to be in your good graces. He let out a shuddering breath, not in the cold but in longing, exhaling your name as his arms brought you impossibly closer to him. For however long the two of you had, however long the storm lasted, he would treasure this. He would treasure you.

He was a fool for fighting you on this. Being lulled by your breath to join you into rest as the blizzard raged on, the only thing he would change would be how late he was in agreeing to your conditions. When you both awoke, with the snow settled and communications running, when you were both with your respective teams, and yourself in proper gear, Rex would still have tonight in his memory. He would still be holding you in his arms, breathing you in, and playing the memory of your heartbeat, the soft thumping tempo so soothing, on repeat in his mind.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x you #pining #cuddling for warmth #oblivious reader #grumpy captain #hes done with your shit but fucking hells youre so damn cute #swtcw fanfic #commander rex #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars #my writing #liz speaks #jedi!reader #oblivious!reader

171 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

Text

in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

#ffcc #wincest #bedsharing #huddling for warmth #my writing

80 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Drifters ch.4 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge is still puzzling out this strange new world. His brother is not helping.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge didn’t know what time it was when he woke again. It had still been morning when they arrived and there was still artificial daylight creeping around the curtains. It could either be late afternoon or early tomorrow morning for all the help that his internal clock was giving him.

He ignored the internal clamor that was pleading for him to go back to sleep, forcing his gritty sockets open. Rest could only replenish his magic so much, what he really needed was food, another slice of charity begged from the Swap brothers to add to his ledger, at least until he could find something resembling a job here.

(What could he even do here, would the denizens of this world look at his LV and only see a murderer, certainly Stretch had at first sight and—)

But there would be time to begin that daunting task tomorrow. Right now, something else had his attention.

Stretch had been correct about, well, actually, several things and one of them was that he was incapable of sleeping through any nearby movement, especially when it was with him on the mattress.

A glance next to him on the bed revealed that the baby was also awake and this time there were no screams to be had. Instead, she was inspecting her own feet with great interest, lying back on the bed with her oversized t-shirt puddled around her as her little fingers clumsily clutched at her wriggling toes.

Edge leaned up on an elbow, propping his skull in one hand as he watched her. “I suppose we were all that flexible once. I doubt Red could reach his toes now if someone tied a bottle of mustard into his shoelaces.”

The baby burbled something that might have been an agreement and managed to maneuver her foot into her mouth on the first try, gnawing on her own toes with slobbery vigor. She was obviously a genius, he decided, figuring out how to chew on her feet all on her own, and at her age…whatever her age was. He couldn’t be sure, there hadn’t been time for any of the niceties or paperwork, and whether it was measured by hours or days hardly mattered when it came to such an unusual method of creation.

The door bursting open made him jump, halfway to summoning an attack before he recognized his own brother. Then he nearly summoned one anyway as Red stalked across the room, crawling unceremoniously across the mattress and Edge to reach for the baby.

“all right, ya been hogging her long enough,” Red announced.

“Hog-we were sleeping!” Edge sputtered. He curled around the baby, hiding her beneath him as Red struggled to crawl around him.

“yeah, ya both sawed enough logs to fill the woodbox fer now,” Red panted. “lemme have the little crotchfruit.”

Edge struggled to keep the baby away from his brother’s child-thieving hands. “You’ll need a new insult, you know as well as I do that she didn’t come from anyone’s crotch.”

“good thing, too, don’t even wanna think about how that’d work with the size of her noggin.”

The child didn’t seem to mind the moniker. She crowed happily as the two of them wrestled around her, the mattress groaning threateningly with their struggles.

“c’mon, give it up,” Red whined. “i gave up all my shit to come here, too. ‘sides, i saw her first.”

“And left her!” Edge bit back a yelp as Red jammed a hard knuckle into his floating rib, the pain blinding him long enough for Red to scramble around his defenses.

“can’t have a rescue without bringing in the cavalry.” Edge could only watch, resigned, as his brother nimbly scooped the baby up then crawled back across the mattress to make his escape, managing to knee Edge directly below the crotch with a casual sort of accidental that could only be deliberate. He grunted in pain, doubling over, as Red sauntered out of the room to the squealing delight of the baby.

Lovely, she found the pain of others to be amusing. That was all the proof necessary to show that she was indeed from Underfell.

Edge sighed and fell back on the mattress, contemplating what charity he might beg first. Food? Or a shower, his bones stank of smoke and burnt plastic. He should be able to trust Red to watch the child long enough for him to clean up, he’d managed to raise him, after all…

…on second thought, perhaps he should check on the two of them first.

By the time he dressed and made his way downstairs, Red and the baby were sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. The baby was propped up again by the pillows and Red was piling wooden blocks into haphazard towers for the baby to gleefully knock over.

Edge gave his sockets a hard rub and looked again, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. This was not the brother he remembered from his childhood, although to be fair, even if they’d had any sort of toys, they couldn’t have risked making noise with them. A strange sort of ache rose in his soul and Edge firmly ignored it. Obviously, he was getting hungry, time to head into the kitchen to see what sort of food was available.

The scene in the kitchen was enough to stop him in his tracks again and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of hallucination, that perhaps they were still back at that lab and he’d failed, he was lying there as his life bled away, lost in a fantasy and—

The prick of his fingertips in his palms from his clenched fists was enough to convince him this was reality. Such as it was.

Stretch was standing at the stove, spatula in hand and the eye-searingly pink of his frilly apron offered dubious protection to his clothes. He flipped the pancake effortlessly, only sparing Edge a glance. “hey. you didn’t sleep very long.”

“I slept enough. Can I borrow something to wear?”

Stretch waved him off. “sure, sure, mi armario es tu armario. get cleaned up, dinner in about fifteen.” Despite the splatters of batter splotching his apron, the pancakes looked delicious in a way that had nothing to do with his burgeoning hunger.

Even with the promise of clean clothes that didn’t reek of char, Edge didn’t move, only watched as Stretch added the pancake to a pile that was already on the counter, buttering it lavishly and pouring out another round of batter into the pan. “I didn’t realize you cooked,” Edge said slowly.

“someone had to keep us from starving until blue decided to take over on kitchen duty,” Stretch shrugged. His smile was wry even as he expertly flipped the cake, “always tried to help him with it, but he can be pretty determined when he wants to be, insisted he needed to learn it on his own.”

And he’d obviously never pressed the point, despite however long he’d spent gnawing gamely at some of Blue’s more…imaginative…dinner creations, until Edge came to this world along with Papyrus and the three of them began to learn together. He liked to think that they were doing quite well, they hardly burned anything these days, but nothing they’d ever presented to their brothers had smelled quite as good as those pancakes did right now.

Edge gave himself a little shake and turned away. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

After quick detour to the closet, Edge made his way to the shower with haste. He didn’t mean to linger, his magic was gnawing at him to wash quickly and get back downstairs, but the hot water was glorious, with no unexpected icy bursts or rattling groans from the pipes. He stood in the stream, letting it pour down on him in a steamy, numbing waterfall, a pounding echo in his skull that allowed no space for thinking whatsoever.

That was his excuse for what happened next.

“wet is a good look on you, edgelord.”

Whirling around to face the threat was automatic, but normally he was wearing boots with heavy slip-proof soles, not his bare bony feet against a wet mat. His feet went out from under him and he flailed for anything to hold him up, half-ripping down the curtain before the sudden tinge of blue magic seized his soul, holding on only long enough for him to get his feet back under him. He blinked water out of his sockets to see Stretch sheepishly standing by the tub, a towel in hand.

“whoops, sorry, thought you heard me come in,” Stretch said, wryly apologetic. “i don’t normally get the drop on you. literally.”

Normally, Edge wasn’t foolishly trying to avoid his own thoughts. He switched off the water, fruitlessly swiping at his face with his bare fingers.

“Hand me the towel,” Edge said brusquely, ignoring the embarrassed heat in his cheekbones as he snatched it away from Stretch, briskly drying himself off.

The temperature of his face only grew at the appreciative look that Stretch gave him, his eye lights wandering over Edge’s bones with enough weight that it was nearly a touch of its own.

“you know, red is watching the baby—” Stretch began, slyly. He yelped as Edge pushed roughly past him to the commode where the clothes he’d borrowed were sitting.

“You said dinner was ready,” Edge reminded him, dragging on the sweatpants he’d found in a pile of laundry that smelled reasonably fresh. A t-shirt followed and he’d resigned himself to whatever slogan was scrawled across it. His only defense was to not read it and he would simply have to base how awful the pun on it was on how hard his brother laughed when he saw it.

“hungry, huh.” Stretch slouched down, casually tucking his hands into his pockets, but there was nothing casual or sedate about the way he ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth, slow and invitingly. “me too, baby, i’m always ready to eat you ou—”

“Let’s get downstairs,” Edge interrupted, and his bright flush was no longer strictly from embarrassment. In spite of everything, the temptation to take Stretch up on that offer was absurdly strong. This was…he didn’t know how to handle this strange flirtation. This was not how their relationship was. They baited each other, antagonized with insults and banter, they didn’t do this, except it seemed that they did.

The urge to kiss him right now was nearly stronger than his ability to resist, to press his tongue between those blunt teeth and taste the sweetness of his mouth. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, not right now, but…

Thoughtlessly, Edge reached out, watched Stretch’s sockets widen in confusion as he ran a careful fingertip down his cheekbone. The bone was not so sharp as his own, Stretch’s skull was set with delicate angles that left him far prettier than he had any right to be. His looks were probably the most appealing thing about him, and yet, here Stretch was, stepping directly into cooking and childcare, and putting that assumption to shame.

Softly, Edge said, with a sort of pleased jealousy, “You’re handling all this so well.”

A shadow crossed Stretch’s face, gone almost before it was seen. He reached up and took hold of Edge’s hand and gently drew it away from his face. “you think so, huh?” Stretch asked, with brittle politeness.

That gave Edge a pause. “I did until you said that.”

Stretch exhaled slowly. “okay, so, my fuckbuddy, who is also sort of an evil clone of me, just showed up at my house with his brother and kid science experiment, and they need food, lodging, and a lot of fucking help. sound about right to you?”

Brutally phrased, but nonetheless true. “I believe that’s the basic summary, yes.”

“yeah, well, not a lot of room to fit a panic attack in, now is there. give me time.”

Guilt rose in a heavy throb. He’d dragged Stretch into this without once considering what it might cost him, knowing that he wouldn’t refuse. He wouldn’t change his choice if he could, but Stretch certainly had the right to resent him for it.

“I’m sorry,” Edge began, haltingly, already considering the ways he might repay for what he was taking.

“noooo,” Stretch shook his head, “no, no, you stop right there, no. no apologies, none of that shit.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “look, make you a deal. we are gonna be all up in each other’s faces for a while, so how about both of us get to bitch and moan to each other whenever the mood strikes, about anything at all, and the other person doesn’t apologize or snark or anything. they can either listen or add some of their own bitch to the batter. agreed?”

Edge could only nod. It was more than a reasonable bargain, he’d be a fool to refuse it.

“come on, then,” Stretch gave him a nudge with his elbow and reached for the doorknob. “let’s rescue the kid before red starts teaching her how to pickpocket.”

