#alternative seating. just to have it ripped from beneath me

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

I cannot win today

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. TEASER a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. estimated around 12k

AUG'S NOTES. me and my inner thoughts… as a fic 😭 i cannot believe this is my longest writing yet!!! hopefully you enjoy!

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[thesakuragarnet]

Say My F*ck!ng Name (Spies AU)

Summary: Dabi feels the need to prove his loyalty to his partner.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! S3XUAL TAGS WILL BE HIDDEN BELOW THE KEEP READING BUTTON!

Non-Spicy Tags: Dabi X Fem! Reader, 3rd person POV, swearing, alternate universe (spies and secret agents), heavy smvt, smvt, established relationship

Word Count: 1,512 words

AO3 link

Spicy Tags: dom/sub, dom top Dabi, d0ggy style, over$t!mulation, vag!nal f!ngering, vag!nal s3x, quirk use during s3x, multiple 0rga$ms, praise k!nk, teasing, 0ral s3x, cunn!l!ngus

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

Her heart was racing. She couldn't find the briefcase. She'd looked everywhere. Under every seat on the plane. In the other hotel rooms. It was nowhere. She looks under the bed in her hotel room, making one last-ditch effort when she hears a pair of boots click behind her. 

"It's right here." His gravelly voice purrs as she stands up and whirls around. It's Dabi: her partner. Her lover.

"You mean to tell me you had it the whole time?! Are you even on our side anymore?!" She snaps, and, suddenly, his amused expression turns into a cruel, haunting stare. 

"Are you really doubting my loyalty to you?" He slowly asks, taking a dangerous step toward her that almost makes her fall backward onto the bed. 

"Uhh-I-" The woman stutters, but Dabi cuts her off, harshly grabbing her by the sleeve of her jacket. His face is mere inches from hers. 

"I guess I have to show you just how far I'll really go for you, princess," He chuckles darkly, and, in a split second, he's all over her. His hands harshly grasp fistfuls of the back of her leather jacket, threatening to rip it from her body as they passionately kiss. She sheds the jacket without breaking the kiss as he slips his warm tongue into her mouth, and his hands find their way to her breasts before he firmly grabs the edge of her tank top. 

RRRRRIIIP!

The sounds of ripping cloth cut through the air as Dabi tears the clothes right off her body, throwing the shreds over his shoulder as he unclasps her bra and tosses that aside as well. He breaks the sloppy kiss, shrugging his leather jacket off. 

"Clothes off. Get on the bed," Dabi commands without hesitation as he starts removing his shirt, and she hurriedly takes off her pants, barely slipping off her panties in time for her boyfriend to pounce on her. A deep, raspy laugh echoes through the room as he forcibly spreads her legs, his fingernails digging into her thighs as his alluring blue eyes gaze up at her; his lips are only a few inches away, purposefully teasing. He sighs, letting her feel his hot breath against her slit, and she shivers beneath his possessive stare. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to do something?" He smirks mockingly, pretending to be confused. His partner practically squirms, loathing the tension Dabi's drawing out. His eyes flicker from the lewd display in front of him back up to her face. 

"I don't think you're quite ready for that, yet," Dabi slowly sneers, taking his time as he climbs up over her until they're face-to-face, his hands on either side of her head. She sharply inhales as his tip brushes up against her clit, and Dabi's eyes show pure amusement. 

"You're really that down bad, huh, princess?" Dabi snickers before planting a lustful kiss on her lips. Slowly, he plants kisses down her chin to her neck, his warm tongue delicately tracing over her skin as he drags his rough hands down her body, stopping at her breasts. His girlfriend winces in pain as he sinks his teeth into her neck, biting just hard enough to not draw blood as his heated fingertips play with her nipples. A moan escapes her as he marks her skin until a trail of maroon splashes and bitemarks leads to her chest. Dabi stares up at her with a look of obsession as he starts sucking on her tit, teeth grazing the nipple as he continues to torture the other one with his fingers. Slowly, Dabi snakes his other hand down her body, and his partner gasps when she feels his fingers sliding up and down her cunt. He immediately pulls away from her. 

"Oh, you're definitely ready," The scarred man remarks curtly as he backtracks, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he gets on his knees. Before she can react, he pulls her legs over his shoulders and effortlessly plunges his tongue inside her, making her cry out his name. Her fingers run through his black hair as she feels the sweet combination of the cold staples pressing up against her inner thighs mixed with the indescribable warmth of his mouth. Dabi fluidly flexes his tongue, groaning at her taste as his eyes flutter shut. He replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, curling gently inside her as he presses his lips to her clit. Dabi's partner crosses her ankles behind his neck, locking him into her, and he swirls his tongue deliberately. His name falls from her lips, pitching higher and higher as he feels her tensing up around his grip. 

"Come for me, baby. I'm not gonna stop until you do, and even then I'm not gonna fucking stop," He hurriedly mutters between sloppy, torturous licks, slowly pumping his fingers inside her. 

"TOYA!" She screams her love's name in pleasure, hands turning to fists in the sheets as her body practically convulses with the climax. Dabi's eyes roll back into his head as he immediately grabs her stomach with his other hand, hungrily lapping her up like a starving animal. His girlfriend turns into a stuttering mess, her cheeks flushed and her body shaking as Dabi continues overstimulating her. Her rapid-fire high-pitched sighs slow down as he stops, clearing his throat before slowly slipping his fingers out of her. His partner trembles beneath his passionate gaze, staring up at him with wide eyes as he purposefully sucks his fingers clean of her and wipes the slick off of his mouth with his arm. 

"So fucking delicious," He huffs before standing up, giving her full view of his arousal. 

"Turn over. I'm gonna let you muffle your screams. You're not gonna be ready, but you're gonna love it," Dabi growls, and she complies, her body shaking as she gets on all fours. She cries out as he pushes into her inch by inch until they're skin to skin. His fingers trace down her spine, just hot enough to not blemish her skin, subtly threatening, yet, simultaneously representing intense trust. Without warning, his hips snap against her, his thrusts deep and intentional. Before she can scream, his hand wraps around the back of her neck, forcing her face into the pillow. 

"Safeword is water. Don't let me suffocate you, princess," Dabi pants loud enough to ensure she'll hear, and he sees her spastically nod beneath his grip. He squeezes her neck once before letting go, moving his hand back to dig into her thighs as he ruts into her. He can hear her muffled curses and moans. 

"Lemme hear you say my fucking name," He growls, picking up the pace as he lifts up a hand, spitting on his fingers before reaching around to rub circles on her clit. 

"TOYA!"

The word is unmistakable, even with the pillow, and it makes a cruel smirk spread across Dabi's face. He loves hearing her say it. She's the only one who's allowed to. He maintains his rhythm as he feels her tightening up around him. 

"Come for me. Be a good girl and come for me. Fuck, I love watching you fall apart. All for me," He groans lustfully, and he hears her faint moans growing louder and faster. He needs to hear her. Dabi reaches for her, tightly gripping her shoulder and roughly pulling her toward him so that her back is up against his chest. 

"Such a fucking good girl. Let it all out. Let those pretty little noises out for me," Dabi commands as he bends down to suck on her neck, one arm draped across her chest as he holds her up against him while his other hand continues to stimulate her swollen clit. His girlfriend moans over and over, and he breathes his name in as it falls from her lips. Dabi feels her clamping down on him, and it sends him over the edge. Slowly, he rocks his hips to a halt before pulling out of her, still keeping her locked in the safety of his arms. He leans back, slowly lying down on the bed, bringing her down with him as he nuzzles into the top of her head. She's shaking, practically stuttering from the overwhelming pleasure. She's impossibly warm and impossibly enamored. 

"Shhhh," Dabi hushes, releasing the harshness of his grip and gently rubbing her arms, trying to coax her down from the high as his own brain fog clouds his head. 

"W-we have to m-meet-" His partner starts stammering, and he turns her to face him, gently silencing her with a kiss. She melts into his tender embrace, hands lovingly tracing the scars on his arms and chest. Dabi breaks the kiss, his glowing cerulean eyes gazing into hers. 

"They can be on our timetable. We're the ones with the case. Get some rest," He murmurs, reaching down to yank the throw blanket over the top of them. She rests her head atop his chest, falling asleep to the sound of her lover's heartbeat. 

[weepingmill]

dinners served

——-

quick warnings before we begin.

cannibalism, self mutilation/self harm, mild gore, twinkle as food.

if scythe is uncomfortable with this being up i will 100% take it down immediately. thank you.

——-

twinkle hummed making their way to the kitchen. it was almost time to dinner. ms. Patricia had been busy with errands so it came down to her to feed herself and jay jay. she loved the little fella truly. but keeping the maverick under wraps especially at night was hard work. thankfully. she had found an alternative. it didn’t always work. but it kept her dreams horror free. and jay jay would stay in bed. maybe the maverick found it amusing. maybe it was just biding it time to actually eat her.

closing the door that led to the living room she locked herself in the small kitchen area. living above the cafe didn’t leave a ton of room. crouching down she opened a cupboard. grabbing the necessary tools for tonight’s recipe.

a meat dish would do just fine.

grabbing a white cloth she tied it around her neck. before pulling it up to her mouth. biting down on it, to muffle any sound that could come from her mouth. reaching down she grabbed the first tool. pulling up her pant leg she felt sweat go down her forehead as she braced for impact. the insicion was slow and careful. agonizing even. counting backwards she held in screams as she sawed it through. eventually practically ripping the damned thing out. there was no time for breaks. the adrenaline would only go away if she did take a moment to breathe.

grabbing the second tool she began slashing away. the meat cleaver going deeper than the carving knife could. she continued to hack until she felt the blade hit something hard.

a piece of her bone.

trying to regulate her breathing twinkle gulped down the bile rising in her throat. raising the cleaver again she struck. forcing the bone to break off. only a bit. enough so that she could still move. the homemade gag muffled her screams as her hands kept going pushing the cleaver until the skin was cut through.

with that she has successfully sliced through her calf. a piece of meat now ready to be prepared.

she practically fell back into the wall. her body trembled beneath her. taking in her surroundings. quite the mess was made. the blood on the floor and counters would have to be cleaned. thankfully the door was locked. if jay jay had walked in ever so curious. she wouldn’t know how to explain the state she was in.

after a few minutes of breathing she settled down on the floor and tended to wound. she could still walk and move with some pain and discomfort but it was enough. well. time to clean the meat.

——

jay jay ran down the stairs practically tripping over himself when he had heard that dinner was ready. a small bowl of stew had been left on the table for him. the sink could be heard from the kitchen. peaking in he only saw twinkle doing the dishes. twinkle waved and shooed him off to the table “go eat before it gets cold.”

fumbling into his seat jay shoveled some of the mystery stew in his mouth. flavor invaded his mouth as he chewed happily. “you got my favorite meat again!” jay jay said happily. he wasn’t sure what type it was. but twinkle said it was a secret. that the local butcher had sworn her to secrecy. he wanted in on the secret but twinkle always refused to spill.

“you should tell me what type is it so i can make twinkle something to!” jay jay spoke cheerfully through mouthfuls of food. a soft laugh just came from the kitchen. as the faucet turned off. “you don’t have to make it for me. besides as long as you can eat it why ask?” she spoke calmly.

wiping hydrogen peroxide once again over the knives for good measure before placing the bottle under the sink.

tonight’s dreams should be sweet.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Gene... My baby mama... I need... More alt!dream... Whatever you got fr. I just need more I'm.. I love him (probs not as much as you) but I love him

You're in luck bc I'm running on rip fuel for him. [ALSO I WROTE THIS BEFORE EVERYONE DID THE TECHWEAR STUFF FOR HIM I'M SORRY. I'LL GET IT IN NEXT TIME. I PINKY SWEAR.]

𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), language, semi-public sex, light mentions of needles, domination

previous part ♘ fanart that i can't stop crying over

recommended listening: Hi Frequency by Vague002

The bus swayed slightly, your grip on the cool bar tightening to keep you from knocking into Clay as it turned. The dark city outside the windows bustled with sparkling lights, catching your eye every few seconds. As more people filed into the cramped space, Clay grabbed your hand, looping your arms around his waist and smugly grinning as you fought not to blush. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Will this be your first time in a parlor?” He asked, voice low and raspy as he whispered to you, not wanting to disturb the other members of society who just wanted to get home after a long day of work.

You nodded your head, making him chuckle. You knew it would be a different experience, mainly because it was taking place during the tattoo shops “after hours,” which Clay had only briefly explained the benefits of attending. “What are you getting done again?” You asked, moving so your hands were holding onto his arm instead, fingers brushing against the exposed skin peeking from beneath the cut-up shirt under his dark jacket.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. Why don’t you pick?” He joshed, smirking at the way your eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to be responsible for a mark on you,” you murmured, making him snort.

He hooked his fingers into the neckline of his shirt, stretching it down enough to reveal the litter of hickeys peppering his skin that you had left the night before. Your eyes widened as you swatted away his hand, looking around carefully in hopes that no one had seen them. He looped an arm around your shoulders, loving the fact that you were so worried about the crowd when all he wanted to do was fluster you.

He pressed his lips to your cheek, the warmth of his body encompassing you. “I love it when you get all blushy,” he teased. “Seriously though, you should pick. I won’t look at it if I don’t like it,” he snarked.

You groaned lightly. “Clay, come on.” He brushed his lips against yours.

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he cooed almost mockingly, his nose moving to press into your hair.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying your best to remember what was already on his body. You thought about the impending reality that whenever he saw the new tattoo, his mind would linger on you, and for some reason, heat traveled to your ears at that thought. “Um… what about a bird?” You asked, voice uneasy as if on eggshells.

His face twisted into a pleased smile. “A bird?” He repeated. You shrugged beneath his arm, making him chuckle. “I like that. George likes doing bird tattoos too, so you might just make his night,” he added, his praise and approval making your stomach fill with confidence. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your shoulder. Your mind began to forget what the two of you probably looked like to the other people as his scent invaded your senses. “Will you hold my hand while I’m in the chair?” He joked.

You scoffed. “Are you gonna cry?” You teased, making him chuckle.

“No, I’m just clingy,” he answered without skipping a beat. Your grin was hidden in the soft corduroy of his jacket.

The tattoo parlor was nothing like you had expected. The door was locked behind you after a bouncer let the two of you in, the man leading you two up a staircase and into a dimly lit room. The sound of heavy metal music and the buzz of tattoo guns swirled together, echoing off the dark brick walls. You slipped your hand into Clay’s as he talked to the receptionist, your eyes attempting to focus on one detail instead of letting the atmosphere overwhelm you.

The thick layer of smoke above your heads made you scoff, realizing it was coming from the opposite corner of the shop, a hookah lamp sitting on a coffee table like an outstretched octopus. The people around it seemed to be discussing something rather intense, their haircuts sharp and defining almost as if they stepped out of some kind of alternative fashion magazine. There were three tattoo artists, each with a white lamp focusing on their work as they carried on to the beat of the music.

Clay’s description of the place flashed into your mind, making you realize just how off the cards the parlor actually was. Clay took a toothpick from the receptionist’s desk, taking it between his white teeth before being waved down by a shorter man with dark hair across the floor. You followed closely behind him as Clay greeted the man; you quickly realizing that this was the famous George.