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

36 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Welllp These Are Books: the February 2021 Edition

Most of my last month was spent on deadline and waiting for people to respond to my emails, which meant I did not have the time (or energy) to write much of anything, but had plenty of time to read, quite frankly, an absurd number of books. Some of which were very good, some of which were very cheesy, and some of which I have now told multiple people was quite possibly the worst book I have ever read. As always, though, what are my opinions if I am not sharing them with the internet? Ridiculous headlines, links, and those aforementioned opinions under the cut. As always, part two, feel free to send me any and all recommendations. It cannot possibly be worse than this one book. Seriously, you’ll understand in a second.

———

Quite Possibly the First Book I’ve Gone Out of My Way to Buy On Release Day Since Breaking Dawn, Which Says a lot About Me. As a Person.

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she's struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can't seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it.

The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre's Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta's orbit. But her temper isn't the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other.

Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts.

Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance-and healing-in each other's arms.

I’m not kidding when I tell you that I was counting the days until this came out. I was kind of indifferent to Nesta after the original ACOTAR books, but intrigued enough that I was like, I need to read this, and then I did read this and now I care quite a lot about Nesta. And how in love with Cassian she is. And vice versa. Because, let’s be honest, dude is in l o v e. There were some parts of the story I was not super into — namely, Ferye having to die in childbirth. Like, you’re telling me Cassian could have his guts hanging out at one point and we don’t know how to do a c-section? Nah, that ain’t it. Also, pregnancy as a storyline is not always my favorite thing, but more on that in a second. Also, also, here’s a bunch more words about ACOSF.

A “Huh, So That Happened” Sort of Ending. Which Was Disappointing.

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer

Emberfall is crumbling fast, torn between those who believe Rhen is the rightful prince and those who are eager to begin a new era under Grey, the true heir. Grey has agreed to wait two months before attacking Emberfall, and in that time, Rhen has turned away from everyone--even Harper, as she desperately tries to help him find a path to peace.

Fight the battle, save the kingdom. Meanwhile, Lia Mara struggles to rule Syhl Shallow with a gentler hand than her mother. But after enjoying decades of peace once magic was driven out of their lands, some of her subjects are angry Lia Mara has an enchanted prince and a magical scraver by her side. As Grey's deadline draws nearer, Lia Mara questions if she can be the queen her country needs.

As the two kingdoms come closer to conflict, loyalties are tested, love is threatened, and an old enemy resurfaces who could destroy them all, in this stunning conclusion to bestselling author Brigid Kemmerer's Cursebreaker series.

I loved the first book in this series. Absolutely adored it. So much so that I pretty quickly got the second one and read it. Enjoyed that on its own, but like I said in that one ask, I’m fairly certain A Curse So Dark and Lonely could have very easily been a standalone story. Should have been a standalone story? There was just SO MUCH going on here, and not nearly enough of it was resolved. Plot points just hung by the end of the trilogy, I was not ever entirely convinced Rhen and Harper were actually in love, let alone liked each other, and I thought Rhen got the very short end of an exceptionally cracked stick by the time the whole story wrapped up. Really, I think this tried to do too much in not enough time and there should probably be another book. Also Lia Mara getting pregnant was dumb. There I said it.

Free Books On Amazon Unlimited That Were Better Than Expected, But Also Read Like Fic

The Bargainer Series by Laura Thalassa

Everyone knows that if you need a favor, you go to the Bargainer to make it happen. He’s a man who can get you anything you want … at a price. And everyone knows that sooner or later he always collects.

Callypso Lillis is a siren with a very big problem, one that stretches up her arm and far into her past. For the last seven years she’s been collecting a bracelet of black beads up her wrist, magical IOUs for favors she’s received. Only death or repayment will fulfill the obligations. Only then will the beads disappear.

But for one of his clients, he’s never asked for repayment. Not until now. When Callie finds the fae king of the night in her room, a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, she knows things are about to change. At first it’s just a chaste kiss—a single bead’s worth—and a promise for more.

For the Bargainer, it’s more than just a matter of rekindling an old romance. Something is happening in the Otherworld. Fae warriors are going missing one by one. Only the women are returned, each in a glass casket, a child clutched to their breast. And then there are the whispers among the slaves, whispers of an evil that’s been awoken.

If the Bargainer has any hope to save his people, he’ll need the help of the siren he spurned long ago. Only, his foe has a taste for exotic creatures, and Callie just happens to be one.

No one is going to be able to convince me this wasn’t ACOTAR fan fic. I don’t care about timing or dates, or whatever. The similarities just...did not stop. In all three books, even. There were three books in this series, by the way. Most of which I really enjoyed. I read them all in like four days of email waiting, so they must have been doing something right. Des was a good love interest and I really liked the flashbacks in the first book. Also Callie didn’t super annoy me. That being said, whoever edited this book. Oof. Some of the prose was so goddamn cringe, I literally lol’ed. Right out loud. Every now and then it was like we had to be reminded that Des was a BAD GUY ™ but it felt very Edward “I’m a killer, Bella” Cullen, and Callie’s internal monologue was occasionally hysterical. Not in a good way. Also Temper was the worst. She was so annoying. Every time she talked, I was like, oh, her again. The first book was the best one.

HITTING ALL MY ROM COM BOXES! BASEBALL! ROMANCE! PINING! ONLY VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN THEY HAD SEX IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT BECAUSE I’VE BEEN IN THE PORT JEFF DUGOUT.

Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey

Georgette Castle’s family runs the best home renovation business in town, but she picked balloons instead of blueprints and they haven’t taken her seriously since. Frankly, she’s over it. Georgie loves planning children’s birthday parties and making people laugh, just not at her own expense. She’s determined to fix herself up into a Woman of the World... whatever that means.

Phase one: new framework for her business (a website from this decade, perhaps?)

Phase two: a gut-reno on her wardrobe (fyi, leggings are pants.)

Phase three: updates to her exterior (do people still wax?)

Phase four: put herself on the market (and stop crushing on Travis Ford!)

Travis Ford was major league baseball’s hottest rookie when an injury ended his career. Now he’s flipping houses to keep busy and trying to forget his glory days. But he can’t even cross the street without someone recapping his greatest hits. Or making a joke about his… bat. And then there's Georgie, his best friend’s sister, who is not a kid anymore. When she proposes a wild scheme—that they pretend to date, to shock her family and help him land a new job—he agrees. What’s the harm? It’s not like it’s real. But the girl Travis used to tease is now a funny, full-of-life woman and there’s nothing fake about how much he wants her...

Living her best life means facing the truth: Georgie hasn’t been on a date since, well, ever. Nobody’s asking the town clown out for a night of hot sex, that’s for sure. Maybe if people think she’s having a steamy love affair, they’ll acknowledge she’s not just the “little sister” who paints faces for a living. And who better to help demolish that image than the resident sports star and tabloid favorite.

Legit, I saw the description for this and I was like—did I write this? Kind of. (Shameless plug to read my own rom com, it also has baseball and pining) It didn’t matter, I loved it. Seriously, it hit all my rom com boxes: childhood friends, best friend’s sister, coming back home under duress, FAKE DATING and, let’s be honest, I am not immune to the use of “baby girl” as an endearment. Every time Travis called Georgie “baby girl” I was like, oh, ok, this is cool. It was cool! I only have two quips. One, that the fake dating didn’t last a little longer. The pacing of the story felt very quick, but that’s also this genre’s style. So I kind of get it. And two, that it happened in Port Jefferson, which is a town in Suffolk County that I have not only been to, but have spent significant time in. Meaning I could picture every single thing, knew exactly where they were and have used the exit on the Northern State Parkway that the final moments of the book took place at. The Port Jeff girls basketball team won a Long Island championship last weekend. In real life, not the book.

In Which Spinoffs Continue to be my Kryptonite. Especially Well-Written Ones

Mistletoe and Mr. Right by Sarah Morgenthaler

Lana Montgomery is everything the quirky small town of Moose Springs, Alaska can't stand: a rich socialite with dreams of changing things for the better. But Lana's determined to prove that she belongs...even if it means trading her stilettos for snow boots and tracking one of the town's hairiest Christmas mysteries: the Santa Moose, an antlered Grinch hell-bent on destroying every bit of holiday cheer (and tinsel) it can sink its teeth into.

And really...how hard could it be?

The last few years have been tough on Rick Harding, and it's not getting any easier now that his dream girl's back in town. When Lana accidentally tranquilizes him instead of the Santa Moose, it's clear she needs help, fast...and this could be his chance to finally catch her eye. It's an all-out Christmas war, but if they can nab that darn moose before it destroys the town, Rick and Lana might finally find a place where they both belong...together.

I mentioned The Tourist Attraction in my January list, and this is the second in the Moose Springs trio. And it’s so good! I wish people were all as nice to Lana as Rick was. It’s what she deserved! More small-town antics, more kissing, another moose. This one was just as cute as the original book, especially because it brought back original characters and Zoey and Graham were so goddamn adorable as a committed couple I genuinely feared for the state of my teeth.

Enjoy the View by Sarah Morgenthaler

Former Hollywood darling River Lane's acting career is tanking fast. Determined to start fresh behind the camera, she agrees to film a documentary about the picturesque small town of Moose Springs, Alaska. The assignment should have been easy, but the quirky locals want nothing to do with River. Well, too bad: River's going to make this film and prove herself, no matter what it takes.

Or what (literal) mountain she has to climb.

Easton Lockett may be a gentle giant, but he knows a thing or two about survival. If he can keep everyone in line, he should be able to get River and her crew up and down Mount Veil in one piece. Turns out that's a big if. The wildlife's wilder than usual, the camera crew's determined to wander off a cliff, and the gorgeous actress is fearless. Falling for River only makes Easton's job tougher, but there's only so long he can hold out against her brilliant smile. When bad weather strikes, putting everyone at risk, it'll take all of Easton's skill to get them back home safely...and convince River she should stay in his arms for good.

Wrapping up the Moose Springs trio, this one might have been my least favorite, but that’s not really saying much. Since I loved them all pretty equally. River and Easton’s banter was grade-A, top-notch, which is a one-way ticket to my reading-heart. Maybe part of the problem (I say problem like there really was one) was that most of the story took place on a mountain. I kind of wanted more small-town shenanigans, and updates on the condos and the state of the town and Graham being mayor. Still, this was very cute. I swooned multiple times. I’ll probably read anything Sarah Morgenthaler writes from here on out.

Seriously, What Is YA? Does Anyone Know?

The Beautiful by Renee Ahdieh

In 1872, New Orleans is a city ruled by the dead. But to seventeen-year-old Celine Rousseau, New Orleans is a safe haven after she's forced to flee her life as a dressmaker in Paris. Taken in by the sisters of the Ursuline convent in the middle of the carnival season, Celine is quickly enraptured by the vibrant city, from its music to its fancy soirées and even its danger. She becomes embroiled in the city's glitzy underworld, known as La Cour des Lions, after catching the eye of the group's enigmatic leader, Sébastien Saint Germain.

When the body of one of the girls from the convent is found in Sébastien's own lair--the second dead girl to turn up in recent weeks--Celine battles her attraction to Sébastien and suspicions about his guilt along with the shame of her own horrible secret.