As Clay shrugged out of his jacket, George pulled out a binder, standing beside you as he flipped to a page with scattered drawings of different flight poses of birds. Your eyes drifted away from the page as Clay’s arms came into view. His old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off was doing wonders for his biceps. Before you knew it, the two of you agreed on a mix of a few designs resembling a crow and Clay was laying on his back with his hand tucked behind his head. The spot he was filling was in the dead center of the flesh of his upper arm; a spot that George had grumbled about being awkward to reach, especially on someone as large as Clay.

You watched closely with curious eyes as George began to tattoo the design on Clay’s arm. Clay’s other hand was wrapped around the back of your elbow as you leaned on the chair at Clay’s side. His finger pads drew circles into your skin as you asked George about how he got into tattooing, making small talk here and there.

You liked George, mainly because he was quiet until he conjured up some kind of relentless backhanded comment. His tattoos revolved around a giant tree stretching from his back and down his arms. You wondered how long he had to sit for it and what the healing process was like. As he worked, his teeth played at his snake bite piercings, his dark eyes focused intently on the work in front of him.

Clay switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his hand tightening around your arm with a small groan as George reached a sensitive spot. “Don’t be such a pussy,” he grumbled, continuing his work. He stopped, cleaning off some of the sprayed ink and filling a new cap with grey. “You have any work, pretty girl?” He asked you, voice low and charming.

You shook your head, earning a small tsk from him. “This is the closest she’s been to a tattoo gun,” Clay prided, making George sarcastically raise his eyes.

“A total virgin, huh?” He joked, winking at you. “Dream’s not corrupting you, is he?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek trying not to blush. “I’m trying,” Clay leered, smirking at you with his smug ego hinting at his lips.

George bit back a laugh. “Don’t get horny in my chair,” he muttered, eyes trained on the lines he was scaring into Clay. “Speaking of, I heard you got busted up by Punz, and by the looks of it… seems right,” he commented, gesturing to Clay’s eye that seemed to have started fading finally.

Clay let out a dry laugh. “His ribs are still healing,” you added, making George smirk with a shake of his head.

“You know what all that’s about right?” George asked you, taking his foot off the pedal to grab more paper towels from his desk. You looked up at Clay whose jaw tense as he chewed on the toothpick. After you shook your head, George continued. “Punz’s sister is stupidly in love with Dream,” he plopped back in his seat, swiveling his chair, and drawing a hand through his locks, revealing the bleached undersection. You had the fleeting mental image of him tying his hair back to reveal it.

He pulled on a new glove. “Madly in love, huh?” You pried, twisting your chair closer to Clay’s shoulder. Clay rolled his eyes at the fact as if he had been bugged about it for years. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Clay,” you teased, and he looked up at you with a tired expression, making you bite back a giggle.

After George finished, you followed Clay through the door, breathing in the fresh air; or as fresh as it could be in the midst of the city’s industrial square. Clay’s fingers knitted together with yours as he led you down an alleyway, flicking aside the toothpick. You chewed on your lip in anticipation before he pinned you against one of the walls. His devious grin sent shivers down your spine as you looked up at him.

You swallowed. “Shouldn’t you take it easy? Let your arm heal a bit?” You asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper as his lips pressed against your neck. “Won’t it hurt a bit with your ribs, too?” Your heart hammered in your chest at the fact that someone could turn the corner and catch the two of you.

He chuckled against your skin, slipping his hands beneath your skirt to grip your ass. “I like the pain,” he mused, tongue grazing against your skin as he pulled your hips against his. He kissed you hungrily as if not being able to press his body against yours for that hour was too much for him. His hand dropped to wrap around the back of your knee, moving his own leg to prop your thigh up against his hip as your hands dug into his hair.

The friction from his jeans made you moan into his mouth as his hand moved beneath your shirt, fingers fitting beneath your bra to palm your breast. He mumbled praises against your lips at how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were.

He turned you, your hands planting against the coarse brick as he ground his hips against you. You bit your lip, trying not to be loud enough to draw attention to the two of you, which seemed to be the last thing on Clay’s mind as you heard him unbuckle his belt behind you. You could practically picture his cocky grin, controlling eyes set as his hand gripped onto your hips, shoving your underwear to the side. “You were so much fun to show off tonight,” he chided darkly, lips brushing against your shoulder. “Such a good girl.”

As he pushed into you, one of his hands moved to knot into your hair. He moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, tugging on your hair as he pulled your hips back against his. A low grunt tumbled from his lips as he set his rhythm, basking in the fact that you were secretly ready for him to ruin you as soon as you stepped into the parlor.

His fingers moved to wrap around your neck, the thought of his tattooed hand tightening around your pristine skin sent shivers through your body and heat flushing your cheeks, the tension in your body tightening. As he pressed you closer against the wall, you thought about the power he had over you; his height and build would make it easy for him to break you if he wanted, yet even as he pounded into you like he wanted you to forget your own name, the restraint he showed was enough to send you over the edge if you let yourself divulge in the thought.

Clay pulled out of you, only to turn you, your shoulders hitting the wall again with a soft thump as he hoisted you up ever so slightly, thrusting up into you as his hand dig into your thigh, the other resting against the brick beside your head. Your arms looped beneath his jacket, raking down his skin as you held onto him.

He groaned as your thighs tightened around him, making his hips stutter as if he were trying not to let himself finish too early. He dug is face into the crook of your neck, burying his teeth in your neck to stifle his grunts of your name. Your head tilted back against the brick, hand moving to tighten around the wrist that was beside your head for some kind of anchor.

His hand wrapped around your waist, driving himself deeper into you, brushing the part of you that needed him the most. You moaned, carding your fingers into his hair as he pressed his lips to yours roughly, wanting to taste your pleasure as it washed over you from his movements.

You tugged on his hair, making his cock throb inside of you, him finishing inside you with a low groan, his hips snapping against yours to stimulate a reaction from you. The feeling of his sloppy pleasure as his movements lost their rhythm sent your hips grinding against his, his teeth marking your shoulders as a reminder of his work on you.

Your toes curled, finally reaching your orgasm as he murmured dirty expressions of him ruining your pretty clothes against the wall. As he pulled out of you, your knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath you. You tried not to give off how much he had trashed you, but the warmth snaking down your thighs and your bliss-ridden mind proved otherwise.

Long story short, the bus ride home was rather interesting.

Dream Taglist: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @rat-poisin

[americxn]

Make Me Feel Again

⬩James helps the reader adjust to their new state as a ghost⬩ wordcount: 3.8k warnings: ice play, fingering, cunnilingus

The hard wood of the door was cold beneath the knuckles you rapped on its surface, the overly ornate neckline of the gown you wore prickling at your skin. Tipping back your head, you let out a prolonged exhale, forcing the tears that attempted to build in your eyes to dry. The air shifted as the door before you was pulled open, James’ face appearing before you. “Darling, you look ravishing.” He held out his hand expectantly and you gave him a tight smile, noting the slightly wary look on his own face.  “Come in. Take my hand.” He spoke softer than you had ever heard him speak before, his gentle tone almost coaxing those tears to form once more. Accepting the hand he offered you, James walked you into the room, his pace slow and considerate as he steered you for the large dining table in the centre of the space. “It will take some time for you to acclimate yourself to your new state.” He offered in attempted comfort. You hummed in response, if only to notify him that you had heard his words.   The chair that James pulled out for you was cold against the backs of your exposed legs as you sat, Miss Evers hurrying over to pour some deep red wine into the crystal goblet sitting before your empty plate. You couldn’t even muster the energy to thank her, opting for a gentle smile instead. She gave an understanding dip of her chin.

“How do you feel?” James asked sincerely, easing himself into a crouch before your chair. The hand he placed on your shoulder was cold. Hesitating, you pushed away the sarcastic answer you wanted to give him, instead sorting through your thoughts in order to find a somewhat coherent answer. “I don’t.” You finally answered with a shallow shrug. James peered up at you with a small frown. “It all just feels... empty. Cold, I guess.” You mumbled the last part, pulling your gaze from his and taking the glass of wine laid out before you, drinking deeply. “Ah, yes.” James pondered, pushing himself to his feet and pressing a casual kiss to your temple before meandering to his seat at the other side of the table. “You get accustomed to that feeling. And by the time you do, all of your other emotions will have returned. You will learn to feel again, granted not as passionately as before, but that isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You flicked your eyes up to his across the table, clearing your throat as you beheld the intensity in his dark gaze. The room fell into silence as James continued to survey you from across the space. You drank again, Miss Evers swooping in to furnish your empty plate with steaming food.  You thanked her, but had no intention of actually eating. Your stomach felt hollow but the thought of eating had a bundle of nausea unfurling in your gut. “You don’t have to eat.” James said quietly, understanding softening his usually hard features.  “Thank you.” You murmured. James began eating, his silence an offering of space for personal thought as you brooded from your spot on the other side of the table. “I never thought that I’d miss pain.” You eventually mused, reaching out to pull the closest candle holder to you. The heavy metal scraped against the table as you did so. James looked up once more, one of his eyebrows quirking up slightly as you held your hand over the flame, bringing the burning wick closer and closer to your skin. The pain didn’t register, causing your heart to sink. “Pain becomes...neutralised.” James tried. “What hurts will hurt, just to a much smaller extent.” Pulling your hand away from the candle, you sighed once more, pushing it back to its original place on the table. James shot Miss Evers a look as your shoulders curved inwards, your elbows coming to rest on the table before you, a perfect portrait of numb sorrow. Miss Evers moved quickly, taking away both yours and James’ plates before hurrying from the room. Your chin wobbled slightly as James stood, his face falling into deep thought as he pulled a cigarette out of his engraved silver case, pausing briefly to reach over and light it on one of the candles on the table before hurriedly sucking on it to ignite it fully. “Darling...” He drawled, the undertones of empathy hidden in the word causing you to look at him. You swiped at your cheek with the back of your hand as a single tear fell, brushing it away before it was given the chance to track down your face. Perching before you on the corner of the table, James offered you his cigarette, holding it to your lips. You accepted, taking a deep drag before leaning back into your chair. “I know that it means very little to you now. But eventually you’ll begin to forget what living emotions feel like. They’re replaced by easier ones in death, just give them time to develop.” You smiled tearily at him, appreciating his words and taking comfort in them. Your smile quickly faded. How long would that take? You had only been dead for a day, and the utter emptiness within your chest was suffocating. You felt as if you had been reduced to a hollow husk, a shell of your former self. The thought devoured any hope that James had just ignited within you at his words. “Help me feel again.” You blurted, desperate for any solution to the abysmal fate that you now had to endure. James puffed on his cigarette in thought. “And how am I to do that?” He ventured. “I don’t know, I just... I want your comfort.”  It was true, and the words seemed to settled in the space between the two of you. You and James had known each other for a long time and had often displayed your affection towards one another: stolen kisses in dimly lit corridors, his hand brushing against yours beneath the bar as Liz served the two of you drinks. You liked James, and his own affection for you was undeniable. Amidst all of this, now seemed like the perfect opportunity to become closer with James. What else was there really to do in this retched hotel for all of eternity? With another drag of his cigarette, James surveyed you with curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned your confession over in his mind.  “You said that you felt cold?” He enquired, pushing off the table and walking slowly for the low counter he had pushed against the wall, its surface covered with large crystal decanters filled with various alcohols. “Yes.” You confirmed, watching him as he poured a glass of bourbon, pausing to drop some ice cubes in it before turning to you. “Feeling cold isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You huffed half-heartedly at his words, your eyes drifting to the surface of the dark wood table before you.  James’ pace was lingering as he slowly meandered back to where you sat, alternating between taking sips of his drink and pulling on his cigarette, his brow creased with the potency of his own thoughts.  “I’ll show you.” He went on, pausing by the table and reaching over to snub out the butt of his cigarette on the small ashtray that resided in the centre. You raised your chin, frowning slightly in question. “Come here.” He said, glancing to you before taking another drink. You stood slowly, confused, but did as he asked and walked to stand before him. “You want to feel?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, the scent of alcohol stark on his soft breath that settled over your face “Yes.” You breathed.  He smirked slowly, draining the last of his drink, the empty glass clutched in his pale grasp.  Leaning down, he caught your lips with his in a kiss so brief that were unsure that it actually happened. Your breath caught as he pulled away, stepping around your body so that you stood between him and the table, pressing his body against yours, the backs of your legs hitting the edge of the table as he herded you towards it. Your stomach fluttered, your pulse quickening. He seemed to sense the physical change of your body as his hand reached up, his head cocking slightly as he trailed his thumb from your collarbone up to the side of your neck, pressing the pad of his thumb into your pulse point and letting out a small sigh through his nose. You were frozen under his touch, trying to anticipate his next move as he leaned closer, placing his empty glass by your thigh before moving his hand from your neck to your chest, pushing slightly. You fulfilled his unspoken request, pushing yourself onto the edge of the table and parting your legs slightly, pleased when James followed your invitation by placing himself between your open thighs. “How -”  “Hush now. You want to feel don’t you?” He cut you off, his face once again coming so close to yours that you could taste his breath. You swallowed but nodded, James’ lips turning upwards slightly as he tracked the movement in your throat, pleased at your responsiveness. “Then let me tend to you.”  You fell silent, your eyes never straying from his as he reached around your body, his fingertips cold as they hooked into the low-cut back of your dress. The sound of the material tearing filled the room as James, with one swift, effortless tug, ripped your dress apart, the material falling open and pooling around your hips.  The front of the dress collapsed, It’s strapless bodice flopping forwards to reveal your bare chest to him. Your eyes were wide, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cover your modesty, not as James’ dark eyes turned positively feral at the sight of your tits that were already becoming heavy with lust under his scrutiny.  One of his hands moved from where it hovered at your back, up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into the bottom of your hair. Pulling back, James tugged his tight hold on your scalp, forcing you to follow his pull off the table. The rest of the ruined dress fell to the floor before James tugged again, harder this time. You reigned in your gasp of surprise at his sudden roughness, meeting his stare with confidence.  James smiled easily as he used his grip on your hair to seat you back onto the table before untangling his fingers from your hair and pushing you by the shoulders so that you lay flat on the table. You shuddered, all predictions of what James’ next move would be evading you. The ice in his empty crystalline glass clinked against each other as James picked it up from the table, leaning down over your body. The fabric of his clothes was soft against your exposed skin and you braced your hands on his shoulders as his face came into view above yours. The next kiss that he planted on your lips was soft, exploratory and idle. There was nothing that you could do but lay still under James, allowing him to brush his lips against yours over and over again, the pace with which he ever so slowly deepened the kiss intoxicating, lost in his curious inspection of your mouth. In truth, James truly was lost in the warmth of your lips as they pressed against his. It had been years since he had first fantasied about how you would feel, how you would taste, against his lips and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity to divulge in the reality go to waste. Eventually, when you arched up slightly into him, your naked chest pressing into his, James pried your lips open with his tongue, pushing into your awaiting warmth and taking his time in exploring you there, too. You kissed him back, feverish under the gently stroking ministrations of his tongue as is swept against yours again and again. When he pulled away, a low groan worked itself up from the back of your throat, much to James’ pleasure, whose cock stiffened ever so slightly at the sound you produced due to his touch. “James, please do something.” His cock shot up fully at that, his brain recording your words and storing the memory of your breathless tone in a dark pocket of his mind to replay whenever he pleased. “Patience, dearest, is something that you will need a lot of in the afterlife.” You huffed at his avoiding statement, allowing your back to fall fully onto the cold surface of the table once more. You lifted your head when the sound of the ice cubes in James’ glass once again rang through the room, watching as he reached in, plucking up a single half-melted piece of ice from the glass with his fingertips. James glanced at you, ensuring that were watching before placing the ice on the base of your throat. You gasped, the coldness of the ice numbing your skin almost instantly and seeping into you. Placing the glass back down, James leaned over you one more, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to your lower lip, then your chin and then another on the column of your throat. Trailing his lips down even further, his teeth closed on the ice and your pussy flooded with wetness when, using his mouth, James traced the ice to your collarbone, drawing a line of wetness along the length of it before slowly trailing it to your other collarbone. Your breathing became more and more laboured as James dragged the ice across your chest, painting your skin pleasantly numb. His hands found your hips as he pressed himself further in between your legs, undeniably aroused by your gasped reactions and gripping onto your flesh. Any coherent thought faded from your brain as James slowly moved up the slope of one of your tits, every nerve of your being zoning into the coldness of the ice as he pushed it up, up, to the peaked mound of your nipple. You bowed into his touch, refrained from allowing your fingers to settle into his carefully groomed hair as he circled the ice around your areola, taking care not to allow the cold wetness to touch the sensitive bud of your nipple. “God, James.” You whined, luxuriating in his bodily warmth that settled into your skin from his close proximity a top you, an invigorating contrast to the frigid touch of the ice. James let out a small groan of his own as he moved over to your other tit, pushing the ice in looping circles at the base of your breast and slowly moving them inwards, his circles getting tighter and tighter until you could feel the coldness radiating off the ice on your nipple. You hadn’t noticed when one of his hands lifted from your hip, too lost in the sensations your sensitive skin was pleasurably subjected to, the loss of his large hand not registering. It was only when he moved the sparse material of your panties to one side, placing another shard of ice directly on your clit, when you gasped in surprise. He held it there for several moments, allowing the ice to thoroughly cool the glistening bud before trailing it down to your opening. You groaned loudly when he pressed the ice against your entrance, inserting it into you and pushing it deep with a single finger. “Fuck.” You hissed, James withdrawing his finger and replacing the material of your panties back in their proper position, ensuring that the ice was held into you by the close fit of your underwear. You squirmed under him, your nails digging into his jacket-clad shoulders, much to James’ delight, who continued to swirl the ice cube caught between his teeth across your skin, goosebumps raising across every inch of your chest in lieu of his ministrations.  Pulling away, James looked at you, your eyes flicking down to meet his as he moved slowly up to your face. You shuddered when he lifted a hand to your chest, running his rough fingertip through the trails of wetness he had made. Your eyes flicked to his wet lips, the soft flesh glittering in the candle light as he lowered his mouth to yours, depositing the ice cube between your own lips. The coldness settled onto your tongue as you accepted his offering, pushing it up with your tongue to catch it between your own teeth. “Keep that there until it melts.” You groaned in response to his lowly spoken words, his touches on you so erotic that your pussy clenched around the ice in your cunt, which had started to burn pleasantly between your legs. Reaching down, his cool fingers hooked into the waist line of your panties, James’ eyes flicking to yours once more he pulled them down your legs in one smooth motion. The tip of your tongue nudged against the ice between your teeth, wishing that it was James’ mouth or cock you were tasting as the steadily melting water dripped slowly down the length of your tongue, settling in the back of your throat. The thought pulled a low rumble from deep within you. It was matched by James kneeling between your legs as he pulled apart your cool lips, surveying the mixture of ice water and your own juices that glimmered there. “Magnificent.” He breathed, the war, exhaled air making you whimper quietly as it settled onto your cold skin. He hummed lowly, reaching out his tongue and nudging at your clit. You tensed at the tiny touch, letting out a breathy sigh when he pulled away once more. “Please.” You moaned, the ice in your mouth muffling the word slightly. James chuckled. “Like I said, darling, patience is detrimental.” You groaned, wiggling your hips in the hopes of inviting him to touch you with his tongue again. “But look at how pretty your cunt is.” Your mind emptied at his crooned words, what was left of the ice cube slipping from your opening and falling to the floor as your pussy pulsated in response to the growled appraisal. “I wonder if its as delicious as I’ve dreamt it to be.” His words settled over you, causing even more wetness to leak from your slit. James purred at the sight, closing the inch of space between your cunt and his nose and finally drawing a long, slow sweep of his cold tongue up your centre.  “Yes.” You groaned, your back lifting of the table as his hand settled onto your lower abdomen, holding your hips still as he buried his face into you, unleashing himself with ravenous intent on your clit. You mewled with pleasure, the sudden barrage of his tongue on your clit sending strong jolts of satisfaction through the entirety of your body.  “Oh god.” You moaned, breathless as James continued to lap at your cunt, sucking and nipping at your clit. His fingertips nudged at your entrance and you attempted to push your hips up into them in encouragement, James’ chuckle at your efforts causing you to gasp and fall limp under him as it rumbled through your pussy. He pushed two fingers in, curling them instantly and expertly brushing the rough pads of his fingertips against the spot hidden within you that had your toes curling. The ice in your mouth continued to melt as a result of your heavy, warm pants, the water dripping down your throat as James continued to work you with his tongue and fingers, his tongue still cold on your pussy from the ice and his fingers warm in dizzying contrast. You moaned his name. James’ cock twitched in response, his name falling from your lips fuelling him to push another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you at a steady pace whilst his tongue worked tirelessly on your clit, each stroke, circle and carefully calculated nudge of his tongue ripping away a layer of the ball of pleasure in your gut, the orgasm hidden at its centre his goal. The ice fell from your teeth, its body too small now to hold onto and settling into the pocket of your cheek where it quickly melted away into nothingness. “James. Yes, yes, yes. James.” A wave of heat rolled through you as your release neared, James’ fingers quickening their pace in your pussy as his tongue maintained its steady lapping at your wetness. “I’m - James...” He detached his tongue from you at the desperation of your words.  “Yes, darling?” He purred, slowing the pace of his fingers, waiting for you to say the words that he had waited years for you to say to him. “I’m gonna cum.” A feral grin spread across James’ wet lips, his fingers once again quickening their pace, curling and twisting within you. Lowering his lips back to your cunt, he listened as a string of continuous moans fell from your lips, knowing that you would come undone as soon as he began licking at you again. James savoured the feeling of his tongue running across your clit and he finished you off, your body bowing entirely off the table as your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands as a wave of considerable pleasure slammed into you. His name was a drawn out moan on your lips as he licked you several more times, helping you through the orgasm that had your eyes rolling and your toes curling. Your thighs clenched deliciously around his head, James’ own moan of satisfaction vibrating through the electrified surface of your pussy. When your body collapsed back onto the table, the pupils of your eyes re-emerging with a gasp, James gripped onto your thighs, pulling his head from your heat and gazing upon your sated body, the scent of your arousal drifting up to meet him from between your thighs. You glanced down, the sight of his swollen lips coated with your cum causing a ball of fresh need to form in your lower abdomen. “Fuck me, James. Please.” You blurted, having recovered quickly from your previous orgasm and craving more of the glorious man before you. He laughed darkly, releasing his grip on your thighs and stepping back to survey your body splayed out before him, your cum running from your slit down to the exposed bud of your asshole.  His full erection strained from within the confines of his pants and you groaned at the sight of it, your mouth watering for the feeling of his cock in your mouth. “No, not yet, my dear. Can’t have you feeling too much all at once now can we? You’ll have to wait. We have all of eternity as our disposal, why rush?”  taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler (if you wanna be added or removed just let me know <3)

[incarnateirony]

Hi! I’m still not really over the last episode (and that happy montage in the end i-) and I’m feel confused about what’s part of the episode was fake. I mean the end totally is. But all Chuck scene was superweird too. And sometimes i think that it should be Cas instead of Lucifer and Jack felt him. I mean... confused! How do you feel about that?

Okay so here’s the thing -- this is a multifaceted episode--

BuckLeming, while often herded efficiently by Dabb, can muddy up the textual waters, leave gaps, and things unexplained.

However, that doesn’t account for Showalter’s choices in direction. Dutch shots out the ASS which are typically used to evoke that something is "wrong." Lots of panoramas, tracking shots, zooms and blurs in ways that simply are-not-standard for SPN. Extreme aerial shots.

One might even think “maybe it’s Chuck looking in on them!” but then you realize the same overhead view zoomed out on *Chuck* even and panned out to the horizon again.

One of the early mega-zooms literally zoomed out to The World, even. I’m just gonna gesture people to my tag on that and let them think on that, much less the empty world orbiting on the news or whatever the hell else.

There were *several* Cas-baits, yes. Yes, that was intentional from our actual authors. 

But when it comes down to “fake episode”, here’s where we were at.

15.17-19 run immediately concurrently. At the end of 17, Chuck says this was his ending.

Now, the Winchesters largely derailed that ending, so Chuck was writing new material.

But Chuck is also seeking death. 

He wrote a suicide note in 11. He wrote the story that would end in him and Amara being eradicated. And whatever influence he was exerting forcefully with Michael and Lucifer to bop the story around was all in the interest of seeing his book. One might think “to keep the Winchesters from killing him”, but he was desperate to see what his ending WAS, to know it and experience it and scream after them.

The dour taking of “no one cares” right after “I care(d)” about humanity is its own highlight going on.  But wait, there’s MORE.

When Dabb dropped his pre-episode thing, we started talking before the episode.

So I mean, I think what we were *mostly* witnessing is the pen being ripped away.

But this is that emptiness that lingers even with Chuck generally resolved. They’re still kinda on the pages. The book is presented as shut, and the next steps are not taken. Development stops, if not drops.

This entire thing is so meta my damn head hurts.

Summarily: Is it just like, some weird AU that’s gonna go away? Not so much. Is it an incomplete portion of the story told from a skew? Absolutely. And is there still someone watching over them? T’would seem so. The whole World, even. Beyond Chuck. 

Now the point at which we start blocking off issues of “eugenie writes like she’s 3″ is where we ask about things like “god power” or whatever else being thrown in the mix along with eugenie’s ki ball special effects that are literally always unique to her episodes, even if other people have to add the SFX.

So while it was a good bit of masterful work to do it via buckleming for this style of bump, it still inevitably has its flaws because... buckleming. But... Showalter was there. And one thing to note is almost every single scene entrance had some sort of major pan or zoom effect. That’s not typical for him.

The entire thing is designed to evoke, directorially: 

One style: crooked shots, unlevel, unbalanced, uneasy feeling.

Second style: Over-under; some force is watching them on high, while others have a sort of brechtian absurdity, which seats it like a play on an elevated stage.

We are the audience, looking up at figures half the episode; but a second audience is looking in from “on high” and out over the world. As if perhaps even from the heavens. 

Third style: CSI Miami, basically? Parts of this episode were sectioned off to be like a procedural crime drama in its cinematography and flashbacks. Which is ironic, because Dean loathes procedural dramas, but at the same time some of this fandom demands a procedural monster show instead of a family drama show. 

Sam and Dean barely have any lines in the episode *until* we hit Crime Drama Time. Then suddenly, they reveal all of their case work. Despite Dean’s hatred of crime dramas, this is honestly when I feel like the brothers kicked in their own pen. 

Let’s play a game-- the winchesters are aware they can write their own story. So they start telling the story they think people want to hear, or maybe just fill in the gaps from when Chuck gets dropped on his ass. Maybe Dean’s the one writing about how many times god punched them in the face whereas Sam is breaking down the crime scene investigation front. Another, where it feels like we’re loosely circling the war table as others lightly wander too.

But everything before that is the first and second style, and even after that, the overview-angle remains. The uneasiness is gone but there is an emptiness otherwise. But we are no longer spectators from beneath the stage, but staring into them.

I still very much expect everyone to “die” one more time and several specifics to choose to walk back into life at the end of it.

Is it a *complete* false narrative? No. We’re not just gonna turn around and be like “oh that whole ep didn’t happen.” But the writer lost his pen and got jacked at one point, while we also observed the stage from a series of angles as different audiences.

Riddle me this: Why show the World? “Because it’s empty and just them!” okay but there’s a lot of ways to show that which actually gets that point a whole lot better across than “here, here’s a planet that still looks lit up”--yes I know electricity is still running until stuff runs out but essentially speaking, the end of the episode shows us the kind of dramatic shots that could be used for that.

CASey just poofed in the World in the TV, seems legit.

Let’s see these overhead angles again, knowing it isn’t just Chuck.

This sort of overview is known for causing a “dollhouse effect” that derealizes the episode and makes them seem, well, like toys. Which is interesting. Because Chuck isn’t the only one watching them on high.

Cool, this is fine.

Either way, the entire episode is DESIGNED to cause some major uncanny valley. There’s a lot of parts that simply *haven’t been told or filled in.*  It’s almost like evasive maneuvering, half the content just never made it to print, and what did wasn’t in its best draft. There may be battling authors, or a transition of authorship. But the thing is: this is not the complete story.

There is an entire missing section about Sam and Dean even finding out that Jack is a power siphon which they hadn’t witnessed yet much less arranged an entire plan.

Even Chuck’s episodes are generally told from the general POVs of the Winchesters, but this was absolutely not. 

Matthew 28: 18: And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Put a pin in that one.

Unless CHUCK IS WRITING HIS OWN FAKE DRAMATIC END, the overhead view, however, IS NOT CHUCK PERSPECTIVE.

-- Regardless, the metaness of “fish in a toilet bowl BRL plot” stacked into this makes it very difficult to accurately decipher the lines, especially with only one watch so far--just skimming back through right now to grab a few things I remember.

Some parts are plot salad buckleming.

Some parts are us as forced spectators of a stage play.

some parts are shifting authorship

Some parts are the heavens looking out over the earth it loves.

------

It almost feels as if, within enclosed spaces, unsteadiness and stageplay, we have Chuck’s POV.

But by the end it ceases to have any relevance, as he is no longer the author, and instead, we have the Presence of Being overseeing them, letting the Winchesters argue for their own proverbial pen in their own storytellings between here and there.

ALTERNATE PROPOSAL:

 it is all one point of view. All of it. Pretend you’re someone’s eyes on a situation, you just happen to be in the sky half the time, and the uncanny valley is pulling forward the concept of being a presence that simply isn’t *there.*  For example we're looking extremely closely at passed out dean but the camera turns and raises to level with Sam before Dean gets up. Our viewership lens is rising to meet Sam.

The camera stays in motion to fill a role or slot of a viewer. At first it’s haunting and ominous, but at other times, it’s simply part of the room, when it isn’t hovering from on high. Rather than speaking of empty space, we are viewing The World through that empty space, as if it were a Being.

Just a few more eye catching shots.

But whoever or whatever frames the end, even without Chuck--like the story is still turning on the pages, roughly. 

The montage at the end feels like the Swan Song one, more or less, but there’s no narrator, no chuck.

The writer, the writer we know at least, is Absent.

Men are writing their own Stories.

But they aren’t alone.

I know how you see yourself. Angry and dark like your father. You think that’s what you are. But you are the most loving man in the whole world. That is who you are.

Someone does care. Even if right now, Sam and Dean don’t feel like anyone does.

...Because of you. I cared. For you, for Sam, for Jack, for the Whole World.

I cared.

“That’s not who I am.”

I am.

I speak therefore I am.

[marjansmarwani]

I can’t let go of all the things I hoped we’d be

6.3k || ao3

There was someone missing. “Where’s TK?”

His parents exchanged a look and Carlos felt his heart sink. Why wouldn’t they just tell him where his boyfriend was? He might not know what had happened but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what it was, TK would be by his side; unless he couldn’t be.