After a third murder, New Orleans becomes gripped by the terror of a serial killer on the loose--one who has now set Celine in his sights. As the murderer stalks her, Celine finally takes matters into her own hands, only to find herself caught in the midst of an age-old feud between the darkest creatures of the night, where the price of forbidden love is her life.

Like I said last month, I put a hold on pretty much everything Renee Ahdieh had written in my library. And this was just as good as the last series I read. Her world building is just—chef’s kiss, gorgeous. I dream of writing this airy, magical way, that makes you feel like you’re in New Orleans. That being said, I do not know what kid is reading this because apparently this is YA and I had to read every single word to figure out what was going on. Now, I know there are two more books in the series, but this one felt like a lot of set up and I spent most of it being like...will this make sense eventually? It did, but only during a very rushed climax of final few chapters. The sequel isn’t available on Kindle at the library, and I haven’t bought it yet. So, that’s probably kind of telling.

In Which You Cannot Always Depend On Old Favorites

No Judgments by Meg Cabot

When a massive hurricane severs all power and cell service to Little Bridge Island—as well as its connection to the mainland—twenty-five-year-old Bree Beckham isn’t worried . . . at first. She’s already escaped one storm—her emotionally abusive ex—so a hurricane seems like it will be a piece of cake.

But animal-loving Bree does become alarmed when she realizes how many islanders have been cut off from their beloved pets. Now it’s up to her to save as many of Little Bridge’s cats and dogs as she can . . . but to do so, she’s going to need help—help she has no choice but to accept from her boss’s sexy nephew, Drew Hartwell, the Mermaid Café’s most notorious heartbreaker.

But when Bree starts falling for Drew, just as Little Bridge’s power is restored and her penitent ex shows up, she has to ask herself if her island fling was only a result of the stormy weather, or if it could last during clear skies too.

I love Meg Cabot. That should be stated upfront and at the very beginning because for a very long time I have claimed that being Meg Cabot was my dream job. I’ve read pretty much every book Meg Cabot has ever written and was fairly certain I’d be into these once I did read them. Only I was...not. Not really. Everything in this book happened so quickly, I felt like I was the one in the hurricane. People were kissing and then they were having sex and there was a storm and pets and then—it was over? The pacing was all over the place, I had no idea why Drew and Bree liked each other, some guy kicked a dog at one point?? It was weird. Which leads us to—

No Offense by Meg Cabot

A broken engagement only gave Molly Montgomery additional incentive to follow her dream job from the Colorado Rockies to the Florida Keys. Now, as Little Bridge Island Public Library’s head of children’s services, Molly hopes the messiest thing in her life will be her sticky-note covered desk. But fate—in the form of a newborn left in the restroom—has other ideas. So does the sheriff who comes to investigate the “abandonment”. When John Hartwell folds all six-feet-three of himself into a tiny chair and insists that whoever left the baby is a criminal, Molly begs to differ and asks what he’s doing about the Island’s real crime wave (if thefts of items from homes that have been left unlocked could be called that). Not the best of starts, but the man’s arrogance is almost as distracting as his blue eyes. Almost…

John would be pretty irritated if one of his deputies had a desk as disorderly as Molly’s. Good thing she doesn’t work for him, considering how attracted he is to her. Molly’s lilting librarian voice makes even the saltiest remarks go down sweeter, which is bad as long as she’s a witness but might be good once the case is solved—provided he hasn’t gotten on her last nerve by then. Recently divorced, John has been having trouble adjusting to single life as well as single parenthood. But something in Molly’s beautiful smile gives John hope that his old life on Little Bridge might suddenly hold new promise—if only they can get over their differences.

This isn’t a sequel SEQUEL, but another one of those “exists in the same universe,” or same town, as it were, and it was better than No Judgments. Molly and John actually had a few legitimate conversations before they started kissing. The conflict was still weird and sort of forced, this was not Meg’s usual banter (I fell like I can call her Meg at this point, y’know?) and, again, the ending just felt like it...happened. I don’t know guys, maybe I should just reread The Boy Is Back. Or that quasi Persephone-Hades series. It’s been awhile. On that one, at least. I read The Boy Is Back like six months ago.

ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING ROM COM THAT I CANNOT BELIEVE I FINISHED, SOMEONE GIVE ME A PRIZE FOR FINISHING THIS

Fight or Flight by Samantha Young

The universe is conspiring against Ava Breevort. As if flying back to Phoenix to bury a childhood friend wasn't hell enough, a cloud of volcanic ash traveling from overseas delayed her flight back home to Boston. Her last ditch attempt to salvage the trip was thwarted by an arrogant Scotsman, Caleb Scott, who steals a first class seat out from under her. Then over the course of their journey home, their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for the steamiest layover Ava's ever had. And that's all it was--until Caleb shows up on her doorstep.

When pure chance pulls Ava back into Caleb's orbit, he proposes they enjoy their physical connection while he's stranded in Boston. Ava agrees, knowing her heart's in no danger since a) she barely likes Caleb and b) his existence in her life is temporary. Not long thereafter Ava realizes she's made a terrible error because as it turns out Caleb Scott isn't quite so unlikeable after all. When his stay in Boston becomes permanent, Ava must decide whether to fight her feelings for him or give into them. But even if she does decide to risk her heart on Caleb, there is no guarantee her stubborn Scot will want to risk his heart on her...

When I tell you guys that this was the worst book I have read in recent memory, I am not kidding. Might actually be the worst book I have ever read. Bar none. And that’s saying something because one time I had to read Ender’s Game in college and that, like, physically pained me. This was awful. Awful people. Awful plot. Awful resolution. AWFUL. Where to start? Well, I’m not going to apologize for spoilers, because God help us all, do not read this book. Ava has been through so many horrible things in her life it was like someone was trying to set a record. Bad parents, cheating ex-boyfriend, dead former best friend who was former because of the cheating ex-boyfriend. Naturally, this made her a control freak because—of course, or something. And Caleb! Oh my God, fucking Caleb Scott. The dickwad. I’ve never rooted for anyone to not get the girl more. When Ava “broke up” with him (they were never really together) I might have cheered. Shitty things does not give you an excuse to be a dick, and Caleb was a dick. Seriously, he started crying about how his ex-fiance KILLED THEIR BABY and I was like—this cannot possibly be a real book. It was! With lots of abortion opinions out of FUCKING nowhere, and weird possessive behavior from, like, every dude in it. Both Ava AND her best friend (not the dead one, a different one) got assaulted at one point. I kept reading solely because I was desperate to see how they rationalized Ava and Caleb getting back together at the end and they didn’t. He showed up on her flight when her boss came up with a fake work trip so he could sit next to her on the plane. What? WHAT?? It was so dumb. So bad. I can’t believe I read it.

#book recs #fiction rec #rom com recs #fantasy recs #laura reads books #i swear i do other things besides read #really #welllp these are books

13 notes · View notes

emma-nation · 4 years ago

Text

Unfinished Business - F!Sam x MC Fanfiction

Summary: When Sam Dalton is caught in a scandal, Anna Schuyler is the only one who can help her. But will her former nanny be able to leave the past behind?

"Samantha Dalton was like one of good dreams you don't want to wake up from. You close your eyes, you force your brain to remember every minor detail, you begin to imagine what comes next... hoping to be in control. You want to fall asleep again. You want it to continue, but it's too late now. You're wide awake."

Genre: Angst, Romance

Notes: Hell yeah, three ongoing multichapter fics. I'm so screwed 😎

Tag List: If you wish to be tagged in future chapters and fics of this pairing, let me know.

"I can't do this anymore, Sam," Anna did the best to avoid her eyes. With the right look, they could melt the ice that had formed around her heart for the last few weeks. One look could make things warm again, but only for some time. Time enough for her to open up and fall in love once more, immediately followed by the realization all of that was nothing more than an illusion. She'd be fooling herself again.

This time she just had enough. It was the end.

"Anna, I'm sorry," the CEO didn't know very well what to say. Despite her usual calm voice tone, Anna could sense the nervousness in her words. "But Sofia is my wife."

"And I'm only the nanny."

"This is not what I meant. We just... we allowed ourselves to get too carried away. It was good while it lasted but now, we must face reality."

It was just a dream. Samantha Dalton was like one of good dreams you don't want to wake up from. You close your eyes, you force your brain to remember every minor detail, you begin to imagine what comes next... hoping to be in control. You want to fall asleep again. You want it to continue, but it's too late now. You're wide awake.

----------

Anna collected her stuff from the desk, giving one last emotional glance to the classroom in front of her. Before leaving for Summer, her fourth grade students had prepared her a small surprise. A little party with cake, snacks and a "Thank You, Ms. Schuyler" sign hanging in the back of the room. They also drew her some cards, which she saved for when she got home. It could become very emotional for her workplace.

"Anna," the principal appeared at the door, catching her attention, "I came here to congratulate you. It was your first year as a Science teacher in our school and you captivated all the kids, as well as their parents."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Rockwell," Anna smiled. "I love working with children and now I see I made the right decision taking this job. This year was the most rewarding experience of my life."

"So we can expect you to return next year? I'm sorry, the parents keep me asking this question all the time."

"Absolutely!"

"They'll be glad to hear that. Have a nice Summer, Ms. Schuyler."

After living in New York for the last two years, Anna was finally ready to drive to her mother's home in Rhode Island. They both had saved enough money for a road trip across the country. Her mom deserved to live that dream after caring for her ill step-dad for some long months, until his recovery.

When she arrived at her apartment, her best friend, Jenny, was still at work. What meant she'd have enough time to finish packing without having to stop to hear the latest gossip about the company she worked for, or unsolicited dating advice.

"But first," Anna pulled the small pile of cards from inside her purse, "let me cry my eyeballs out."

And she did. She learned how to love and connect to each one of her students. Those cards need to be kept in a special place, where she'd always be able to read them and remember the sweet moments she shared with those children.

Grabbing a box in her closet, Anna accidentally came across a picture of the Dalton twins. She didn't even remember where she had placed it, when she was getting rid of everything related to that family. All she wanted was to keep those boys' memory out of sight. She missed them too much for words. They were the reason why she accepted that job as a teacher in first place.

"I wonder how different they must look now," she thought. "They're already nine."

With a tightness in her chest, Anna placed the picture back in its secret spot.

"I still can't believe you're really going!" Later that evening, Jenny complained in the living room, where she divided her attention between painting her nails and watch TV.

"Well, it's time for you to come with terms with that. I'm only returning by the end of Summer," Anna responded from the kitchen, while she finished washing the dishes.

"Anna, we could have the Summer of our lives. Think about all the hot men and women you could meet, all the parties we could attend..."

"I promised my mom, okay? We've been planning this trip since I finished college."

Jenny was suddenly teleported back to her side, wrapping her arms around her like a clingy teddy bear.

"But I'm gonna miss you," she spoke with a mournful voice.

"I'll miss you too," Anna assured her. "I'll keep you updated on every detail. Don't worry."

"I know your mom is going with you but... Anna, it's time for you to find someone. Even if it's only a one night stand."

"This is not the main purpose of this trip. This isn't about my sex life, I want my mom to relax."

"It has been two years, for god's sake."

"I know. And I'm glad I've set my priorities straight, I live with my best friend in a nice apartment, I got this amazing job and I love my students. I don't need anyone else in my life to be happy. I am happy."