“Dad,” he tried again, shifting his gaze to his father, “just tell me. Please.”

------

After an accident Carlos is left to deal with the aftermath as he waits and hopes for the best, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to survive the alternative.

Written for day 1 of @911lonestarangstweek 

The prompt was “c” and the obvious ones are “car crash” and “coma” but there are about 10 in here, see if you can spot them all 💜

------------

The bed beneath him felt harder than he was used to.

He scoffed silently, thinking about how TK had assured him it just meant they needed to break in their new mattress and that these things just take time, babe.

There was only so much time he was willing to give before a new mattress was deemed unsuitable though. They both had very physical and demanding jobs and they both deserved to have a nice mattress, damnnit. He opened his eyes and rolled over to say as much to his boyfriend but when he opened his eyes, he wasn’t met with the familiar soft gray of their bedroom. In fact, he quickly realized as the harsh lights above him forced him to squint and he shifted on scratchy sheets, now that he was more aware it became clear that this wasn’t their bed after all.  

Hospital, his mind provided. That would explain the too-bright lights and the beeping machines just beyond his peripheral. He blinked again and the room came more into focus, as did the two occupants of the chairs beside the bed.

His dad was the first to notice his open eyes. He looked exhausted and was turning his hat over in his hands in that way he did when he was nervous, but when he looked up and met Carlos’s eyes some of the tension seemed to fall away.

“Carlitos,” he breathed, and an instant later his mother’s eyes were on him too; wide and tear-filled. She was up in an instant, beside his bed and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before he could even blink.

“It’s so good to see your eyes open,” she said softly, “you scared us, mijo.”

“Sorry,” he said on reflex, only then noticing how raspy his voice was. He gratefully took the water offered to him by his father, trying to pull his thoughts in order as he sipped. He could remember this afternoon clearly, but everything after was a haze. He frowned as he looked down at his body, taking in the cuts on his arms, pain in his ribs, and the weight of a cast on his left leg.

“What happened?” he asked his parents, blinking at them owlishly.

They looked at each other for a moment before his dad answered him with a question: “What do you remember, Carlitos?”

Carlos shook his head, “Nothing after this afternoon. I remember getting home and...wait,” he paused, looking around the room. There was someone missing. “Where’s TK?”

His parents exchanged another look and Carlos felt his heart sink, “Mom, Dad, just tell me where he is.”

His voice was shaking now but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The look his parents were giving each other sent his heart racing. Why wouldn’t they just tell him where his boyfriend was? He might not know what had happened but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what it was, TK would be by his side; unless he couldn’t be.

“Dad,” he tried again, shifting his gaze to his father, “just tell me. Please.”

His dad gave his mother another look before he sighed and looked back at Carlos.

“There was an accident…” was all he said, but it was all Carlos needed to hear before some switch was flipped and the memories came rushing back to him.

-----------

It’s the commotion that wakes him, he thinks.

Opening his eyes is harder than it should be but when he does manage to peel them open he is greeted by the reflection of flashing light on the wet street and the sound of unfamiliar voices nearby. Those observations are quickly followed by the pain.

It rips through him once awareness returns and he can’t help the noise that slips out of his mouth, drawing the attention of a figure outside his door. They shifted closer, bending down to peer at him through the remains of his window.

“Sir, I need you to hold still for me until—” but then the voice breaks off suddenly and lost the air of professionalism as they cursed, “Shit! Donovan, the driver is Reyes!”

“Carlos?” Another voice said from somewhere farther away, “Fuck, is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” the voice next to him responds before leaning closer, “Hey, Reyes, can you tell me if anything hurts?”

And Carlos knew he should. Between being a cop and living with a paramedic for two years, he knew all the ins and outs of an accident from just about every angle. But he couldn’t make his brain focus on that yet. There was only one thought in his mind, and that was what he managed to get through his lips: “TK?”

He felt the hand on his still and heard the crunching of boots on glass telling him that his visitor was shifting, likely looking past him towards the passenger seat, where TK should be.

He didn’t miss the muttered curse that followed the action and his heart began to race as he heard the question asked: “Donovan, what’s the ETA on that RA unit?”

“3 minutes, why?”

“Tell dispatch they need to make it less.”

“Is Carlos…”

“It’s not for him.”

And Carlos somehow found it in himself to turn, despite the hand’s attempts to stop him and the protests that he shouldn’t move. The sight he saw froze him more than anything else could as fear and a different kind of pain rushed through his battered body.

TK was sprawled against the dashboard beside him. There was blood leaking from his hairline and he was so, so terribly still.

And in that moment, Carlos forgot how to breathe.

------------

TK was rushed to surgery as soon as they arrived at the hospital, his parents told him. There was significant concern about internal bleeding and a traumatic brain injury. His broken ribs, his mother told him gently, punctured his lung; leading to a hemothorax. Paramedics treated him as soon as possible before rushing him to the hospital but with them both unconscious no one is sure when it happened or how long he was drowning in his own blood. They knew his brain was deprived of oxygen for a period of time; they just didn’t know how long that was and what the effects might be.

It’s all so much and Carlos could feel himself spiraling. His dad must have noticed too because he stepped closer, eyes full of concern as he laid a hand on Carlos’s arm.

“Breathe for me, Carlitos,” he instructed, voice gentle but firm. “It’s going to be okay.”

He did manage to take the breaths requested of him and when he found his voice he looked to his dad. “Is it?” he asked skeptically, “TK nearly died and from the sounds of it, he still might. What part of that is okay?”

His dad opened his mouth as if to say something before faltering and Carlos felt his dread grow.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered, causing his mother to frown at him.

“What do you mean, Carlos? Of course this is not your fault.”

“I was driving,” he reminded her, “how is this not my fault?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” his father told him firmly. “This was an accident. The roads were wet, it was dark; anything could have happened.”

“But I was still the one behind the wheel,” Carlos said dully, “and TK is the one who is in danger. It doesn’t seem fair.”

His mother gave him a sympathetic look before she carefully bent down to wrap her arms around him, doing her best to provide him comfort without jarring his ribs, “Things like this never are,” she told him softly. “But that doesn’t mean it is your fault. TK would tell you the same thing.”

Carlos didn’t say anything to that, leaning into the comfort his mother provided and letting the tears silently fall down his face instead. But she hadn’t been there and now that Carlos could remember the sights and the feelings, he couldn’t stop this fear. It fed the next thought that entered into his head, echoing through all the corners of his mind: TK probably would, but thanks to Carlos, he might never have the chance to.

----------

“Reyes,” the officer at his window — Nate Quinones, Carlos had eventually realized — tried again before switching approaches, “Carlos! You need to keep still! We don’t know what kind of injuries you have, you need to stay still until fire gets to you so you don’t make anything worse.”

But as Carlos watched the newly arrived paramedic team assess TK, he was fairly certain that there was no way anything could be worse. The captain looked grim as he did his initial exam and when he turned to talk to his team it was with quick words and a low voice. Carlos tried to lean closer to hear, tried to put a hand out to reach TK but he was pinned by the steering wheel and couldn’t reach him. Carlos would be frustrated by it if he wasn’t so busy being fucking terrified that TK hadn’t moved in all this time, hadn’t even reacted to the arrival of the first responders or the unfamiliar hands on him.

“TK…” he tried to protest, but Nate shook his head.

“I know this is hard,” he said more softly, “and I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling, but you need to trust that the paramedics are doing their jobs and take care of yourself for now. Besides,” he added with a forced smile, “how would your boy feel about you doubting the paramedics?”

Carlos wanted to laugh at that, he could picture TK’s affronted look in his head. But the grim reality in front of him eclipsed all thoughts of humor because what could ever be funny when he might lose TK?

“I need…” he tried to say, but he couldn’t get the words out. His colleague seemed to get the gist of what he was trying to say though and shook his head.

“All you need to do right now is hold still. A second crew just pulled so I’m sure they’ll be getting you out of here in no time.”

Carlos wanted to argue, he really did. But his body wouldn’t let him. It was taking all the energy he had to simply be present. Any extra he had was going towards staring helplessly at TK, and toward the desperate hope that he was okay.

He focused on that thought as he watched them extract TK from the car and lower him to the ground. He couldn’t see him now but he could hear the measured tones of the paramedics as they worked. His mind was still foggy and he wasn’t following much but what he did hear did nothing to calm his nerves. He may not be able to understand the words but he knew the tone: it was the type reserved for the worst cases, for the ones when each moment mattered the most. Carlos had heard that tone in the field more times than he could count, but had never thought he would have to hear it directed at his own boyfriend. This entire thing, every single second, has been a nightmare that he is desperate to wake up from.

He was vaguely aware of the presence of a fire crew at his side, of their efforts to free him from the remains of his Camaro. But he couldn’t focus on that—not when TK was mere feet away and in trouble. But soon enough the noise of the jaws blocked out the sound of the paramedics working on TK regardless of how hard he strained to hear them.

It took some time but eventually, he was out, being hoisted out of his car by several pairs of strong arms. Soon enough he was on his feet and instantly he was searching for TK. He heard the noise before he found him and the words drifting through the night air were enough to grind his world to a halt: “We’ve lost respirations, Cap.”

“Start compressions,” the captain instructed as he continued to work. “Stalh, get the ambu bag going.”

Carlos’s mind was still spinning with pain and confusion, but the sight of TK on the ground before him with someone else pushing the air into his lungs and someone else pumping his heart and pushing the blood through his veins came to him with stark clarity. He tried to get to him but he found he couldn’t move. That didn’t seem right but then again TK was on the ground not even 20 feet from him and he wasn’t breathing. Nothing was right about this.

“Still nothing, Cap,” one of the paramedics noted and Carlos could feel the world around him start spinning far too fast for him to follow.

“Get him on a gurney,” the captain instructed, “we need to get him to the ER now. Don’t stop compressions, Valdez.”

Valdez said something back but Carlos didn’t catch what it was. Everything was fading out, his vision was turning dark. He felt his knees buckle and more hands on him and the last thing he saw was the sight of TK being lifted onto a gurney with the paramedics still working frantically to keep his heart beating as he was swallowed by darkness.

----------

His dad’s phone buzzed about an hour after Carlos woke up. He checked it surreptitiously but Carlos tracked his movements, studying his expression. He just knew it had to do with TK and it was all he could do to stop himself from jumping out of bed to see the news for himself. It was only the pain in his ribs and the knowledge that his mother would murder him kept him stationary as he waited with bated breath for the knowledge that hung over him like a verdict.

“He’s out of surgery,” his father announced eventually after typing out a reply. “Owen said he’s being moved to a recovery room soon.”

“And?” Carlos prompted, voice taut, “How did it go? How is he?”

“He’s hanging on,” Gabriel replied, pocketing his phone and stepping closer. He clapped a hand on Carlos’s shoulder and squeezed, “don’t count him out yet, mijo. That boy of yours has a lot of fight in him.”

“Don’t I know it,” Carlos retorted with a fond shake of his head and, for a second, everything almost felt normal.

But only for a second.

In the next Carlos registered what his Dad wasn’t saying. He hadn’t said TK was okay, he had said he was “hanging on” and Carlos didn’t like the implications of that. He opened his mouth to demand that his father give him details, but Gabriel slipped his phone back into his pocket with an air of finality.

“You need to worry about yourself right now, Carlitos,” he said gently. “I know you’re worried about TK but there is nothing you can do for him right now.”

A sudden thickness filled Carlos’s throat and he had to swallow before he could respond, “I know that,” he admitted, “I just can’t help…” he trailed off, and both his parents gave him looks that spoke volumes of understanding. His mother reached out a hand to squeeze his knee beneath the blankets.

“Get some sleep mijo,” she told him softly, “we’ll wake you if anything changes, I promise.”

He wanted to argue, but he had been fighting the pull of sleep with sheer stubbornness for the better part of the hour he had been awake so he reluctantly nodded instead. His mom placed a kiss on his forehead as he closed his eyes, the sound of his parent’s hushed voices providing soft background noise as he drifted off.

He slept fitfully, never allowing himself to truly rest in case he missed something, in case something happened with TK. He drifted in and out, his mind fighting his exhausted and battered body but he must have fallen into a deeper sleep than he thought at one point because the next time he opened his eyes his parents were gone and the chair beside his bed was occupied by Owen Strand instead.

“Owen?” he asked tentatively, trying his best to ignore the growing dread in his gut.

His boyfriend’s father looked up from the floor that he had been studying at the sound of his voice, his expression shifting into a tired grin when he saw Carlos looking at him.

“Hey kid,” he said softly, “it’s good to see you awake.”

Carlos nodded, and then frowned. “What are you doing here? Is TK…”

He didn’t know how to end that question. He didn’t know what he hoped or feared at this point. All he knew is that he was hurt, tired, scared and that he needed his boyfriend to be okay. And he didn’t know what he was supposed to make of the fact that the fire captain was currently sitting by his bedside rather than his son’s.

Owen leaned closer to place a bracing hand on his shoulder, “He’s still hanging on. There’s been no change, but the doctors assure me that at this point, that’s a good thing. I’m choosing to believe them. I wanted to check on you though, so your parents and I decided to rotate for a bit. They’re with him right now, but I can call them back here if you’d rather.”

Carlos shook his head. “It’s fine,” he assured the older man. “I’m glad they got to see him. I just wish I could as well,” he admitted. “Everyone keeps telling me he’s alive, but until I see it myself…”

He trailed off again, unwilling to give voice to the thoughts and fears in his head as Owen nodded.

“Believe me when I say I know where you’re coming from,” he replied, “but you’re hurt too. You need to heal before you can do anything of the sort and I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on that. Just think of what TK will say when he wakes up if he ever found out I let you trapse all over the hospital while you were still injured. Don’t make me have to deal with that, Carlos.”

Carlos had been prepared to argue his case until he achieved the result he wanted, but something about the sincerity in Owen’s voice and the certainty with which he said “when he wakes up” quelled him and he found himself nodding. Owen gave him a warm smile that spoke volumes of relief, but there was still an edge of sadness in his expression. The sight of it made the feeling of guilt still within him flare up again.

“I am so sorry, Owen,” he said quietly, pulling his gaze from the other man and looking down at his blankets.

“Sorry for what?” he replied, and even though Carlos couldn’t see him he could almost hear the confusion on his face.

“For all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to their location. “That TK is hurt.”

“That’s not your fault, Carlos.”

“Of course it is!” he retorted, “I was driving, Owen. Whatever happened, that’s on me and I am so, so sorry. I never meant for anything to happen, I—”

He was aware he was crying in earnest now, the tears falling down his face without his consent. He did his best to wipe them away, but there was no stopping them. They just kept coming and before he knew it he was sobbing, his breath coming in heaving gasps as all of the pain and fear that had been lurking since he first woke up in the hospital finally demanded release.  

He had almost forgotten Owen was still in the room until he felt the bed dip beside him and the warmth of a hug as arms wrapped around his shaking frame, holding him tight as he cried.

“This isn’t your fault,” Owen assured him, voice full of conviction even as it wavered. “It was just a terrible accident. You would never do anything to ever hurt him. I know that, Carlos, and TK knows it too. I don’t blame you, and I’m glad you’re safe.”

Carlos vaguely wondered how the man could say such things when he was facing the possibility of losing his son, but for once he didn’t question it. Instead he allowed the comfort to soothe him and the arms to hold him as he cried himself dry, bleeding out all the pain inside of him.

-----------

“You cannot be serious?” TK demanded, turning in the passenger seat to look at him incredulously.