Jenny rolled her eyes, crawling back to the couch. She should know it was useless to bring up this subject. Anna's heart was indefinitely closed for balance. If that was one thing she learned from her last experience was that shouldn't open up so easily.

"Shut the hell up!"

Jenny yelling so loud in the living room, made Anna almost drop the plate she was holding.

"You need to come here right now and watch this," she added.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. You're not getting me into that steamy TV show you're always obsessing about."

"It's a really good TV show, okay? But it doesn't matter at the moment. You need to watch the latest news!"

Jenny was actually watching the news. Nothing good could've happened to spark that sudden interest. That had to be something stupid or celebrity gossip. Against her best judgment, Anna approached the TV.

"If that's something silly, I'll kill you for interrupting my tasks!" Anna's mouth suddenly dropped when she read the headline on her screen. "Oh."

"Dalton Enterprises Scandal: CEO Sam Dalton accused of insider trading."

Images of police officers closing the company and carrying out boxes and computers for further investigation appeared on the screen. As well as Sam being conducted to the officer's car while journalists and photographers chased after her.

"Karma's a bitch, huh?! Mrs. Perfect is going down!"

Anna didn't answer to her best friend. She was still trying to process what her eyes were watching. Her heart seemed to stop for a second as the camera focused on Sam's face. In just a few seconds, her eyes had the desperate need to capture every detail. She wanted to know if she looked any different, if she had changed her hair or even her clothes. She wanted to know if some make-up was trying to hide the bags under her eyes for lack of sleep, or if she had been so happy with her marriage she was appearing even younger. Any minor signs that would make her mind create a possible scenario of what Sam's life could be right now.

She hadn't seen or heard of Samantha since quitting her nanny job. Though it was difficult, she managed to avoid any news related to the Dalton Enterprises CEO. They didn't part in good terms, yet one thing she was sure about, Sam was a decent person. She would never get involved in such a scandal. She had a reputation to keep.

"I... I don't know what to say," Anna was finally able to mumble some words. "Honestly I don't think she'd do that. There must be a misunderstanding."

"Anna! Are you seriously defending her?! After everything she's done to you?"

"No. I just..." Two years had passed since the wedding. Anna realized a lot could've changed. Sam could've changed. She had changed. "Maybe you're right."

As she lied in bed, millions of thoughts started running through her mind. What would be of the boys? Who would have their custody in case Sam went to jail, her parents or Sofia? Could Sofia or Robin have any involvement in that scandal?

Anna didn't get any sleep that night. When she woke up in the morning she was still exhausted.

The apartment was silent and peaceful. Jenny had already left to work. She was alone. No one would witness or even judge her next action. After preparing herself some coffee she sat down and started to research more about the insider trading scandal.

"I'm not interested, only curious," she mentally assured herself as thousands of articles started showing on her laptop screen.

Not only Sam was being accused to cheat on Sofia with another woman, but she tried to cover up the affair by giving her mistress a check to purchase Dalton Enterprises stocks. The launch of a new and revolutionary product in the coming weeks would surely grant her some cash. In the following days of the launch, the woman and her husband made millions of dollars.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Sam?"

The trials were scheduled for the next few weeks, and in case of conviction, the CEO could spend over 20 years in prison.

Only a couple of days later, Anna was in the garage placing all her luggage inside the trunk. She had to leave immediately, for her own sanity. The scandal was a great reason to stay away from New York City. The television wouldn't stop talking about that subject, or show the face of the woman she once loved.

"Dammit," entering the car, Anna noticed she had forgotten her cell phone upstairs. The latest events had impacted her more than they should. She was constantly distracted and anxious, secretly following the last developments of the case.

She picked up her phone, returned to the car and turned on the radio. Playing some loud music always helped her to relax. The crowded streets and the buildings slowly started to stay behind as the road approached.

"And I'm here, to remind you of the mess you left..."

Anna sang aloud, completely involved by the song. And then, her eyes almost missed it. Through the rearview mirror she saw a blur moving on the back seat.

"What the..." she needed to remain calm and act cautiously. The roads were impressively calm and deserted, a perfect scenario for murder, like in every horror movie. She slowly slipped her hand into her purse, grabbing the pepper spray. "I'm not one of those chicks who die so easily."

In one sudden fast move, she stomped on the breaks and turned around, spraying whoever was hiding behind her seat.

"Anna!" She was able to take a better look. The figure was wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. "Stop, please!"

She was able to recognize that voice even among millions of people. The years hadn't erased it from her memories.

"S-Sam..." Anna pulled the disguise, confirming her suspicions, "what are doing here? In my back seat?"

"I can explain."

"You better."

She returned to the driver's seat, attempting to relax. Samantha Dalton was inside her car, for some very screwed up reason.

"I know it's strange," and now she had moved to the passenger seat, being at a short distance from her. Close enough to notice how her presence was making her nervous. Close enough to notice she wasn't breathing. Close enough to see her hands shaking. "But I needed you to hear me."

"You could've called, Samantha. Or even showed up at my door! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You wouldn't answer. Would you?"

And that was it. One look and all the walls melted away. Her heart started beating faster, reminding her of the moments they shared two years before.

"No," Anna answered, fighting those feelings. "I wouldn't."

"I need your help, Anna," Sam touched her arm briefly, but enough to know she'd cause impact. "I'm in serious trouble and you're the only one that can help me."

#playchoices #the nanny affair #sam dalton #sam dalton x mc #sam x mc #f!sam dalton x mc #f!sam x mc #the nanny affair fanfiction #tna fanfiction #unfinished business #choices stories you play

49 notes · View notes

thistreasurehunter · 4 years ago

Text

Attention JJ/Pope Shippers!!

Warning: mature adult content beneath the cut.

So, I’d be really interested to know what kind of content all you JJPope / Mayward shippers out there would be interested in reading.

I’ve recently started writing for JJ/Pope (previous fics here). I know there are some amazing JJ/Pope fics out there, written by some really talented writers, but sadly there doesn’t seem to be any JJ/Pope smut [A/N: for the record, in my head I’ve aged the characters up a few years, so they are both 18+] (I might be wrong, but I haven’t been able to find any, and if there is, please point me in that direction!), so my question is: is that because JJ/Pope shippers don’t want to read that kind of content? Do you all prefer your fics a little softer? I’m thinking fluffy, innocent, wholesome goodness? Because if that’s the case, then I can totally take my writing in that direction!

But, somehow, I just can’t believe there aren’t more Mayward shippers out there, like me, that are hungry for some steamy JJ/Pope content! Because if that’s the case, then I’m more than happy to oblige with that too! *waggles eyebrows* Just tell me what you want baby, I want you to feel ~good~, my fingers are at the ready (over my keyboard, obviously! *cheeky grin*)

But seriously, I’m a safe space. Come whisper your naughty thoughts in my ear, lovely anon. I want to hear all the filthy, sexy things you think about these two gorgeous boys. The horny thoughts that make your stomach twist, that make you squirm in your seat, that set off that low insistent throbbing between your legs. Come whisper in my ear, lovely anon, and I might be able to write your fantasies into reality…

Or, you know, maybe that’s not your thing. Maybe I just need to go have a cold shower! Maybe you’d prefer to read something that makes that warm happy glow light up in your chest. If so, I want to hear about that too!

To get the ball rolling, I’ve jotted down a few of my own ideas below. These are nothing more than some half-formed thoughts at the moment, but just let me know if anyone would be interested in me developing any of these. Depending on the content, if these did go any further, I might take some of them out of my After the Rain timeline and have them as one shots (just so I don’t spoil the tone of that slow-build relationship development). But, yeah, these things take ages to write, so I want to make sure there’s an audience for them first.

Also, just to let you know, I’m new around here *waves* (and have a really tiny blog!), so I’m struggling a bit to promote my work and establish myself in this fandom. (HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented on my work so far – it really means more to me than I can say! And also apologies to my handful of followers for clogging your dash with multiple reblogs of my Master List while I try and boost it!).

Sooooo, if you’ve got this far down this post, and you feel like helping a new writer out, I would LOVE it if you could share this post, or some of my work, with your followers (my Master List is here). A shout-out or a rec from you would literally make me smile so wide the corners of my mouth would touch my ears. I know there are more lovely JJ/Pope shippers out there somewhere, but I don’t know where you are, and I don’t think you know I’m sitting over here in my dusty corner of the internet wanting to make you smile! 😞

So, anyway, that’s my plea and my plug done, now on to the prompts…

Fluffy ideas:

They give each other sensual massages – I’m thinking dim room, warm oil, slowly rubbing each other’s feet, strong hands pressing into the muscles of their backs, boyfriends looking after each other after a long day…

Pope comes out – Pope decides to come out to his parents, and they accept him and JJ with open arms.

JJ’s dad finds out he likes men too – little bit of angst, because Luke doesn’t take it well, but Pope comforts JJ and ends up making him feel safe and valued and wanted.

Cuddles on the sofa – soft eyes, warm hearts and lots of giggles.

Smutty ideas:

Massage with a happy ending - Similar to the massage idea above, but with more moaning and groaning and then they end up rubbing more than just each other’s backs.

Blowjobs – the hot, wet, urgent, I-need-you-right-now sort of thing. Shaking and bucking up, hands pressing on hips, steamy eye contact and then throbbing and pulsing and swallowing.

Rimming – the nervous, stomach-fluttering feeling of being touched ~there~ for the first time

Anal fingering – P-spot action, baby!! I imagine pairing this with a blowjob tbh.

Anal sex – How about: JJ bottoming from the top – straddling Pope, sinking down onto him and riding him slowly. Pope’s mind just blowing from how sexy JJ looks above him. Or, maybe on their knees, Pope taking control, panting and rutting and letting all that primal, cave-man energy overtake them. Or, first time anal: top!JJ and bottom!Pope, something both sexy and sweet as they explore each other in that way for the first time.

Or, trying some other deliciously kinky things together – edging, orgasm denial, tickle fetish, desperation, dressing up, toys, role play…

Or maybe we want to see some more classic fanfic tropes:

Soulmate AU/Bonding – pining and slow burn? Or maybe, surprise!-I’ve-been-bonded-to-a-guy-but-I-didn’t-realise-I-was-gay?

Undercover relationship – probably speaks for itself, but some kind of slow, dawning realisation that they’re just idiots in love. Probably throw a bit of forced bed sharing in for good measure.

Gender swap (little bit ‘out-there’ but bear with me):

JJ/girl!Pope – him loving to bury his face between her legs, licking and sucking and savoring her sighs and moans. JJ loving giving his girl!Pope multiple orgasms. Slowly fingering her in the hot tub. Basically a lot of clit action. And P in V. Lots of that too.

girl!Pope/girl!JJ – yeah, just a couple of sexy lesbians – tongues and fingers and maybe a strap-on?

Pope/girl!JJ – I imagine girl!JJ would be just as snarky and sassy and definitely ‘wears-the-trousers’ in their relationship. I imagine them having sex against a wall, Pope holding girl!JJ up, hands wrapped around her thighs, pressing into her, her legs wrapped around his waist. And because of the angle, she has no leverage to press back and chase her own orgasm, she just has to hold on and let Pope take her there. And halfway through, I can hear her say jokingly, “If you run out of steam before I cum I’ll pummel you.” (Spoilers: he doesn’t.)