“I said what I said,” Carlos retorted, biting his lip against the smile that wanted to form at the thought of the indignant face TK was surely currently making.

“You cannot be telling me that I am in love with someone who thinks that Area 51 is real.”

“I believe it exists,” Carlos countered, “I just don’t believe it has anything to do with aliens.”

“So, you don’t think the government is hiding proof of aliens?”

“I didn’t say that either, I just said I don’t think it is in Area 51.”

“So where is it then?”

Carlos shrugged, turning to glance briefly at TK before turning his eyes back to the road, “How should I know, it’s a secret for a reason, TK.”

“So, let me get this straight. You are certain the government is hiding proof of alien life in an undisclosed site more mysterious than Area 51, but you still think Big Foot is a hoax.”

“It’s clearly a series of people in fur suits, TK.”

He grinned as TK spluttered indignantly, muttering something about disrespecting cryptids before he sighed and looked over at Carlos, “I can’t believe I love you.”

Carlos grinned, turning his head to offer his retort when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He saw the flash of panic on TK’s face as he turned abruptly back to the road and heard him shout a warning as he wrenched the steering wheel to the left in a desperate attempt to avoid whatever it was in the road. There was the squeal of tires on wet pavement and the spine chilling noise of crunching metal and screams of pain that he couldn’t identify, before everything faded to black.

-----------

His parents and Owen weren’t the only visitors.

Soon enough Carlos was treated to a small group of solemn firefighters trying their best to plaster on smiles as they crowded into his room, the nurse’s reminder that they could only be there as a group as long as they stayed reasonably quiet following them in. He did his best to return their smiles but his was even more strained and after a moment, he gave up. The pain in their expressions was just as raw as the one he felt and he was forcibly reminded that as much as they were his friends, they were TK’s family first and foremost.

“I’m sorry,” he managed after a few long moments of awkward silence. “I am so, so sorry.”

It was Judd who spoke first, his Texas drawl coming out harsher than usual, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Carlos.”

“I was driving,” he repeated, “and it was my idea to be out at all. That means…”

“That means that an accident happened. Tell me you haven’t seen this a thousand times on the job. Do you tell the person who was driving it was their fault?”

“No,” Carlos admitted, voice low.

“No,” Judd agreed, “because it ain’t. This could have happened to anyone, it just happened to happen to you and that’s not your fault.”

“Besides,” Marjan added, falling into the seat beside his bed and placing a hand on top of his, “you didn’t mean for TK get hurt. You would never want that. This was an accident, Carlos, and we’re sorry it happened to you.”

Carlos swallowed, taking in the expressions of the others. His eyes searched the faces of Mateo and Paul before settling on Nancy, looking for any hint that they didn’t agree with what Marjan said, that they did blame him for bringing this on to TK. But he saw none and when Nancy met his eyes, she shook her head. She didn’t say a word but the message was clear: she didn’t blame him. TK was her partner and closest friend and she didn’t blame him. He released a breath he hadn’t entirely realized he was holding and the smile that he gave them in the moment after was almost real—or as close as he could get without knowing definitively that TK was going to be okay.

For now the knowledge that they didn’t blame him helped, he just wondered if he would ever manage to stop blaming himself.

-----------

“You know, this could be considered kidnapping.”

“I am not kidnapping you, TK,” Carlos replied evenly, “I just said it was a surprise. Besides, I would think you of all people you would know what kidnapping feels like.”

TK paused at the passenger door before climbing into the camaro, raising an eyebrow at him across the top of the car, “Are you joking about my trauma, Reyes? I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“I really don’t know if I should be flattered or not right now.”

“Definitely flattered,” TK replied decisively, flashing him a grin as he bent down to climb into his seat, “I think it’s hot.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “You think everything I do is hot,” he retorted, grinning at TK’s answering laughter.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, babe.”

Calro shook his head but as slid into the driver’s seat he patted at his left pocket, making sure that the small box was still there as TK shifted gears and prattled on about how Carlos should tell him where they were going.

“It’s a surprise,” he reminded his boyfriend with a grin, earning himself another eye roll as he started the car. And, he added silently, if all went well by the time they got home tonight, he wouldn’t be his boyfriend anymore.

With that thought he grinned as he backed out of their driveway, the box in his pocket and the butterflies in his stomach making him almost giddy as they drove down their street, and towards their future.  

-----------

On the afternoon of the second day Carlos was finally allowed to leave his bed. He wasn’t cleared to leave the hospital, his doctor had made that abundantly clear, and he was absolutely confined to a wheelchair; but he could go see TK. Since that was what he had wanted all along he was all too eager to comply with any and all conditions so when he was helped into a wheelchair by a nurse and wheeled down the hall by Paul, he did so without a word of complaint.

As they traveled to TK’s room, he thought of the box currently stashed with his other belongings back in his room. He hadn’t said a word about it, the subject too raw for him. No one else had said a word either, but he hadn’t missed the way his mother’s face had shifted when she had seen it as his belongings were unpacked or the way she had turned away quickly to conceal the emotion she couldn’t hide. His dad had simply clutched the box for a long moment before he met Carlos’s eyes and slid it back into the bag without a word. Neither of them had mentioned it again and Carlos was incredibly grateful for that, but now that he was on his way to see TK for the first time since that night it was all he could think about.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He had been taking them to the field where they had watched the borealis, the night they had become them. He was going to ask TK a question that he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to, and then they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. That had been the plan, not him facing the possibility of a future without TK in it.

Paul slowed as they came to a doorway, pausing at the threshold. Carlos looked up at him to see his friend studying him with concern.

“Are you sure about this, man?” Paul asked. “This is a lot and you’re still healing yourself. No one would think anything less of you if you didn’t do this just yet.”

“Nothing can be worse than seeing him that night, Paul,” he replied, voice rough as the memories returned. “I was pretty sure I was watching him die then and there, and anything has to be better than that.”

Paul still looked hesitant so he tried again, “I can’t have that image be the last picture of him in my mind, Paul, no matter what. I can’t handle that.”

His friend finally acquiesced and reached around him to push the door open, revealing a small and bright private room. He steered Carlos in as Owen stood from his spot beside the bed and walked over to them, clapping Carlos on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you some time with him,” he told him softly, offering a sad smile before he nodded to Paul and exited the room. Paul pushed him to the side of the bed before patting him on the shoulder as well.

“I’ll be right outside,” he reminded him. “If you need anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” Carlos agreed. “Thanks, Paul.”

Paul nodded and with one last look at the figure in the bed, he headed out of the room, leaving Carlos alone with TK for the first time since that night.

It took him a few moments to even look up and when he did he had to suck in a deep breath. In so many ways TK looked so much better than Carlos’s last memory of him fighting for his life under the care of the paramedics on the roadside. But as much as the sight of him breathing on his own brought him comfort, there was still the fact that this figure in the bed was too still to be TK Strand.

In all the time Carlos had known him he had hardly ever seen him hold still for longer than a few moments. To see him now, pale and bandaged with a slack expression on his still face just screamed so many different kinds of wrong at him. This was not his boyfriend; this wasn’t the man that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That man was expressive and energetic and wore his entire heart on his sleeve. He was so kind and good and had so much passion Carlos still marveled at it even now, after over two years of knowing each other, of loving each other.​​ This man was a stranger.

Carlos reached out and clasped one of the still hands in his own, hoping that maye the familiar touch might reconcile the image of TK in his mind with the still body before him. Carlos still wasn’t sure what he had ever done to find someone who loved so wholly and completely, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. TK Strand was it for Carlos, and he intended to spend the rest of his life with him. He wanted him to be his fiance and his husband, because he was already his everything. The fact that they might lose that chance struck Carlos again and it was all he could do to breathe through the pain of it.

TK was going to wake up, he decided, because no other option was acceptable.

----------

“I don’t know man,” Paul said, his voice light and teasing as they entered the store, “I don’t think you two are quite there yet. You know usually couples who hit this stage are insufferable to be around, spend nearly every waking moment together, are absolutely infuriating to single people...oh wait, I guess that is you two. My mistake, man.”

Carlos rolled his eyes as he greeted the jeweler and gave his name for his order, turning his attention back to his grinning friend as the woman disappeared into the back room. “Laugh all you want, Strickland, I know you’re just jealous and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Paul chuckled, but his expression softened, “I’m not jealous, but I am very happy for you. For both of you.”

“That’s assuming he says yes.”

Now Paul did roll his eyes, “Of course he is going to say yes. He is just as ridiculously in love with you as you are with him. Besides, I know you guys have talked about it. This is what you both want, right?”

Carlos nodded, “Yes, but it’s still terrifying.”

“It’s a big step,” Paul pointed out reasonably, “but you’re ready for it. And I am ready to be your best man.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“C’mon man, you know it’s true.”

Carlos’s response was interrupted as the jeweler stepped back up to the counter, a small, square box in her hand. She set it on the counter and opened it, allowing the gold of the simple band to flash in the light. Carlos could hardly breath as he looked at it, the magnitude of the simple object striking him with full-force. Paul put a hand on his arm and squeezed, “It’s perfect man, he’s going to love it.”

Carlos managed to flash him a shaky smile before he reached out and picked up the box, running his finger over the smooth metal within. This was really happening. This was it, there’s no going back now.

But he knew he didn’t want to, and he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

---------

The next day passed in much the same way. Carlos sat in his wheelchair at TK’s bedside as much as he was allowed, only returning to his own room for required intervals begrudgingly. But he wasn’t about to argue with the arrangement—it was a world better than not being allowed to see him at all.

It was only luck that he was in the room the first time TK’s eyes fluttered open. They were only opened for a second and and they closed nearly as fast but a glance at Owen told Carlos that he had not imagined it and he felt a renewed sense of hope rush through him. After that, he refused to leave TK’s room and nobody seemed too keen to argue that point with him.

His eyes—the gorgeous green eyes that Carlos had secretly been becoming convinced he would never get to see again—opened several more times, but it was hours before they stayed open for any length of time.

But Carlos didn’t mind the waiting; he would wait a lifetime for TK.

It was only the sound of his name that informed him TK was both awake and aware at long last and it was everything Carlos could do to keep it together as he leaned forward, wrapping TK’s hand in his own.

“Hi, love,” he whispered against his cheek as he bent down to press a kiss there.”I am so happy to see those eyes of yours.”

TK squinted at him as he pulled away as if he were trying to deduce something, “Are you okay?” he asked, and it was all Carlos could do to keep from laughing. Of course TK was asking him that when he had just woken up from a coma, he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“I’m fine,” he assured TK, squeezing his hand. “Even better now that I know you are too.”

And TK smiled at him and Carlos could feel the weight and guilt of every single second before he woke up fall away. TK was awake and alive and okay, and nothing else mattered. He could handle anything as long as TK was okay.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with visitors filtering in and out, all there to see them, all there to make sure they were both okay. Carlos’s heart felt full as he watched the ragtag group that had become their family show up one by one: his parents with hugs for them both, a relieved Gwyn fresh off a flight from Singapore. Each and every member of the 126, the Vega twins, Grace with little Ava who had drawn cards for them both.

As he watched Judd settle his daughter on the edge of the bed at TK’s insistence, Carlos thought of a ring in a box back in his room down the hall. Since the accident he had been so worried that he would never have a chance to ever ask that question. But now, safe in the knowledge that he and TK were both okay and would both make it past this, he wasn’t worried. A part of him still wanted to do it now, to not waste another of their precious moments, but as TK smiled at him over Ava’s shoulder as she pressed her little body against his in an impossibly gentle hug for a toddler he conceded that there were all types of precious moments.

When he did ask it wouldn’t be anything spectacular and he was well past the idea of a grand gesture, but they still deserved to have a moment that was solely their own. Maybe after their company left and Carlos had bribed his way into spending the night by TK’s side. Maybe once they were both discharged and were back in their home. Maybe it would be months from now, over their morning coffee.

Whatever or whenever it was, Carlos knew it would be perfect. Because it would be him and it would be TK and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together no matter how he asked, and Carlos couldn’t think of a better future than that.

[sp00kworm]

Who needs lights?

Pairing: Durzub (Goth Male Orc) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warning: Suggestive Themes

This wonderful piece is based off a very lovely OC by @of-devils-and-drawings. Durzub belongs to her and I adored him too much not to make this for him. I’m a sucker for anything scary and/or orc.... and/or metal....and/or goth. 

---

You’d always found a little bit of comfort being in the alternative scene, even when others stared and watched in the street as you went past, going about your business, bundled in black layers or flares and platforms. It was something unique and different and it was very much a part of your life. The bars were always better places too. You laughed at the bar at your friend as the bar tender tied his platinum, lilac streaked hair back and started to mix the cocktail for the jug. It was easier to order in large pitchers and watch the band playing from the platform the bar was on. You watched the alcohol mix as the Fae grinned at you, revealing incredibly dangerous, sharp teeth and placed two straws into the jug before sliding it closer to the two of you.

You paid for it before laughing and turning a straw to the Faun, “To our health! Well, and my new job!” You cheered.

“Oh, for sure, finally you’re not broke and can pay for drinks!” She jeered as she pursed her lips and leaned down to take a few long sips, “Jesus Christ, Flix!” She coughed, “You trying to get us drunk and make us easy, or something?”

Flix rolled his eyes as he flipped a cocktail shaker over and caught it, “You wish Pip. You two haven’t ever been my type.” He snorted as his lilac, gossamer wings fluttered behind his back in irritation. He laid his burning black eyes on a group in the corner, “Though, I like the look of those troublemakers.” A claw raised to point at the group of Orcs who were gathered in the corner.

 Pip’s brown ears flicked before her hooves clicked against the black floor, the sparkly tiles reflecting the strobes from the stage. She grinned and flicked at the ring in her nose, her shaggy black hair flopping back over her dark eyes, “Oh,” She purred, “I didn’t know you were into the rowdy muscle-head sort.”

Flix flipped the cocktail again before giving her the middle finger and moving to serve the cocktail to a woman who had just come out of the crowd watching the band.

“Who are they?” You asked after taking a long drink of the cocktail, “I haven’t seen them here before?” You looked over at the group again before realising how perfectly they fit in here in the bar. All were dressed in a variety of fashion, from heavy leather, to chains, to netting. Others donned fancier items with flowing sleeves and long, tailored skirts and trousers. The majority were green in skin tone, but you looked at a few lighter coloured, grey toned orcs with interest as they were from the mountainous regions of the old country.

Pip clicked her tongue, “Muscle heads and trouble, the lot of them.” She took another few drinks before hopping back onto her bar stool and adjusting her net top over her ripped shirt. Around her waist was a thick leather belt, the studs dripping with thin metal chains that hung around her furry hips, “They come to shows like this and usually start fights.” She commented off-handedly.

 With a frown, you looked from her, to the group again, “They just seem to be drinking and watching?” You commented.

Pip snorted a short bleat again, “Yeah, wait until this gig really kicks off, then you’ll see what I mean. Last time I was here with them one of them decided it would be a great idea to upturn tables, and by that, I mean, upturn my drinks over my new dress.” She hissed venomously, “They’re assholes, the lot of them.”

“They don’t look like it…” You uttered as one of the Orcs stood from the group and dragged his friend up with him to get drinks. The rest of them hollered their orders before some of the group split off to join the crowd watching the band.

“Oh great. Here they come!” Pip cheered before moving two seats down and dragging you along with her.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Pip.” Flix commented with a hiss and flutter of his wings, “They’re all lookers, I don’t see why you can’t look past that.” He shrugged his shoulders before smiling at the two male orcs at the bar, “What can I do for you two handsome fellas?” His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings at them and you snickered at the scent of lilac flowers that drifted from him like a thick perfume.