Yeah, so, there you go. I’ll just leave this here and hopefully it’ll find its way to the right people! 💙

[GENERAL DISCLAIMER: In anything I write, the characters are all 18+. I have never, and will never, write underage fic. I think it’s very important for me to make that completely clear.]

#jjpope #mayward #jj/pope #jj x pope #jjpope smut #jjpope fluff #mayward smut #mayward fluff #jj maybank #pope heyward #outer banks smut #outer banks writing #outer banks fic #obx #jj/pope smut #jj/pope fluff

54 notes · View notes

minstrivia · 5 years ago

Text

; way down in bed stuy | m.

— a/n: this is my fic for the spring fic exchange gifted to the lovely @taendrils. enjoy babe xx

— pairings: jeon jungkook x reader

— genre: smut, light angst?

— word count: 5k+

— warnings: asphyxiation, rough sex, possession!kink, oral sex, edging, shameless infidelity, drug use/abuse (we got acid up in here. don’t do it kids), voyeurism, do people actually fuck in the rain like is that a thing?, unprotected sex cause like who wears a condom in the rain, smh who fucks in the rain tho, creampie, clearly he has a fat cock who do you think i am, dirty filthy talk, this is filth, morally i should be ashamed, i am not

— summary: as a final farewell you fuck your sister’s unbelievably attractive knave boyfriend that you definitely do not have feelings for...again.

This time you decide Jungkook is…pitiful.

You tell yourself that’s why you’d allowed him to approach you the way he did, his clothes tightly clung to him like a second skin, obsidian black hair that would normally adorn a disastrous fluffiness flattened to his head in a way that falls beneath his eyes in clumped spikes, and his skin flushed with a keenness that you’ve become way too accustomed to. He is palpably pitiful today—at least, more than usual. The temper surrounding him is a sombre stench, and the impromptu choppy slew of texts that had followed the silence of a missed call had been telling enough. So, when he’d stalked over to you, you’d expected it; expected his clumsy shoves at your shoulders, his incoherent rambling as his large palm haloed your wrist in a grating vise, recklessly jerking you behind him as he cantered fleet-footed, itching to reach his destination. And you’d counted on finding yourself stumbling, bereft of logical dispute, back to him—always back to him, everytime.

“Need you.”

“Jeon, what—”

Jungkook’s eyes are always glassy as they lure you in, drab dilated pupils seeking answers you won’t give (not now anyway) not when he’s hot, so fucking hot, his skin scorches yours perversely in a way that’d have you concerned if you didn’t know any better. But you know, you know he’s long consumed the insipid paper taste of acid and you’re getting the lusty aftershocks, the slated crest that befalls once the opiate has branched and ignited the blood in his veins—the peak of his trip, that’s when he comes to you, when he’s riding the most rhapsodic moment and he ‘needs’ to take you with him. You’ve gotten used to it too, letting him have you whenever and wherever he wants and you’d be more chagrined by the way you’re pinned up against him inhaling his suffocating musky scent of cinders and shorts on a merry go round smack bang in the middle of a children’s playground, if it weren’t for the steady retreating daylight. And the way he’s touching you—definitely the way he’s touching you, his hands wayfaring restlessly like they can’t decide where to perch, yet nevertheless, it’s vicious and fervent, earnest to make itself known, tips of his fingers cumbering at times and the amble thrums a sinful eagerness down the length of your spine.

“S’pretty,” he mumbles, lower lip sweeping across the washed plane of your collarbone as he does so. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, way too pretty, you know that? Tell me you know that.” His timbre is imploring, grasp that bit firmer like he’s afraid you’ll bolt from his arms—like you’re the only thing grounding him to this cruel reality, and you’re ashamed that you like it so much, ashamed that when his eyes descent pleadingly as he stares up at you, you feel that dulcet rush of empowerment, the one that voices how rapidly you could dismantle his treasured ego, how quickly you could make him beg and he would, he’d beg so tragically.

But it isn’t what you want, not now, not ever, so you give. “I know Kook.” Your fingers comb within the thickness of his tresses, the dampness making it weightier than it’d normally be as you rake it away from his forehead. “I know.”

You can categorise being with Jungkook when he’s like this into steps, advances that flow seamlessly into the other, and you’ve been doing this far too long not to know when the change comes, when something veers in his manner, morphs on his features and he’s feeling with an altered strain of vigour. This part though—this part is always your favourite. His sweetened tongue pampering you with enticing endearments and psychedelic compliments that have you reeling in want, in being wanted; it pours out of his mouth with zest, jumbles and clusters of vulgar curses and words that would put the both of you in trouble if anyone else were to overhear. And that’s when you think you hate him the most, when you have your flashes of clarity, fading out of the cosmos of everything Jungkook and sharpening to your surroundings. The rue frets at you then, a restless irritation manifesting at your nape his lips can’t chase away, and a spat formed to cut right at the pike of your tongue—it’d be futile though, because no matter what you say, you can’t blame him and selfishly you can’t blame yourself either. You blame circumstance, Bed Stuy, irrefutable attraction. That’s what you’re calling it, ‘irrefutable attraction’. The hours you occupy enthralled in the ardour of his steamy touch, intoxicated and heated whilst he consumes you in that gradual tack that makes you oh so delirious, your very own narcotic because that’s what he is—a vicious addiction.

Admittedly, you’d known from the start. When Irene had first brought him home, boozed-up on cheap spirits, mousy giggles bubbling up her throat as they tried and despicably failed to evade the wooden floorboards that had protested and groused under their ungraceful teeters; you’d been there to witness it all. The cringeworthy display of your elder sister, an arm slung around his shoulders as she hung carelessly off her ‘new boyfriend’, looking clammy and dishevelled as ever in her slurred greeting. And him, he’d seemed fine—later you’d realise he’d substituted the tart flavour of liquor for the earthy spiced mary jane—but then, he’d seemed in better condition than the wreck beside him. And something about him enticed? intrigued you, his magnetic stare studying you daringly, drawled speech bordering on mischievous and his smug smile, boyishly plagued. Too attractive, you’d thought. He is damningly way too attractive. His stunning features lost on the destitution of the neighbourhood, when instead he deserved to be plastered on posters, screens, billboards—still does. Except now you know he can also be so much more with the melodious voice you’ve had the privy bliss of hearing, that is so much foreign to his natural low huskiness, you’re sure he could sell out arenas, tour the world and leave this place and its memories behind for good. Like you want to. Like you are.

“God, I want you so fucking bad.” Jungkook’s hands finally root at the tapers of your waist, fingers splayed out possessively as if he wishes he could be touching everywhere at once. “You’re better than her, so much better than her.”

And there, the admonition of your vicious addiction. It had only meant to be a one-time thing, and even then was too much. But you’d given in—like you always do—give, give, give, playing into his wily wishes, and you weren’t drunk, and he wasn’t drunk, and it had been so so fucking wrong but you’d been curious, unbelievably curious; tumbling hastily into the unlit bar back storage room at your sister’s 21st birthday bash with her boyfriend in tow, his erection rock-hard and insistent on your thigh, mouth sucking and teeth clipping harsh mauve onto the surface of your skin and it had been way too easy to forget where you were when he fucked you, legs wrapped low on his hips, hiked up on the wall, hands clutching desperately at his nape for stability as he pounded into you brutally without falter. You liked what he had to offer, liked the way he dominated you in every way, liked the thrill of being in the arms of someone older, and it just felt right. It still feels right, in the moment at least, everything clicks and it feels like in some cruel twisted fate you’re meant to do this—meant to be with him.

“Jeon just—” You grasp at the base of his shirt. It’s cold out, not cold enough to have you shivering in seek of warmth, but cold enough to want his body nearer and it’s raining, previous heavy downfall simmering down to a softer spring rain. Regardless, it’s done most of its damage anyway, glazed you both over with fresh rainwater and his shirt has your palms feeling clammy; somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware this isn’t a good idea, but it’s far back and you’re here. “—please.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook smirks haughtily, supple lips steamed on your skin and his breath warm with a choppy chuckle. This is how it always goes, your concise breathy pre-exchange on words of confirmation because he knows, you know, and you just both know. So, you allow yourselves to mould without inhibition, when he gives you what you want and you provide what he needs. Later, you’ll ask what’s on his mind—even though you’ve got a strong idea—and he’ll ask what’s on yours (you’ll never tell), but for now it’s mindless, a primitive yearning for sex and all it’s gluttony.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby, fuck you like you want,” He rasps, creeping his wanton touch teasingly up your upper leg, palm grazing the soft flesh and hiking your skirt with the rise. “You’d like that huh?”

You croon mindlessly into his touch. “Hmm—” Your eyes flutter to a gentle close, the pads of his fingers alighting your nerves as you stable your rousing pants. “Gotta get me wet though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He glances up at you, eyes wide and imploring framed by full wispy lashes, his teeth capturing his bottom lip cheekily when he cocks an eyebrow up. “Want me to eat you out?” He asks. “You’d like that?”

“Hmm…yes.”

“Yeah?” His breath fans over the tender pulse on your neck and you’re gorged with zeal at being so close to him. “Want to get my mouth messy with your pretty pussy?”

You nod heedlessly. “M’not getting my knees wet and dirty to suck you off though.” And you know it’s unfair, you know that he loves when you’ve got your lips wrapped around the thick girth of his cock, kitten licking at his slit and his fingers burrowed into your hair as he forces you to take all of him with fierce breaths through your nose. You know he craves the feeling of your nails digging crescent moons into his thighs, always too daring, too close to brandishing him with your telling mark. But you want to take this time, give less and take more, and you think that’s fair on you.

He chuckles gruffly like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his eyes trained on yours with something sadistic flickering past when he speaks. “Don’t have to, Irene beat you to that.”

You still instantly. “Fucking hell Jungkook,” you mutter with a pissy huff, throwing your head back as you glare at the clouded skies, the downpour of sleet dribbling jarringly onto your face. And you have half the mind to shove him away for that comment alone, in fact, you should but instead you retire to a overtaxed, “S’not even funny Kook.”

“Sorry.”

He’s not sorry. You know he’s not sorry. The mischievous drawl of the apology is far from meaningful and you hate it. “You’re a fucking prick.”

“True. You want to stop?” He asks, slowly sinking to his knees in that teasing way he does so, balancing his weight as he makes the floor seem further than it is with a smug smile. And when his knees collide with the metal, your leg is quick to leave stability, draped over his shoulder as you find footing with the other. “You know I will if you say the words.”

“I—” You sigh. You don’t. Of course, you don’t. “No just- just fucking continue.”

“Bit bossy for someone that wants their sister’s boyfriend’s tongue on their cunt, don’t you think?”

“Jungkook.” You spit his name out in clamant warning, it’s subdued but callous and your brows cleft bitterly because he’s the only one daring enough to make jest of this, pointing out exactly why what you’re about to do—what you’ve been doing is wrong. And even though you’re glaring down at him, eyes full of thunder and lips pulled in a sneer, his cheeky grin refuses to waver, stubborn enough to resist until he hears what he wants, like the fucking teasing imp he is. “Christ.”

You puff out a laborious breath, chest heavy with tiredness because that’s what you are tired, drained by this sneaky tirade and just being with him. That’s why this is it, this is the last time. “What d’you want me to do? Beg?”