 “Come on, Flix. Lay off it for one night will ya!” One of the orcs laughed before he elbowed his friend, “This guy’s new here. Don’t go scaring him off already. You lot need our custom.” The orc leaned back and scrubbed at his mohawk, adjusting his heavy cargo trousers. Fabric belts hung between the legs and down them and he wore a heavy half tartan kilt over the top. His face was littered with piercings and you could see why he looked like the sort to be causing problems.

“You know I love you all equally, Xurek.” Flix laughed, “But I was more excited for your lady friend over there. She’s new too huh?”

“Jesus, you never give up! Anyway,” Xurek took the other orc around the neck, “This is Durzub. He’s new in town. Just moved in from out from the sticks. He might look like a foul piece of work, but you’ve met Rakuh, so he’s not as scary.” Xurek laughed before he let the darker skinned orc go. The other male reached up to brush his black hair from his eyes. Most of his long black hair was braided in tight long threads, the braids sequenced with small beads along them with the rest straight and hanging over his shoulder beneath the wide brim of a black hat, emblazoned with a silver trim around the base. He turned, dressed in a black long shirt and coat, the end trailing behind him as he ducked out of Xurek’s grasp, brown eyes angry.

 Durzub snorted and tossed his head, the braids sliding back out of his way over his shoulder before he reached up to move his tangled chains from the ends of his hair, the necklaces hanging with silver teeth, “Will you stop dragging me around like a child, Xurek!” He snorted as he dragged his arm out of Xurek’s grasp and adjusted his hat again before sighing and taking it off, “Any way I could get you to store this behind the bar for me? Its new and these lot have a habit of throwing beer the later it gets.”

Flix fluttered his eyelashes again, “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He took the hat and turned around to hang it near the aprons, “Just grab me before closing and I’ll get it you.”

“Thank you.” Durzub rumbled before pulling his hair back again, tucking the straight length on his left side behind his ear, revealing rings of silver and studs of obsidian, which matched the rings, linked by a chain, on each of his short tusks.

“Don’t be nice to him, Durzub, he’ll eat you alive given the opportunity.” Xurek snickered behind his hand as he flapped his band shirt, trying to cool himself down, “His family ate children back in the day.”

“That was five hundred years ago!” Flix scoffed as he slammed two, pint glasses down on the bar, “So, was it two ales or two lagers?”

“We were thinking mead actually.” Xurek stuck his pierced tongue out before he played with the bar, “And not that piss water Weldrick buys for the goblins!” Flix ignored him and turned for the taps down the other end of the bar.

 Pip scoffed at the exchange, but you found your mouth opening at the sight of the long-haired orc and his scowl. He watched Flix’s wings before he turned away from Xurek’s chattering and pushed his hand over his mouth. You watched the exchange as Xurek stuck his tongue between the other’s fingers and couldn’t help but laugh loudly as Durzub cringed and recoiled.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Durzub rolled his eye and took a napkin from the holder to wipe the spit from his fingers and the skull rings which sat above his knuckles.

“Mmm, you taste like fresh meat.” Xurek hissed like a comically bad vampire, and you laughed again, but this time louder. It was loud enough that the two orcs looked down the bar to where you and Pip were sat with your cocktail jug.

“Well done! Now we have their attention.” Pip hissed in your ear before she kicked at your chair with one shoed hoof, clanking the metal with a vicious bang.

Xurek’s smile made you regret everything, as you watched his gaze shift from your face to the larger orc stood next to him, “Looks like we have an audience, Durzub.”

 The other male turned slightly on one heel, looking at you both with a raised eyebrow, looking over the two of you perched at the end of the bar, “Don’t mind this freak. He’s got a way of making everyone hate him.”

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ cold!” Xurek hissed at him, “After I introduce you to those bands too!”

Durzub rolled his eyes again as Xurek slinked around him to laze across the bar on one arm, his head propped up on his fist, “Bands which have given me nothing but persistent headaches.”

“Headaches but three magazine features!” Xurek wound his middle finger up before he smiled at the two of you again, “Ignore him. He was castrated at birth.” The statement earned him another gruff noise from Durzub.

“We don’t want your attention, Xurek.” Pip gave him a sardonic smirk, “Not unless you’re replacing those drinks from last time.” She leaned on her own open palm and bared her teeth at him, her hoof clicking against the bar stool.

“You’re a cold bitch, Pip. You know that was an accident.” Xurek whined, “Highlander honour.” He crossed his heart, “Anyway, why don’t I introduce you to my new friend here?” He wrapped his arm around Durzub, making the other spill mead down his fingers as he dragged him over to the two of you, “This is Durzub. He’s a music producer, and part time good looker.”

 “You’re a music producer?” You asked in awe before you turned and looked at the stage, “Are you here for these guys?” You pointed at the industrial band on stage as the lights went low and they started the intro for their next song. At the back here it wasn’t as loud, and you could readily hear the two orcs.

“Yeah. They’re a new signing.” Durzub rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “I never really sign their sort, but it seems like they have a decent following.”

“Come on, mate, we’re here to chill out, not to talk work.” Xurek groaned and laid against the sticky bar top before recoiling in disgust.

“I know, you great oaf.” Durzub placed Xurek’s drink next to him, “Are you both here to see the show?” He asked, his voice slipping from ‘totally pissed off’ into something that was ‘gruff but polite’. Either way, his soft country accent made you smile before you took a few mouthfuls of cocktail for courage.

Pip answered before you could swallow, “We come on a Friday to wind down. The gigs are always just a bonus.”

 She shot a look at you with her dark, goat eyes, warning you from speaking as she steered the conversation, “What about you guys? You here to bother people on their nights off?”

“Well, we know where we ain’t wanted.” Xurek shrugged his shoulders at Pip’s rudeness, “Sorry to harass you, but you don’t have to be a salty asshole about spilt drinks, you know.” He watched Pip’s temper flare and you ducked back as she slammed her hand against the bar top.

“You listen here you little asshole!”

“Little?” Xurek scoffed, “I tower over you, babe.”

Pip gave a bleat of anger before she swept her leg around you and cracked Xurek in the shin, “It was my new dress you ass for brains!” She hissed at him before she stood up to walk around you and face the orc head on.

“What do you want me to say, huh?!” Xurek goaded, “Oh I’m so sorry that my accident ruined something I couldn’t stop. Get over yourself thinking I did it on purpose!” He fumed with anger.

You leaned back before hopping out of your chair, taking the jug of cocktail in one hand and a tall glass in the other before you turned to Durzub, “Hey come on. They’re going to be screeching for a while. Want to go and sit on the balcony and watch?”

 Durzub seemed a little taken back by the offer, “Oh, sure.” He uttered as he pulled Xurek’s drink away from him and then took his own in hand and following you towards the stairs, leading to the viewing area above the pit. You found two stools and a table and happily placed your drinks on it before leaning on the railing to look down at the band as they headbanged together on stage.

Durzub sat awkwardly for a moment before he coughed behind his head, “So, what is it that you do?” He asked as he leaned over the table, eyeing the mixture of liquor and fruit juice in your jug.

You turned from the show and smiled, “Oh nothing as interesting as music production. I just got hired at a new modelling agency.”

“Do you model then?” He asked with wide eyes, “Because you’re certainly…”

“Oh, God no. Nothing like that. I work with brands and secure deals and shoots. I work with Skull Crusher and Tombstone mostly.” You smiled and sipped cocktail through your straw.

Durzub tucked his hair back again with a sweep of his hand, “That explains the look then.” He smiled softly, “Do you get some sweet discounts?” He asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s never been cheaper to be a goth!” You cheered as you looked down at the rowdy beginnings of a mosh pit, then back to the bar.

 You gave a great laugh, “Well, looks like their argument is sorted.” You pointed at Xurek with his bruised cheek. He slammed back his drink before storming away into the pit, rushing through a mosh pit before his eyes caught sight of a human among the others. You grinned at his expression. Dumb struck.

“Jesus. I hope they’re ready to be pestered.” Durzub chugged a few mouthfuls of mead before he scoffed, “Whenever he gets that look, he ends up heartbroken a week later.”

“Well, it might be different this time, you know?” You smiled back at Durzub, “Maybe this is the one!” You cooed.

“You’ve got fairy tales in your head and cotton candy to go with it. He’s going to have a one-night stand then not shut up about her for the next three weeks.” Durzub held up three fingers as he drank some more, “Or he’ll relay every little detail to us on our next outing. He has zero filter.”  

“I can tell that much.” You laughed as you shuffled back in your seat, “What about you then, have you met your one?”

“My one?” Durzub scoffed, “Hardly. How old do you think I am?” He leaned on his fist and pointed back at himself, giving you a curious look.

 You felt like this was a trap, “Are you doing this so you can get mad when I guess wrong?” You asked as you pushed the ice around in the glass.

“Hardly. I’m not sensitive.” He grumbled as his painted fingers tapped against the side of the pint glass.

“Hmm, if you say so.” You leaned over the table to squint at his face. You’d worked with a few orcs before, but most were young models, sharp featured and tall, broad in the shoulders. Durzub was the same, though his face had wrinkles in places which would suggest he was far over twenty years old, “Thirty-six.” You decided with a smile.

Durzub let out a low laugh, “Not far off actually. I’m thirty-eight.” He pointed to the stage, “And I used to do that. Played in a band until about five years ago. Started as a producer then. Never looked back.”

“Oh wow. Who did you used to play with?” You asked in awe.

“A gothic rock sort of deal.” He replied before he looked into your pleading eyes, and relented, “Zi Gijak.”

“No way.” You rushed to stand from your seat as you recognised the Orcish name, “Black Blood!?”

 Durzub ducked his head, reaching for where his hat had sat before he realised, he wasn’t wearing it, “Keep your voice down, please.” He begged quietly, “I don’t need people in this place to recognise me.”

“How could they recognise you now? You look nothing like you did back in the day.” You stated before realising what you said sounded rude, “Not that you look bad now it’s just…”

He laughed at your awkwardness, “I know. I ditched the netting and bones a while ago.”

“You didn’t look half bad in it though, even five years ago.” You winked at him with a sudden rush of confidence, “Though I think this outfit suits you just as much.”

Suddenly, it was as though the intimidating exterior melted, and you watched Durzub’s face go flushed with embarrassment, “Thanks. It has been a change.”

Without making him any more embarrassed you changed the subject a little, “So what bands do you produce for now?” You asked.

“Quite a few. I used to work with SIREN before they got huge, but that sort of metal was never something I could do rather well, I thought.” He shrugged, “They’re with a more focused label now.”

“No way…This keeps getting better and better!” You uttered again.

 “Better and better for you. They were a headache and a half for me!” Durzub chuntered into his drink before he swallowed the last bits of it, “I’m glad they’ve moved up. They were good for business.” He smirked over the edge of the pint glass.

“Only thinking of the money.” You tutted playfully, “That’s no way to treat your bands.” You joked.

“Oh no, but that makes me feel better knowing my weekly migraines are worth the agony.” Durzub chuckled as he watched the band on stage, “These guys ain’t half bad for a show though. I think I picked the best from the bucket.”

“They have an interesting ensemble.” You smirked at the leather clad demoness as she slinked along the stage before she growled from her stomach, a crop landing against the hand of a handsy looking fan in the front.

“Interesting but it’s the sort of thing that gets you recognised.” Durzub noted as he watched, “This place is a refuge for all kinds of people. I’m glad Cal has got this place running with Weldrick.”

 “Who’s Cal? I’ve met Weldrick. Giant bright white minotaur, right? Build like a brick shit house with all the piercings?” You recalled.

Durzub nodded, “That’s him. He’s about eight foot tall too. Scariest mother fucker I ever did meet.” He shifted in his seat, “Cal is the co-owner, but he’s not around that often. He’s a vampire, but he’s not people fond.” The orc shrugged before offering you half a smile, “We all used to work together, believe it or not.”

“Wait…” Your mouth dropped open, “I’m actually stupid.”

“Cal was the singer of Black Blood. Weldrick ran our security back in the day.” He laughed at your open mouth before he leaned over to close your mouth with two large fingers. He brushed his fingers over your chin before leaning back and pointing to your drink, “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m okay thanks. I’ll keep your seat warm.” You joked as he stood up with a nod and grumbled about having something better than ‘shitty mead’.

 “I’ve never seen Durzub ever sit and talk with someone in a bar.” A deep, gravelly voice rang out from behind you. You turned around in your chair to see a tall, human looking male watching you, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he regarded you with a mild amount of curiosity from over the lenses. He reached out a hand awkwardly, “Cal.”

“As in…” You took his hand, and flinched at the stone coldness of his grip, “Co-owner of the bar, Cal?”

“The very same.” He shook your hand lightly before his hand disappeared quickly back into his pocket, “I just came to say hello. I was curious. He hates attention in these kinds of places…”

“Just like you then, apparently.” You observed as you turned on your seat to face him. He was a giant man, but stony cold, and overly pale, looking almost grey around his reflective, steel-coloured eyes. They shone red as he turned, the bouncing curls of black hair spilling over his shoulders before he reached for a cigarette packet and cursed, seeing it was empty with only his lighter inside.

 “Cal?” Durzub returned with a large looking ale in his hand, “Weird time to show yourself. Unless you were planning to steal this one for a snack, hmm? As usual.” He scoffed.

“You know I’ve been off the blood for years…” Cal whispered as he rummaged in his other back pocket, before finding a small, slim packet of chewing gum, “I don’t…”

“Yeah. Save it. That’s what you said last time, Clarence.” Durzub huffed into his drink.

Cal’s back went ridged before he stooped over and unfolded the wrapper of his gum, “You don’t get to call me that.” He whispered again, his gravelly tone rumbling in the back of his throat before he slunk away, back into the shadows, and disappeared in a shadowy wave of his black hair.

“Sorry you had to see that.” Durzub rumbled from across the table, “Its…complicated.”

You span back around and smiled, “Don’t worry about it. I think Pip had more of a fight with Xurek.” You snickered as you turned to spy her sat at the bar, batting her eyelashes at Flix as he served, “Though I think she’s okay now. She’s turned her eyes on a certain someone.”

Durzub looked down at the bar and laughed as well, “Well I guess you know her type now.” He joked as he sipped at his ale.

“Yep. Scary pretty boys, who aren’t part of your friends.” You snickered as you sipped at the last of your cocktail and refreshed the glass.

 The band on the stage purred their final song as you took another drink, and you looked at your phone with wide eyes at the time.

“I have to get up tomorrow for errands.” You lamented, looking at the clock. It was almost midnight, and you knew Pip would be here for hours if you left her to her own devices.

“So, this is where the night ends.” Durzub laughed before he finished the last of his own drink, “Here.” He tugged out his phone, “Let me give you my number?”

You nodded and took your phone out to exchange numbers before checking it was working and showing him the message came through okay.

“Thank you for tonight.” You smiled at him, “We should do this again.” You leaned over and carefully placed a kiss on his flushed cheek, “For an grumpy music producer, you’re funny to be around.” You took your bag and looked at Xurek, who was busy pressing a human against the far wall, “And look after Xurek, huh? Looks like he might just get himself into trouble again.” You descended the stairs just as the orcs started cheering for the male and shook your head.

 After speaking to Pip, and confirming she had a taxi to get home, you exited the bar and shivered in the cold, before you felt a warm presence behind you, and a hand catch your own.