He shrugs, “Would be nice.”

You scoff. You don’t know what you see in him. You don’t. Okay, you do. You do and it’s stupid—so horribly stupid because it’s wrong. It’s wrong that you notice the way that he smiles when he’s happy—really happy, not the stoned gauzy content. No. It’s the happiness he gets when he’s slaving away on a piece that he’s sprung inspiration on and for so long it’s sounded battered and sullen and lost and then it just fits, after late nights of heavy grunts and rapid tapping, everything comes together and it’s rejuvenating and yellow and warm. And sometimes you see it for yourself when his nose scrunches cutely, the ends of his lips tugging into something big, teeth all for show, the front two slightly bigger than the rest in a way that is so so endearing and you can’t help but relax into a smile yourself. And other times he’ll call you at incredibly odd hours, and you’ll be so groggy with nothing but sleep clouding your mind but then you’ll hear his voice, unapologetic and soft, needing to urgently share his triumph with you—no one else but you—and you’ll imagine his smile, so vividly you’d see it right in front of you and suddenly, suddenly sleep is the furthest thing from your mind.

It’s unfair that you think he’s misunderstood, that the ink that paints his skin in intricate designs is his armour and that it’s beautiful and that really you wish you could rest your head upon his broad chest, fingers twirling delicate, drawing over the kaleidoscopic garden of flowers that lies just beneath his collarbones as the sun sets and rises and sets again, streaking your bodies with a shimmer of gold before cooling it with a midnight breeze. And you imagine there’d be something playing in the background, muted and mellow, a playlist of his, the more romantic ensembles, making you feel cushy as he’d hum soothingly along, gentle palms floating over the length of your spine, duvet only coming up to his hips, your entangled legs covered beneath and it’d be so serene, his embrace warm and you’d feel it—feel his love.

It’s intrusive that you think his eyes never say exactly how he feels, that the chocolate orbs glimmer, wrathful and edgy, eluding to more than he tells; wanting someone to dig, wanting to be stripped layer after layer, wanting to be seen, to be called out blatantly on his shit. You see it because you recognise it, the same wretched storm that rocks hazard in his pretty orbs weigh the same as the ones you see in the morning, when you’re looking at the mirror and willing yourself to get by another pointless day because there’s something unknown waiting in the future however near or far; and it’ll be the reason you sigh in ease and say, ‘well done, you did it’.

It’s wrong that you insist that you don’t harbor something beyond platonic for him, that your skin doesn’t prickle with a potent green when he’s touching her in front of you, someone who is so blatantly wrong for him—not that he’s any right for you. He’s not. But he could be, he really fucking could. You don’t love him. You think away from here, away from this dump, away from the perils that swirl him further down into this never ending rabbit hole; you could love him—maybe. It’s so wrong to even think so, because when you look at him, pelts of rain dripping from the ends of his hair and down the curve of his patchy blush cold-pinched cheek, his eyes lustily hooded and his steely touch tightening at your thighs, urging you to speak. You realise he won’t change, not for you.

“Please.” You say, a defeated plea for him to drag you into his spinning orbit and make you a part of it for a while, the little he can provide. “Want to feel you on me, want you to make me feel good, please.”

“Hmm, so pretty baby, so good for me.” You’re unsure if he’s talking about the sight he’s uncovered when he pulls your panties to the side or the words that have spewed from your mouth, but either way you allow his words of praise to sooth your balmy skin. “Look at you so fucking pretty for me.”

Your thigh bounces on his shoulders when he moves in closer, his pointer and middle finger, coldish and coarse as they spread your lips apart and when you chance a look at him, you catch the way his tongue sways across his lips, eyes hooded as he stares—stares at you like you’re a fucking treat. And you love it.

“Jungkook.” His name is airy now, soft and lingering in a lustful plea that’s almost non-existent.

“Uh huh, I got you,” He says. “Always got you.”

You don’t have much time to dissect what his words mean nor do you have time to think about being leant up against the centre metal pole when his tongue delves into you, flat and wide, a torturous slide of wet heat over your exposed cunt; so erotically that the buzz of pleasure rises instantly, the impulse going straight to your head and you want more, you need more. And suddenly, you’re hyper aware of his every movement, his mouth cooling your heated cunt with a steady blow, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit, teeth scraping lightly against the nub before he sucks it into his mouth drawing a needy curse from your clasps.

“Fuck, that’s good.” Your fingers place naturally on his hair, nails carding through it insistently as his mouth works wonders, knowing exactly how to drag shivers through your veins and have you open-mouthed as you swing your head skyward. His palms massage at your hiked thigh roughly, jerking you slightly forward in his attempt to delve deeper, causing your other shoe to slip on the wet metal, hands flailing instantly to curl around a nearby extended pole for stability. “Shit.”

He hums guttural, a growl that crawls from the back of his throat that you perceive as a form of agreement and the intensity of the vibration electrifies you. Sinful and hungry, it’s become entirely clear that Jungkook hasn’t got the slightest regard for holding back, his tongue laps at you sloppily, gaze dark and attentive looking at you in a way that itches until you’re forced to peer down and the sight has you releasing a loud broken indecent moan. His lips are dark and wet, and it’s obscene, so fucking lewd the way he slurps you up, his tongue flicking, twirling, slipping between your slit, only his tip, never pushing too far as to tease you and have you whimpering for it, which you are. With his nose pressed flat against your mound, drawing your clit into his mouth, tugging gently at it; you are delirious.

“Jung—oh.” Your fingers tighten at his roots as the words choke up in your throat and your hips rut forward acutely, because you ache for more, it hurts the way you ache for him, a rampant fire fusing in your abdomen and pinching at your waist, always wanting more and more and more of him. And he knows it.

He pulls away languidly, mouth dragging slow from your clit in his release, the vulgar soppy pop enhancing and accompanying his pornographic actions. “Taste so fucking good,” He slurs. “So so pretty, look at you, my pretty baby.”

His fingers trace where his mouth has just been, roaming delicately like he’s trying to familiarise himself and he’s quiet, unnaturally so, murmuring to himself as your chest rises and falls, your heavy breath the only disturbance to the peace. Your teeth dig anxiously into your lip, wondering what his lack of comprehensible words and his careful touch could mean, you can bet that you’ll come to the same conclusion; nothing, all of this means nothing and you’re thinking too deep into it like you always do. You don’t imagine his brain can form too complex thoughts at the moment, taken over by the primal base of needing to fuck and being clouded in dope. So, you feel it, feel the slimy glob of saliva that he expels from his mouth, you feel the way it dribbles filthily down to your fluttering hole and the pad of his finger catches it before he presses into you and you’re gasping sharply at the intrusion.

“Ohh….yeah.”

“Need to stretch you out,” he says, his finger dragging and chafing across your walls torturously, as you suck him in with every languid pull. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers, gonna be fucking delicious around my cock, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah? Fuck, you got me so hard baby.”

His finger is thick, so fucking thick and long that you feel him so wholey, when he slips another finger in, your hole stretching barely to accommodate the extra width, pumping them out in a quicker succession that has you trembling and keening. His thumb pressing between the lips of your cunt, flicking fast across your clit as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, curling them to brush against the barrier of your walls; driving you closer and closer to that steep-cliff edge. He’s got you completely at his will like this, persistent and vigorous with the way he’s pleasuring you and his words only send you reeling further. “You’re so fucking hot like this, almost ready to take my fat cock.” The sounds are downright obscene, moist squelches that follow the drag of his fingers and ring continuously in your ears. He’s got you like this, so wet, so ready, so desperate, teeth bruising at your lips in the hopes that you can curb the volume of your moans, fiery curses and the shameless whines of his name. “I should really use three fingers huh…you’re so tight, but you like it don’t you, little fucking slut loves it when it hurts.”

A strangled noise bubbles at the back of your throat as the term shudders through you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Close?”

“So so close,” you breathe.

He hums contentedly and before you know it everything's amplifying, the stress of his thumb increases to vigorous rubs, fingers pumping you raw, fast and rough, he’s shoving and jerking in and out of your cunt. And you’re sizzling, your skin is sizzling, the downpour of spring rain does nothing to cool you down and instead sinks and perspires like steam. Your eyes are screwed permanently shut whilst you feel it—everything, his insistent thick fingers, his breath fanning over your thigh arising goosebumps from the flesh, the fact that you both must look like a picture to passerbyers and ceasing to give a shit. Everything is too much and yet not enough. “Need, need—” You jolt.

Nothing. “Fuck.”

The feeling of emptiness crashes too suddenly when he pulls away from you completely, dismissing your oncoming climax, drifting you into a harsh halt that has you shivering, limbs rattling uncontrollably and gasping laboriously for air to fill your lungs. Briefly, you wonder if this is how it must feel for him, when he’s coming down from a high and sinking into reality, the dizziness, the numbness, the cold that invades you like violent waves. It makes you crave, crave for more, another sinful taste, to return to the overwhelming heady feels of beautiful pleasure. And you get it. His touch does nothing to calm you, searing in their trail to land at your waist, clasp persistent at tugging you closer and resting his forehead against yours.

“Christ Jungkook, that—” Words fail on you, fumbling at the tip of your tongue in the depth of the haziness surrounding you. It’s at this point that you know you’d do anything to have him, to prompt him in completing the wreckage he’s caused. “—that.”

His chest must be blooming in pride at your appearance, flushed and glazed wet, knowing he is still to make a mess of you. “You need time?” He asks, and his voice plays distorted and far in your ears, like he’s miles away from where you feel him.

You shake your head hastily, hands clasping the sides of his face to ground you from the shudders of elation. “No—no, fuck me now, like it when I’m sensitive.”

“God, you’re so fucking good.”

His mouth crashes against yours and there’s nothing tame about it, nothing that flutters at your heart, and releases butterflies to cause ruckus in your stomach. It’s raw and it’s carnal and it’s thrilling enough for you to understand why you love it, your teeth clacking together, lips squashing and merging, as he kisses you chaotically; messy licks into each other’s mouths, heads ducking and lolling about as you push and fight for dominance, his teeth, sharp and purposeful, sinking piercingly on your bottom lip until you submit. He draws blood and the tang of iron on your taste pallets has you feeling heady. His kisses, unloving and brutal, are still as ever breathtaking. And they travel, fleeting across your skin, curving at your jaw and making home in the nook of your neck. He pulls at the elasticity of your skin, scraping and sucking at it and your hands make work at his trousers.

“No marks.” You rush out in haste, yanking his trousers and boxers down. “No marks—Fuck.” You’ve got a leg wrapped around his waist, hands locked behind his neck when he sinks you onto his cock, mushroom head stretching at your hole painfully and it burns, supine heat that inflames your insides because his cock is so fucking big that no matter how well or not he preps you, your walls will always quiver at the girthy drag. “Fuck, you’re so big, oh my god.”

“Take me so well though—” His mouth is pressed at the crevice above your collarbone as he hums, bottomed out inside you, and waits. “—tight little bitch taking every inch of my cock.” Jungkook doesn’t listen to you though, never does, his mouth plucks and draws out marks of his stake on you that are always a pain to excuse. But you’re too far gone to care, all you can feel is him, so full of his cock that nothing else matters.

You clutch at him tighter. “Move, move, want you to fuck me hard Jungkook, make it hurt.”

The sensitivity of having him inside you hits when you feel his cock twitch at his words, you feel the rapid tiny sway, pressing him deeper and your breath hitches shakily. “Yeah. You want me to fucking ruin you, show you who you belong to?”

“Yes.” His cock slides out, the forceful resistance leaving you aching until it’s only the tip left and he’s bottoming out again, rocking slowly. “Yes—oh, fuck Jungkook, please.”

“You like that?” He grunts. “Like when I fuck you slow, when I make you feel every fucking inch of my fat cock.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

The pace is agonising, leaving you feeling almost barren for moments that last too long. He’s fucking you deep, dragging out every single second, every inch so you feel it, so that it takes over and you’re mewling and whimpering pathetically. His hips slam into yours, lodging his cock, pressing it further and you’re drowning in it, like this it feels like forever, like you could be stuck in his arms and you wouldn’t mind it one bit. Have him biting at your skin, fingers bruising on your body, have him loving you. The thought itself is daunting, how much you want it, and it’s unfair he’s giving you this teaser, plunging his cock into you unhurriedly almost as if he wants this to last as well—almost. Not enough. “More,” you beg, the intensity is burning at you and you might just fall apart if he continues at this. “Please need more.”

He chuckles. “Always want more, don’t you? want me to fuck you fast, fuck you and own you like a pretty slut.”

You nod. Yes.

“Fuck, turn around.”

It’s quick now and the excitement of that roars at you, as he swivels you around, bending you over, stomach pressed up onto a metal bar and your legs spread behind you. There’s no restraint, and he’s thrusting into you without prior warning, hands tight on your hips as he begins to pound into you, how you’ve both wanted it. “Ah yes yes yes.”

He’s hammering into you, frantic and possessive, his cock filling you out and keeping you blissed as he brushes at your cervix, prodding, probing, adrenaline unwavering. And the sheer brute force reminds you exactly where you are, the merry go round you’ve been perched on, lurching at his actions, swinging you around in a way that makes you dizzy as the scene around you blurs. It’s unhygienic and filthy, the rain that falls causing the sound of your skins slapping together just that bit more raucous, and your skin feels murky with the mixture of your sweat dribbling down your face.

“Fuck, your cunt is so fucking good.” His palm splays at your stomach, the other prying at your wrist forcing an arm behind your back, as he re-adjusts himself, never ceasing up on you. “All mine, you take cock like a fucking slut, just for me huh.”

The whimpers tremble at your lips and your back arches away from him and it’s maddening. He’s got you so under his control, your thoughts are clouded with nothing but him, and he’s fucking you so so good, it hurts. “Fuck I— ngh, yes. All for you.”

“I know. My. Pretty. Slut.” His words are punctuated with steely thrusts, stealing your breath and choking you up with every one.

Your body is trembling, and you can feel the way the tension tightens in a loop as he continues to fuck into you with vicious intent, you’ll feel him tomorrow, you know it, feel the weight of his cock inside you, feel his balls, heavy and full slapping against you. His fingers reach to press at your neck, clenching tight and pushing further and further, you itch to scratch at his grasp and give you back the breath that he’s taking from you, the blood pounds at the back of your neck as you struggle and struggle and he pushes further. You’ll feel it and need him again, like a drug. When you’re so heady, you match his wavelength, floaty and submitted to the throes of hedonism. And the comedown is like a bullet train, the crown of his cock angling to hit right there, the spot that has you screaming his name as the loop snaps and you lose your breath. Everything is white noise, humming and buzzing as he chases the peak of his orgasm, cum released into you, string after string and he holds you. His arm loops beneath your breast holding you back onto his chest, tight, unwilling to let go.

“Don’t go.”

You won’t. Tomorrow, you promise. Tomorrow.

3K notes · View notes

lordeasriel · 4 years ago

Note

1, 5 (another one please), 6, 7, 12?

thank u much!

1) What is your favorite fic you have under your belt? What Yet Lingers, The Delamare Dinners and I Like it When You’re Gone. I know this is mild cheating but these are three different fics in style and I’m very proud of the three of them. My ultimate favourite would be What Yet Lingers, though.

5) What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics? One headcanon I always use as well is the Delamares being Swiss. While there is a high they are actually canonically Swiss, it’s - wow surprise lol - never confirmed, but I like that very much, so I run with it.

6) What’s the detail you wait on bated breath for readers to notice? Because What Yet Lingers is a story that runs alongside the books - all of them - it has a lot of ‘hidden’ details that tie with the trilogy. Dorothea was originally created because of the last scene in LBS, when Malcolm and Alice are in a pharmacy iirc, and they think the man is trying to convince them to stay because his wife went for the police. The wife, in that case, became Dorothea who goes on to tell Oakley Street about the kids and the rest is history.

In All Those Sacred Touches, Asriel mentions he has a meeting with the secretary general of La Maison Juste, and how she is going to throw him to the wolves. I didn’t expect people to know who I meant, but I used she intentionally, because in that AU Marcel is Oakley Street, and Glenys Godwin heads La Maison Juste. No one seemed to notice it lmao Or no one cared enough idk.

7) How much do you like symbolism in your fics? Depends on what I’m writing, style wise. In Original Sinner I use some biblical references, Michael’s death (which I regret a bit because Michael would technically be the Authority, as he was the First Angel iirc) and the fall of the angels bringing the new dawn, which was to match Xaphania’s role as Lucifer. I don’t like too much symbolism, used all the time and with no common sense, because I feel like it cheapens the text and it becomes idk, forced? Empty philosophy? Something like that. It does depend on what style I’m going for, regardless. There are many allusions to small birds and colourfulness regarding Dorothea, because of her daemon, especially.

12) What’s the hardest thing to write for you? Sex, no doubt. I need a deep spark of inspiration to actually write proper smut and when I do, I’m rarely happy with the result. I think writing erotic stuff is a genre skill on its own, and not only I’m picking in writing that, I’m also picking in reading it as well. For me, it’s all about making a constant line of thinking, if you - for a single moment - disconnect the reader from the action, you lose that thunder of ‘this is hot’ and it can quickly become ‘this is cringe’. I also think that I often write too much action in smut, and I’m more of a psychological narrative type of writer. You can’t write about an existential crisis when a dick is being swallowed, I think lmao

Which is why I think I succeed more in writing steamy stuff; you can afford a feverish narrative in just steamy scenes.

#asks #ask game #thank u so much for the ask bb!#cozcat

4 notes · View notes

fallintomyhands · 4 years ago

Photo

Blacked out card for @barisifandomevents !

Fake Relationship: Dreams – Asmodesgold (M)

· Barba gets the flu. Carisi gets more than he bargained for. A sweet, soft fic full of longing and loving care.

Wedding: In Vino Veritas – etothepii ( E )

· A bachelor party, a wedding, late nights in the office, and confusion. One of my favorite fics of Carisi figuring himself out, featuring a lot of unique but realistic situations, tenderness and heat, angst, and hopefulness. A fandom must read.

Alternate Universe: The Primitive and Sanctified – Konigsberg ( E )

· Demons exist, unbeknownst to SVU… except the members counted amongst their ranks. This is one of my favorite stories of all time, and please don’t let the supernatural elements (or the fact this is sadly still a WIP) “scare” you away! The “monstrous” elements are used to perfectly capture characterization, and this is the most tender fic I’ve ever read. Makes you want to crawl into the soft, dreamy feelings and live there forever. Please give this a shot if you haven’t already; perfection.

Crack Fic: Overstepping – rellkelltn87 (M)

· A raid on a real-life mad scientist goes horribly wrong, and ends with Carisi “in a family way.” I never thought I’d see an mpreg story in this fandom that could come off so believable, but this author works miracles (in a much kinder way than her characters!) Part casefic, part romance, all suspense, don’t pass this one up, you will not be disappointed!

Based on a Movie: Do Monsters Dream? – bourgeois ( E )

· Shape of Water AU in which Sonny works at an aquatic research facility and meets someone special. Takes place in a timeline where we see Carisi struggling after the Tom Cole incident, heart wrenchingly portrayed through his losses, personal and professional, and his meeting of another lonely, imprisoned soul. Beautifully written, absolutely captivating prose, wistful, heartfelt and magical.

Animals: Yuletide by the Fireside – Juniperhoot

· First Christmas with a new love, and unfortunately a new, smaller paycheck. Tenderness, cozy domesticity, and the most adorable dog ever singing along to bad TV music numbers; what more could you want? If your answer was ‘thoughtful characterization’ – that’s here too!

First Date: Everything Seems a Little Bit Sweeter – rafaelbaseball, burgeois

· Barba is obsessed with a YouTube chef, and enters a contest to meet him for dinner. One of the earliest fics I was obsessed with. The whole series is lovely, and the actual date is so tentative and lovely it makes my heart clench. Barba finding himself not in the age group of Sonny’s fans is painfully relatable and a stroke of genius.

Carisi Family: A Healing Year – Adrianna_m_scovill (M)

· A year in the life of Barba and Carisi, in which Barba faces his insecurities and begins to heal, and to love. A fantastic story from start to finish, with top notch characterization and intense emotions, steamy sex, and everything in between. I chose this for my family fic not just because there’s a lovely holiday spent with the Carisi family, but because the fic also embodies how Carisi manages to make everyone in his life his family. Utterly captivating story from an author that always makes an emotional impact.

Soulmates: Choose To Be With You – Robin Hood

· Sometimes the person who has your heart doesn’t have your soul. Great take on the soulmates trope, heartfelt, heartbreaking, mature. Insightful characterization of both characters, but especially Carisi, who faces an impossible situation, and reacts exactly how I believe the character would do.

Get Together: Noche Sin Estrella – Lambnoire

· Casefic in which Barba is injured, and Carisi figures something out about himself when his protective streak becomes something more. A pretty much perfect fic; perfect characterization, strong and realistic casefic, recurring canon characters that feel true to themselves, whump that expresses the right amounts of terror without delving outside the scope of the show, and a slow burn journey of romance and self-acceptance that is meticulously paced, utterly realistic and hits every emotional mark flawlessly. Now that it’s back, make sure you don’t miss out.

Break Up: Every Time We Touch – OblivionCastro

· Soulmate AU where the touch of your partner gives you pain. A 5+1 fic, a soulmate fic, but mostly, a lyrically written story of enduring pain and enduring its loss. A wonderful metaphor for the agony of love and loss that brings me to tears every time.

Secret Relationship: Pink (& Other Promises) – leslielol

· Barba and Carisi fall together, and decide to keep it under wraps for a while; results vary. A common premise with uncommonly good prose. Vivid, lyrical language wraps around a soft story about affection, subterfuge, and acceptance. A very different look at Barba and Carisi than the author’s main fic, but no less enduring and amazing.

WIP: Much Farther To Go – nukablastr (M)

· The threats on Barba’s life have been declared a cold case, but Carisi decides to do some investigating on his own to protect the man he loves. This is the third part of a long series detailing the “missing” events in S17, and exploring beyond into “what could have been” if this major plot hadn’t been dropped. I added part 3 for the WIP, but recommend reading from the beginning. This story is expertly paced and plotted, and feels absolutely like it could be a piece of canon. One of the seminal works of the barisi fic fandom; read it if you haven’t.