“Hey!” Durzub grunted as he caught your hand, “Let me walk you home?” He asked, “No way in hell I’m staying to watch those lot gawk at Xurek strip a human down.” He sneered. His sneer softened as you interlinked your fingers together and squeezed his hand before looping an arm through his own, leaning into his body heat.

“Sure. You can walk me home.” You leaned into his arm again and smiled, “I live three blocks away, so it’s a bit of a short walk.”

“Better to spend time with you.” Durzub whispered before he looked at the night sky, “I’m still sorry about what happened with Cal…”

“Honestly, it never happened, okay?” You patted the orc’s large arm, “We all have our differences and reasons.”

“Still. I was rude.” He huffed before he reached for his hat and tugged at the brim, “I’m glad I got to meet you at least tonight.” You tried to ignore the way he tugged at his bottom lip before he adjusted the decorative chain over his lip and smiled, still a little awkward.

“Me too.” You purred back at him.

 The messages started off polite between the two of you, but it was quickly a regular thing for you both to message back within a minute or two depending on if Durzub was working in the studio or you were in meetings. You were both enamoured. It didn’t take long for you both to meet again, eating together in a restaurant which was a little bit too expensive for you. It was high end, and suited Durzub as he sat there eating, looking intimidating as he ate couscous and chopped vegetables before smiling and blushing with embarrassment as you complimented him and his outfit. For such a giant orc, with a bigger scowl, he was softened whenever you said something nice. Several nights together on dates lead to this one, finally going to his studio to see what he did, and to listen to something he had been working on. Excitement churned in your gut as you looked at the choker around your neck and touched the spikes around its surface before flicking the dog tag and grinning at yourself before you rushed for the door to meet Durzub.

 “Hey!” You shouted at the orc. He was stood out on the pavement, dressed in an old print of a Black Blood shirt with a screaming orc and vampire on the front, blood dripping from both of their mouths. He was dressed in dark jeans, littered with pocket chains and a heavy leather duster to combat the cool breeze. He looked up from beneath his broad rim hat. Instantly, Durzub’s perpetual scowl turned into a small smile, and you took hold of his hand before leaning up to kiss his cheek before placing a soft kiss against his bottom lip. He was always a little slow to catch up, but he returned the kiss with a gentle rub of his tusks to your chin.

“Hey stranger.” He rumbled before he gestured to the building, “My studio is on the sixth floor.”

“This doesn’t look much like a record label building to me.” You hummed as Durzub led you into the reception. A naga waved him on up with you, looking back at her work with a hiss and a grumpy frown.

“Not yet it doesn’t. Wait until we get into the actual building. This is just the polite front for greeting people.” The elevator dinged as he pressed the button and the two of you climbed inside. He pushed the button for the sixth floor and you jittered with anxiety as it moved upwards slowly.

“I’m excited and nervous.” You whispered as the doors opened on floor two and let some more people in.

“Don’t be, baby. You’ll be fine.” Durzub soothed as you continued up.

 The sixth floor was littered with records on the walls, gold, red, black and mixed dyes. You looked along the walls before Durzub tugged you down the carpeted hall. You followed a step or so behind, trying to read the framed records as you toddled behind him, little out of your depth. Durzub’s coat trailed behind him and you moved to not step on it as he stopped at his door. He unlocked it with a click of an electronic card and you watched the black door swing open to reveal the sound room.

“Wow.” You stepped inside in front of him and looked at the expensive sound equipment, keeping your hands to yourself to avoid being told off or ruining anything, “This is some expensive gear.” You grinned at him, “And pretty.” You peered past the soundproof glass to see the guitars and drum kit in the recording box and smiled at the pointed-v design one, knowing it was from when he played with Black Blood.

“I knew you’d spot that one.” Durzub said mildly before he threw his coat over a speaker and collapsed into his large office chair, the leather making him shiver with the cold against his arms, “This is where I spend most of my life, making kids realise that riffs are stupid in the wrong places.” He scoffed before tugging you a chair from the other soundboard and patting it, “Come sit. I have some things to show you.”

 Carefully, you placed your coat on top of Durzub’s before joining him by the large computers, eyeing the two screens as he logged in, squinting at the screen.

“Fuck. Glasses.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled free a set of circle frame glasses, putting them on before cringing and looking back at you, “Not as young as I used to be…”

“You look cute in them.” You gushed as you scooted the roller chair forwards and made sure to sit as close to him as possible, “Being able to see is important, even if you don’t look as scary with glasses on.” You teased.

“Yeah…” He let the words drop off as he found what he was looking for and pulled free two sets of expensive headphones. Durzub leaned over and gently tucked them over your ears, holding them and holding up an ‘okay’ sign before he donned his own and pressed play. He leaned back in his chair and you sat impatiently before the noise of a gentle synth graced your ears, opening with a gentle melody before a guitar followed the same rhythm before chugging to life with slow riffs. It was gentle somehow still as the guitar started on a slowly moving rhythm along into the beginnings of a verse, sung by a vocalist you recognised as Durzub. The lyrics lilted about roses on a hill, growing in a graveyard around a forgotten tombstone before you grinned at the references to old vampire movies that the two of you enjoyed. The chorus was met with a litany of soft guitar and synth before a drum solo full of soft cymbal carried on. It was something made for the two of you, and you wondered just how long Durzub had spent making this song. Looking at the poorly hidden bags under his eyes, you figured it had been most nights after work.

 In the closing synth of the son, you laid your head against Durzub’s arm, against the tattoo of the roses around the gravestone. You pressed your lips to his skin gently before smiling and tugging the headphones down to around your neck, smiling up at the orc. Durzub copied the motion with another small smile, reaching to stroke at the top of your head

“That was beautiful. It’s hard to believe you made that just for me.” You whispered against his warm skin as the orc flushed with embarrassment, “Did you mean the part about making love on graves?” You teased gently before you slipped from your own chair, and into his lap, your fingers sliding up over the tattoos on his arms, tracing the thorns of the roses down before you traced the edge of the stem curling over his collar bone.

“Maybe not. Stone gives you a bad back.” He rumbled as his pupils went wide, watching your fingers as they slipped under the collar of his t-shirt, “But I would worship you just the same.” His hands moved from the computer to your hips, his fingers pressing into the meat of your backside before he leaned forwards to kiss you. You gladly accepted the advance, kissing the orc back, your tongue licking at his lips before you traced the rings around his tusks and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

 A soft moan escaped Durzub’s mouth as you pulled away. His lips were puffy and you leaned forwards to bite his lip, enjoying the second croak that escaped him as you leaned back on his thighs.

“What about this desk?” You asked under your breath.

Durzub grumbled, “There’s a lot of…” Your hand meeting his crotch shorted his brain for a moment, “I can make room.” He grumbled before he pushed the keyboard and monitor aside, leaving the desk free for you both. You laid back over the wood and grinned as you tugged on one of his tusks, forcing his face down so you could lay another kiss on his lips. Durzub moaned again as you reached up into his dark hair, tugging the braids at his scalp.

“Maybe you should make good on your song lyrics.” You purred as you kissed his cheeks and then bit at his neck before sucking a mark under his ear.

“Fuck.” Durzub hissed before he leaned over you, his fingers tugging at your clothes before he admired the collar around your neck and gave it a tug, “I hope you didn’t have any other plans.”

 Neither of you saw the audio recording button flashing red.

 ‘Everything was recorded. I’m keeping it. See you at the bar. x’

[harry-potter-fics-stuff]

Anonymous asked:

Could you write about the first crushes of all the Weasleys?

Bill Weasley thinks he’s in love one day when he walks into his Transfiguration classroom and sees a gorgeous blonde girl sitting beside the chair he normally occupies. There’s a blue-and-bronze tie around her neck, tied in a perfect Windsor knot, and jewels drip from her ears and neck. She moves her stuff to her side of the desk when he sits down, and is careful not to touch him at all. He’d wonder about it, but she’s very quiet in class in general, though is always quick to finish her work. He smiles at her sometimes, but she doesn’t smile back. (He does not realize she is a Malfoy until two terms in, when he hears her friends whispering to her about blood traitors and how their taint can be associated upon upstanding citizens so easily. He doesn’t speak to her, although his heart still quickens a few beats around her in class, and she never gets the nerve to start any conversation with him either.)

-

Charlie Weasley doesn’t think he’s had a proper crush on anybody, but the new Professor (for DADA, of course) is probably the most attractive member of faculty Hogwarts has ever had and he can certainly appreciate this. He’s always more passionate about Care of Magical Creatures and Quidditch, yet he pays a lot more attention that year for DADA and ignores his friends’ playful teasing. (It’s his NEWT year anyway - he should be paying attention.) He stays behind in class to ask questions, sometimes over concepts he actually already knows. But there is no quickening of the heartbeat, no fantasies of kissing or holding hands or dancing in the rain. When the year passes, he graduates and the professor quits (because of course this one couldn’t stay), but the first dragon baby he finds is named after the professor that smiled at him in class.

-

Percy Weasley walks into the library one day for a book he desperately needs, and gets told the final copy has been taken by this girl named Penelope Clearwater. He sees her reading it and slides into the seat beside her, asking quietly if she would mind sharing this book with him, and realizes she is in his classes. He doesn’t think much of this encounter, but then she starts chatting to him in class and during their Prefect patrols the next year. That’s when he starts to crush on this pretty Ravenclaw girl who always seems to have interesting thoughts on anything and everything. He asks her out for a drink at Hogsmeade after they hide from Peeves together in an abandoned classroom, book in his hand, and she says yes.

-

Fred Weasley was not a fan of Gobstones (the putrid liquid that got sprayed whenever he lost a point being the main reason) but when he gets challenged by a Slytherin student he’s never met before, he takes up their offer instantly. They have a quick series of games, in which he both wins and loses in alternate turns, and by the end of the final game he’s laughing along to a joke about the staircases. (He’s never laughed with people from other houses before, it takes him too long to realize this.) He stares at the green-and-silver tie around their neck a little too often from then on, and stops playing pranks on Slytherin just for a few days, but never plays with them after that day. (He does, however, use his first bit of money from his shop to purchase his own Gobstones - and when they walk into the shop, he always makes sure to help them out.)

-

George Weasley has always, always appreciated Angelina Johnson. At first for her beauty and talent in Quidditch, and then for her ability to joke around and rough-house just as well as any of his siblings could. They fly around the pitch, and when they’re so high up he can appreciate the glow of her skin in the sunlight and the way her braids whip around in the wind. Once, he offered her a ribbon to tie her hair up, carefully not telling her that he’d spent four days learning how to conjure one just for this purpose, and she’d kissed his cheek before asking if he knew how to braid hair. (Of course he did, he had a sister and a mother who both regularly called upon the men in the family to help with hairstyles.) He dances with her at the Yule Ball, explaining that Fred had asked on his behalf as he was too afraid to, and she throws her head back and laughs that he’d never been scared of her as a Chaser when she actually had to throw Quaffles around. They kiss that night for the first time. He never kisses any other girl.

-

Ron Weasley doesn’t think the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl on the Hogwarts Express is all that pretty, at first. She’s a motormouth with a weird name that regurgitates entirely too many syllables in a few seconds. She does kind of impress him with her knowledge about magic and his new friend (the Boy-Who-Lived, he reminds himself), but she really needs to learn how to hold actual conversations. And yet she has the prettiest brown eyes on anyone he’s ever met, he can admit, and she’d probably be nice to be friends with. He watches her leave, not knowing that he has a little smile on his face. (Friends. Ha. When he sweeps her off her feet seven years later, he still thinks she has the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.)

-

Ginny Weasley curls up in bed, each breath seemingly ripped from her in long, shuddering gasps as tears stream down her face. Her memory is finally returned to her and she has never felt worse. She’s been told that nobody blames her for being possessed (by Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake), but she’s been the reason students were petrified and exams were cancelled. She was also the reason behind her brother rushing into the Chamber with Harry Potter...oh, Harry. The boy she’d dreamed of and written into that diary for so many days. (Please don’t let him be put into danger because of me. I didn’t know who I was talking to. I didn’t realize the diary was evil. Please let him be spared from my mistakes.) She wonders idly how he’d ever think of her as anything but a weak-minded child now. She’d scrubbed her hands raw trying to erase the blood and ink on her skin, and nothing’s worked. They wouldn’t be fit to hold his, not when she’d let the hands of his parents’ murderer slip beneath her skin and permeate her bones. But it would have been sweet, she thinks bitterly, if it could have been me. If it could have been her that had stood by him. Her that had been his friend. Her that hadn’t been tainted by Voldemort. If it could have been, really.

[sunflower-swan]

Title: Lost and Found Author: sunflower_swan (me!) Fandom: Harry Potter Rating: Teen  Pairing: Drarry (Draco/Harry) Tags: Auror Draco, Auror Harry, Auror Missions, Auror Partners, Forests, Cabin Fic, Sharing a Bed, Pre-Slash, EWE: Epilogue What Epilogue, Mild Language WC: 685 Summary: An auror mission goes awry. Luckily, Draco and Harry stumble upon an abandoned cabin in the woods... and there’s only one bed.

Written for @hermionesnookgroup Happy Birthday Neville and Harry 2022. Not only is it Harry and Neville’s birthday, it’s also my AO3-versary! My first fic posted to AO3 was for this collection in 2020. Enjoy!

Read below the break or read on AO3.

Harry and Draco scrambled through the underbrush, tightly gripping their wands and dodging low-hanging tree branches. A curse whizzed past Draco’s ear and hit a maple tree ahead; splinters of tree bark shattered in their faces.

“Fucks sake!” Draco wheezed.

“This way!” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him into a denser part of the forest.

The shouting voices of their pursuers quickly drifted away and dark silence pressed in on all sides. They dared not light their wands for fear of being found. More than once, they tripped over a fallen log or snagged their clothing on a briar.

After a half hour of wandering around — having no idea where they were or how close danger was — the trees cleared to reveal a wood cabin illuminated by the waning moon. Harry picked up his pace, heading for the abandoned building.

“Wait!” Draco hissed. He pulled Harry back into the cover of the trees.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and strained his ears for any sign of their attackers, while Draco cast spells around the area to check for dark magic, traps, and other beings.

“Clear,” announced Draco.

With utmost haste, they moved from the cover of the trees to the cabin. The door was warped and stuck. Harry muscled his way in before Draco could stop him, bruising his shoulder in the process.

“Ouch!” Harry rubbed his arm and stepped inside.

“Dumbass,” Draco muttered, following him.

Moving in opposite directions, Harry and Draco cast concealment and protection charms around their dank sanctuary, the uneven floorboards creaking beneath their feet.

“I suppose we’re as safe as we’re going to get in the circumstances.” Harry dimly lit his wand and inspected the interior.

There was one grimy bed in the corner — of course, there was. That would be fun to figure out later. A brick fireplace but no wood, not that they could risk a fire anyway. Where the roof wasn’t sagging with age, the starry night sky could be seen through a couple of sizable holes.

“I’ll take this over the alternative,” admitted Draco. He wiped his hand on the seat of the wooden chair under the paneless window and made a face before sitting down with resignation.

Harry dug through his pockets and pulled out his emergency muggle protein bars.

“Here.”

He handed one to Draco and sat on the mattress. It bowed and squeaked under his weight.

“Dare I ask what this is?” Draco wrinkled his nose, scrutinizing the offering.

“Probably better if you just eat it.” Harry ripped open his package and took a bite. “You get tetchy when you’re hungry and I don’t want a repeat of the Meyers case.”