Shadowing: Mind if I Sit Down? – Larkin21 ( E )

· Another episode tag based story from S17, featuring Carisi and Barba entering into a casual relationship behind the scenes. There’s not really many (or any!) full stories of Carisi shadowing Barba, but I was glad to be able to include this series, which features a full chapter on the shadowing episode. Again, I recommend reading the entire series, as it’s full of fantastically written plot and characterization, seamlessly weaving deep insights on the characters and blisteringly hot sex into the best seasons of the show. Another not-to-be-missed series!

Get Together: I’m gonna leave it all out there to dry – littleblacksubmarine ( E )

· Carisi is barely keeping it together, and Barba is waiting to be allowed to help; a story of depression, self-loathing, comfort and devotion told through incredibly poignant intimate and sexual encounters. An unusual depiction of a very dark Sonny, and a protective, self-sacrificing Rafael who’s there for him every painful step of the way. Amazing story that captures perfectly some very different aspects of the characters than we typically see, and still feels 100% true. This story has broken and healed my heart so many times.

Holiday: Pass Here and Go On – abogadobarba

· After the events of Undiscovered Country, Barba and Carisi reconnect, by chance, on a train of all places. Full of atmosphere, literary references, and some of the best prose in the fandom. This story is pure poetry, creating a tone of loneliness and longing, the sense of expanse and yet confinement that only travel can bring, and ultimately peacefulness and hope.

Alternate Career Rafael: In This Light – Astronaut_Milky (M)

· Barba is a photographer, Carisi is a model, both men destined to keep finding… and losing, each other. Beautiful, sexy story about two men whose jobs keep bringing them together, and tearing them apart, full of light and heat and beautiful people and beautiful imagery.

Undercover: Have You Ever Wished For An Endless Night? – minnesotamemelord

· Carisi goes undercover at a high-powered legal event, and runs into someone familiar. A look at Sonny getting to go undercover at a nicer event than we normally see! Well written characterizations, and some interesting contemplations on unique issues, such as Carisi’s opinion on wealth and the wealthy that felt so spot on I immediately felt they were canon. Also, poor Rafael; he has such terrible friends!

5+1: We Had No Haste – alwaysbuddy

· Carisi and Barba meet over and over in the most coincidental of places, but succumb to their own insecurities. Breathtaking story about two should-be fated lovers who continue to meet and connect over a multitude of vacations, but can’t bring themselves to reach for what they want, until they fear it may be too late. Gorgeous, atmospheric, romantic and sad, in equal measure, with an ending that’s happy, but still exudes a sense of so much lost time. This fic haunts my thoughts in the best ways.

Cooking: Sustenance – AhumanFemale, tiberius (E )

· Barba’s friends buy him a live-in chef for a time, so he can stop living on pretzels and coffee. Sweeping piece of art that exudes sensuality and the feel of time slipping through your fingers.

First Meeting: Here and Now – wormghoul

· Barba and Carisi meet, and have a whirlwind romance, at LSAT camp before being parted until they meet again at SVU. The imagery and language used in this story has stuck with me for a long time. Shockingly, wrenchingly accurate descriptions of the feelings of holding memories dear, “as a talisman,” and the devastating feelings of having them torn away from you by reality… but also the hope that they can be made anew.

Crack Fic: It’s Not Too Late/Gag Order – cupidmarwani

· Carisi has a superpower, and has reached the end of his rope. Carisi has seen too much, and has the power to burn it all down. Barba wants to save him, but has to face stark reality. Short, intense story about the toll Carisi’s job takes on him, and how he becomes one of the monsters that he used to fight. Depressing, heartbreaking, terrifyingly relatable, this is an overlooked gem.

Confession: Him. – keraunoscopia

· Carisi struggles with his sexuality and internalized homophobia, and seeks aid from the Church. Quiet, powerful, painful, and so, so beautiful.

Domestic: Daylight – cypress_tree ( E )

· Carisi stays the night for the first time and Barba sees him in the sunlight. Short, sweet, hot. What’s more domestic than two people in love, unwilling to get out of bed and leave one another’s presence?

Fix It: Good Morning – Kaye_21 (M)

· A threat to Barba’s life does not end well – repeatedly! Another “supernatural” style fic that shouldn’t be overlooked, even if it’s not your genre. Barba, stuck in a room with Carisi and a man out to kill them both, needs to figure out what is required of him to prevent their deaths, before he loses his mind. Fantastic character study. Terrifying, sad, sexy and hopeful. I chose this one for “fix it,” since as barisi itself could be considered a canon “fix it” or missed opportunity, and this fic itself embodies Barba himself finding a way to be that fix.

#barisi fic rec bingo #barisi #fic recs

33 notes · View notes

believingispowerfulmagic · 4 years ago

Text

“Last Christmas”: An OQ Advent Fic

A/N: Happy First Day of OQ Advent! Looks like my streak of being on Day 1 continues! I hope you all enjoy this story, inspired by the classic Christmas song by Wham! It makes me itch to write an Outlaw Queen story every time I hear it and now I’m doing so. I hope you enjoy it!

I know this year hasn’t been a very good one for many, many reasons. But as we approach the end of it and look forward to a new year, I hope you find happiness and peace. Happy holidays, happy December, and good riddance to 2020!

“This is a great party, Regina. I am so glad you decided to have it this year,” Mary Margaret said, helping to throw away some dirty dishes that didn’t make it to the garbage cans Regina had set up around the lower level of her house.

Regina smiled, feeling lighter and jollier than she had in a long time. “It felt right, you know?”

“I do,” Mary Margaret said, setting the garbage pail down. She accepted some hand sanitizer from Regina as she added: “Daniel would be so proud of you if he could see you.”

“I’d like to think so. He always loved our annual Christmas party and I felt like I let him down the past couple years not having it,” Regina confessed.

Her friend shook her head. “I think he understood why you couldn’t have it. I think he would’ve been the same way if the situation were reversed.”

Left unsaid was how close that almost came to be. The firefighters and police who responded to their accident said that had the car rolled a couple inches to the right, Regina would’ve been the one who died while Daniel would’ve lived - and probably wouldn’t have required all the surgeries she had needed after being extracted from the wreckage of her fiancé’s car. One patch of black ice and a faulty airbag had taken so much from her in one fell swoop - the man she loved, her ability to have children and her love for the Christmas season. It was hard to believe in hope and joy when her life felt devoid of both.

Until now.

Now she had Graham.

Mary Margaret’s husband David had introduced her to him, though his intention was not to set them up. Graham had become his partner at the sheriff’s department around Christmas the year before and since he had just moved to town, David and Mary Margaret had invited him over for Christmas. They had done the same for Regina and so the four of them had a small and cozy Christmas together. She had spent the afternoon talking with Graham and for the first time in almost two Christmases, she almost felt cheerful.

She and Graham started to spend more time both with Mary Margaret and David and without them. Both agreed it was nothing serious, just two people who enjoyed each other’s company spending time together, occasionally overnight in the same bed. Around the summer, though, they decided to evolve their friends-with-benefits situation into an actual romantic relationship, agreeing to date each other exclusively. Fun beach dates and steamy nights soon turned into cozy autumn afternoons curled up under blankets and watching movies. With winter officially starting and the first snowfall predicted within a week, she was looking forward to ice skating dates and hot toddy nightcaps.

Most of all, she was ready to feel love, hope and joy again.

“I never thought I would see that smile again,” Mary Margaret said, pulling Regina from her thoughts.

“What smile?” Regina asked, tilting her head.

Her friend chuckled. “The I’m-so-in-love-and-very-happy smile. You used to have it all the time when Daniel was alive and then it went away. Now it’s back, so I’m guessing things are going well with Graham.”

“They are,” Regina replied. She looked around, making sure her boyfriend wasn’t lurking around to overhear what she was going to say. Even though she didn’t see him, she lowered her voice as she said: “Let me show you one of the things I’m getting him for Christmas.”

She turned around and opened a drawer on her hutch, pulling out a small thin box. Regina held it out to Mary Margaret as she removed the lid, revealing a silver keychain with his initials engraved on it. Two keys were already attached to it.

Mary Margaret gasped. “Are those the keys to your house?”

“Yes,” Regina confirmed. “Graham and I discussed him moving in when his lease is up at the end of January. So this is my way of formally inviting him to move in with me.”

“Oh, Regina!” she gasped. “That’s great!”

Regina nodded, putting the lid back on and returning her present back in its hiding spot. “I didn’t think I would feel this way again but I do. And I hope it never ends.”

“I am so glad,” Mary Margaret replied, hugging her. “And I’m also hoping that you could talk to someone for me about that.”

That surprised Regina and she pulled back from her friend. “You do?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Remember the new teacher I asked about inviting?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You said he had just moved here and didn’t know many people in the area.”

“Right. Well, he lost his wife earlier in the year so this is his first Christmas without her,” Mary Margaret explained.

Regina felt a pang in her heart, understanding the pain he had to be going through. That first Christmas without Daniel was the hardest and she had almost not even put up the decorations that year, not feeling able to celebrate. Mary Margaret had convinced her to put up one strand of lights and Regina had found comfort in them, spurring her to decorate the rest of the house in order to alleviate her pain for at least a month. It worked, though she still didn’t think she would ever truly be happy or celebrate Christmas again.

Yet here she was.

But she couldn’t imagine getting through that first Christmas without her friends, especially Mary Margaret and David. They supported her and were there for her through all her tears and fears, ready with a comforting word or hug. If she could bring some comfort to Mary Margaret’s new colleague, she would feel as if she was starting to pay it forward.

“I can talk to him,” she agreed. “Where is he?”

“Let’s go find him,” Mary Margaret said, taking Regina’s hand. She led her out of the dining room and across the foyer into Regina’s living room. All the other guests were in there, separated into their own little groups as they laughed and chatted while Christmas music played in the background.

Regina waved to those she passed before Mary Margaret came to a stop in front of Regina’s armchair. Sitting there was a man about their age who wore a dark green sweater over a white collared shirt and paired with black pants. He seemed startled, looking up at them with wide blue eyes. “Um, hi, Mary Margaret,” he said, revealing a slightly British accent.

“Hi, Robin,” she replied, pulling Regina forward. “I wanted you to meet my friend, Regina Mills. Regina, this is Robin Locksley.”

He stood and shook her hand. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home and this is a great party.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she said, though she wondered if he had been sitting in that chair since arriving rather than socializing.

Mary Margaret beamed. “I’m going to let you two get to know each other better. Excuse me.”

She left and Regina rolled her eyes, chuckling a bit. “Sorry about her.”

“That’s okay,” he said, though she noticed he stopped looking her in the eyes. He then shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t know what she told you but I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”

Regina played back her friend’s words and bit back a groan. This man didn’t know anything about her and so would no doubt assume their mutual friend was trying to set them up, which was the last thing he needed after losing his wife.

“I have a boyfriend,” she assured him. “You’ve probably met him, he’s around here somewhere. That’s not why Mary Margaret wanted us to meet. She, um, told me about your late wife and that this is your first Christmas without her. I have some experience with that.”

He raised his eyes to meet hers again, unmasked pain in them. “You do?”

She nodded, motioning toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”

Continue reading on FFN, AO3, or Wattpad.

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #oq advent #joqlly

6 notes · View notes