Draco harrumphed but didn’t argue.

Finishing the protein bar and crumpling the foil in his fist, Draco asked, “Do you want the first shift or shall I take it?”

Harry didn’t hear him because he was examining the bed. Compared to the state of the cabin, it wasn’t awful. A few cleaning spells and, well… it wouldn’t be good as new but it would suffice.

“You’re not actually considering sleeping on that vermin-infested thing, are you?” Draco recoiled.

“Would you rather sleep on the floor?” Harry asked.

He waved his wand, casting the most powerful cleaning spells for mould, mildew, and animal waste that Molly had taught him, then stepped back to admire his work. It was still stained in places and smelled like a bog, but it would provide more rest than he had expected to get tonight.

Tentatively, he laid down, resting his hands behind his head and wriggling around to find a comfy spot.

“‘S not bad actually,” he said.

Draco frowned.

“No one — good or bad— is going to find us until morning this far out. We might as well rest while we can. Come on.” Harry patted the empty side next to him.

“You better not snore,” Draco drawled and lay as close to the edge, and as far from Harry, as possible.

“No one has ever complained before. I’ve been told I’m a snuggler though." Harry chuckled.

Draco groaned.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Harry.”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎? | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

request: none. 

pairing: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader

warnings: college au basically [therefore Karl inaccuracies], nsfw (18+), asphyxiation, oral (m. receiving), domination, spanking, mentions of smoking, suggestive language, swearing, eyeliner

word count: ~4000

a/n: this is pure filth, crucify me pls.

A O 3   L I N K 

The cold air threaded through your locks as you raced to your morning class, the rain seemingly soaking into your bones. You approached the heavy wooden French doors of your designated building, your umbrella folding against your side in a clumsy dance. As you crossed through the first threshold of the building, you swept away the damp strands that had fallen in your face out of your line of vision. You rushed to swing the lecture hall’s door open. A willowy figure clad in black brushed past you, sending only a small nod of acknowledgment your way to combat your slight eye roll at the swift action. You trudged between the rows of the theatre style rows, finally plopping down into an aisle seat. 

As you sank into the chair, a small shiver crawled up the length of your spine with the sudden anxiety of eyes burning into the back of your head. You acted as if you were looking for someone, in order to subtly peer over your right shoulder. Your gaze drifted from the shoes of the girl stationed behind you toward the slouched form slumped in his seat. His iridescent irises searing into yours with a cocky swell of curiosity. He propped his chin against his hand, lazily gripping a pen as he watched you watch him. His black eyeliner was smudged. Your mind wandered through the possibilities of what he might have been up to last night. Had he been tangled with another person? Were those the same clothes he’d worn the day before? Or was he in some kind of garage band, playing at the local underground club?  In reality, it was probably caused by the ongoing downpour and lack of sleep.

You fought to pry your eyes from his slender fingers as they moved to twist at the pen cap, drawing more attention closer to his lips. His tongue darted out to wet the mildly chapped skin, an effort you could nearly feel in your knees. His tongue moved as he caught his lip piercing between his white teeth. 

He smugly sent you a wink, breaking you from your trance and you snapped your head forward. A flush settled over your cheeks at the realization you’d been staring. You attempted to ignore the low chuckle you could hear coming from the man. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you watched him out of the corner of your eye stand and drag his belongings into the seat directly behind you. 

You protested against the smile threatening to spread across your features as you felt him peer over your shoulder, his breath dangerously close to your skin. “Nice handwriting,” he quipped, a hint of rasp from the early morning still tied in his voice. His smirk was evident in his tone. 

Throughout the lecture, your concentration shifted from your notes to the smug grin that played upon his lips after the compliment. You shamelessly thought about what it would be like to kiss someone with a lip ring. The idea even carried you through your next class. 

You ran a hand through your hair, thanking whatever higher being that it had finally stopped pouring long enough for you to get to your next destination. You descended the concrete steps hugging one corner of the building, your mindset on just how to fit a lunch break into your schedule for the day. You had passed the huddled groups of loiterers so quickly that the abrupt boom of a familiar voice nearly sent your head spinning. 

“Hey, Hancock!” The rasp in the voice was now clear, unlike how muddled it had been that morning. You turned on your heel, nearly ramming into the tall figure who’d earlier blatantly stepped in front of you and ruffled your feathers. 

Your eyebrows raised momentarily in mock recognition. “Oh, it’s you…” you mumbled. 

His mildly expressionless features seemed to beckon you. “Cold,” he bit. “I liked you better when you were eye-fucking me earlier.” He lowly chuckled at his own joke. You found yourself once again fighting not to humor him as you felt the tips of your ears warm. He took one last inhale of his cigarette before flipping it off to the side. 

“Did you need something, stud?” You asked with a small quip, tilting your head to capture his eyes on you once again. 

He chewed on his bottom lip before leaning towards you slightly. “Would you wanna go somewhere quiet?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at his words. “You know, to chat,” he continued slyly, emphasizing the word with a smug expression as your eyes gave away how into the prospect of chatting with him would be. 

As the two of you slipped into the closest building, you felt butterflies begin to flutter around in your stomach. One of his large hands brushed against yours, sending heat to your cheeks. “So… What did you want to talk to me about-” You stopped short realizing you didn’t know his name, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. 

“- Karl,” he finished for you, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m Karl.”

You tugged him behind you down a long hallway around the corner from the entrance, pulling him in front of you as your back thumped against the cold cinder-block wall. “It’s nice to meet you, Karl,” you murmured, pulling him down to your height and basking in his smirk. 

“Feeling’s mutual,” he grinned, pressing his lips against yours. 

You dug your fingers into Karl’s dark hair, tugging him closer to your body as the pair of you clumsily gripped at each other’s clothing. The feeling of Karl’s lips against yours sent a rush of heat spreading through your chest as his teeth pulled at your bottom lip, a moan threatening to rip from your throat. The smell of his cigarette still lingered on his clothes to mix with the dew in the air from outside. The coolness from his tongue ring was a stark contrast to his warm breath. His tongue dragged across your bottom lip and he seemed to hungrily deepen the pressure of your kiss as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of your vanilla chapstick. 

You were thankful for the dim lighting of the secluded hallway, praying that no one would find the two of you. His hands ravenously explored your body, pinning you between him and the wall behind you as his lips began to travel towards the crook of your neck. Your brain blurred as you brazenly ground your hips into his, relishing in his sensitivity to your newly created friction as he hissed against your skin through his teeth. 

His grip tightened around your leg, fitting your bodies closer together to eliminate what little space there had been between the two of you. You let out a small moan as his tongue neared your earlobe, his low chuckle sending a rush of cold air against the wetness of the spots on your neck. You slid your hand between the both of you, palming him through his dark jeans as he nipped at your skin. His hand followed to hold yours. His head tilted away from you, a breathless moan hissing through his gritted teeth. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed what he could of another groan while your hand alternated pressures despite his hand squeezing your own and encouraging your tactics. You bit back an allured grin as a tattoo began to peek out from just below his collar. 

“This is fun,” he jousted, sending goosebumps to pepper your skin as he buried his face into your neck. You chuckled lightly. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he groaned into your hair.

You nudged him away from you, watching as his eyes dripped with lust for you. He surveyed you closely as you slunk down to your knees, reveling in the sight of him towering over you to brace one of his hands against the wall. You raked your nails up his thighs, eliciting a groan echoing in his chest. He settled his other hand on the side of your face, his thumb jetting out to brush against your aggravated lips still stinging from the sensation of his teeth. His jaw tightened as you slid your hands over his zipper to unclasp his pants. You couldn’t understand what had come over you, but you wanted nothing more than to see him in pleasure. 

Despite the fact that he wasn’t fully aroused, you were surprised at the mere size of him yet refused to acknowledge this fact. You hadn’t wanted him to cum too soon. 

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, a breath sighing across Karl’s parted lips in pleasure now that there was no barrier between you and him. You flashed your eyes back up to him, beginning to pump his length in your hand, his member stiffening as he became fully erect. Your encouragement brought a slight blush to his cheeks as he twitched beneath your touch, his hand finding purchase in your hair. You wet your lips before pressing them against the tip of his arousal, your tongue following in procession to tease against the sensitive skin. 

Karl’s fingers curled deeper into your hair as you pushed his cock into your mouth. You couldn’t ignore the heat growing between your own legs as a rasping string of curses drew from his mouth. As you began to flex your tongue against him and move your hand Karl’s head tilted back, his member beginning to throb in your mouth with lust and excitement. You began to bob your head up and down on his dick, swirling your tongue to provoke more of his lude reactions. You pulled your mouth off of him only to continue to massage his shaft with your hand, your tongue dragging against his length as he groaned. You could feel his eyes resting upon you, the flesh of his lower lip caught between his teeth as his lip ring glinted in what little light there was. 

You pushed his arousal back into your mouth, this time with the intention of taking him deeper. You looked up to make eye contact with him once again, feeling his breath hitch as you alternated your hand speeds with the movement of your head as you slowly brought him closer to the back of your throat. Tears began to brim in your eyes at the near gagging feeling you were beginning to experience, which he seemed to be getting off on the idea of. You brought yourself completely to the base of his size, a near guttural moan of your name grating passed his lips. His cock twitched at the feeling and you could tell by the blood rushing to his cheeks that he was close. The furrowed look of desire painted across his expression because of what you were doing to him alone could have undone you. 

He tugged on your hair, making you moan at the action, sending a wave of vibrations to echo against his erection. At that movement he came, sending hot streams of pleasure into your mouth to accompany the look of relief and utter leerance in his eyes. You swallowed what you could before dragging your sleeve across your lips as he zipped his jeans and dropped onto his knees in front of you, his lips capturing yours. You felt his coarse thumbs brushing away some of the tears that had slipped from your eyes as your nails dug into his sides. “My roommates are home,” he muttered between his praising kisses. “Can we head to yours? It’s my turn,” he nearly jeered. You tugged him up with you, him threading his fingers with yours to pull you behind him towards the nearest exit. 

Before you knew it, Karl’s lips were back against yours as if they were made to fit together. His praise of your work on him earlier came in the form of his hands slipping beneath your shirt, slender fingers digging into your sides as his teeth grated across the lush color of your lips. He made haste in pulling off your pants, his teeth nipping at the sensitive areas between your thighs before moving back up to tend to your neck. Your skin had seemingly yet to be marked by him as his tongue traced the valleys of your collarbones, making you moan and tighten your legs around his hips. The evanescence of his tongue ring ghosting along your neck sent heat to your core as your mind burned at what was in store for you. 

He sat back on his heels to tug off his dark sweatshirt and t-shirt. His chest was a welcome sight to you before his hands laced with yours, pushing them above your head and sealing your lips together. His hips ground against yours, the friction forcing a moan to sloppy your breathless kiss even further. You felt him smirk against your lips at your easy pleasure. You were grateful you’d treated yourself this morning to your good lingerie as his fingers slipped from your grasp to slide beneath your waistband and grip at the curvature of your ass, pressing his growing erection harder against you. 

He tugged at your bottom lip before nipping at the shell of your ear. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” His voice was low and dripping with lust as your fingers dug into the short hair near the base of his neck. You nodded almost too eagerly and he chuckled darkly. “No, I need to hear you say it.” Karl’s breath was hot against your neck. “Beg me to fuck you.” 

The husk in his voice and the feeling of his hands on your body made you whine. “Please, yes!” You groaned, “fuck me!” He pushed his hands beneath your shirt before pulling it over your head. With his hands molding to your sides, he flipped you. You heard him slip out of his pants before you felt his lips on your shoulder blade, a moan escaping your lips as he pushed your hair to the side. 

He sat back, pulling on your thighs until you were pressed up against him on your hands and knees, his stiff cock bracing against his boxers as it nudged at your heat. You moaned as he reached around to rub your bundle of nerves, his other hand kneading against your shoulder. You ground against him, urging him to fill you instead of just teasing at your orgasm. Your mind flashed to his needy expression in the dimness of the corridor, making your knees ache once again as the new sensation he was pulsing through your body making your vision hazy. 

Karl’s fingers came to a stop as he pushed your shoulders into the mattress beneath you, your thighs spreading further. He traced his cock against your entrance, a begging moan falling from your lips to egg him on. His breath fanned across your back as he snickered at your display before edging himself into you. You fisted the sheets as he bottomed out inside of you, snapping his hips against you before retracting slightly only to repeat his actions until you adjusted. His fingers dug into your hips as he leaned over you, one of his hands settled near your head as he balanced himself, continuing to sink himself into you with a nearly steady rhythm. “Like this?” He jeered, alluding to your begging statements before. Much to your dismay, you knew if you’d ever see him again after this, your begging would probably be brought up again. 

You tugged your lip between your teeth, watching as his black nails disappeared into his grip on the sheets as he seemed to be holding back with every inch of his body. You felt every movement of him inside you as if it were your first time, his soft grunts melding with your moans before his teeth bit into your shoulder, a pained and pleasurable noise escaping the depths of your chest. The tension within you began to build at a quicker pace, your body suddenly begging for relief. Karl’s other hand moved to knot in your hair, pressing you further into the soft padding beneath you as clenched around him. “Fuck, don’t do that,” he nearly growled, his words coming as a surprise to break up his panting. 

You couldn’t fight the nasty grin spreading to your face, knowing full-well he could see it despite his hellish grip on your hair. “What? I’m not allowed to edge you?” You jousted, ignoring the fact that you were nearly powerless beneath him with your body pinned to the bed and your hips under his command. 

He chuckled darkly at your comment. A sharp slap seared against your ass, sending a stinging sensation across your body to meld with the intense feeling of him inside you. “Don’t act like a brat,” he joked, pulling out of you suddenly. Your hands cramped as you loosened your grip on the sheets, just now realizing how hard you were locked onto them for support. Before you could ask any questions, Karl flipped you again. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek, briefly looking over you as if deciding what to do next. He crawled over you again, pressing a kiss to your chest before locking his lips to yours and tucking your legs into the crooks of his elbows. Your tongues melded together in a sinful dance as Karl roughly pushed into you again, a moan vibrating into your kiss. At this new angle, he was seemingly reaching deeper inside of you, teasing you closer to your climax with each of his calculated thrusts. You broke the kiss to catch your breath, groaning as he continued to pump himself inside of you. 

Your nerves jumped as you heard the front door open downstairs, Karl’s devious eyes flashing to yours as the two of you halted. “It’s my roommate…” You whispered, as he softened his hold on you but he didn’t dare to pull out of you yet. 

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as the two of you listened to her softly bustling about while she unpacked from the day. Karl moved to bury his head in the crook of your neck, one of his arms settling to the side of you to take your hand again as he bit into your skin. A strangled moan whined past your teeth as you debated what to do next. “Should we invite her to join us?” He jested, his tongue ghosting over what you could already assume were a litter of bruises painting your skin. He chuckled to himself, probably feeling the way you tensed at his comment. “Nah, actually. I don’t wanna share you,” he growled, pressing a kiss to the center of your clavicle and making your breath hitch as the scent of his previous cigarette filled your nose once again.

He took your blatant obedience to his suggestive actions as a nod to thrust into you, making you gasp shortly. He moved one of his hands to tighten around your throat, his eyes burning into yours with an animalistic desire at your grinning response. He rolled his lip ring into his mouth as he looked at you carnally. He began to pound into you at a rougher speed, making your eyes roll and your mind fuzz in pleasure. Heat spread through your body as his fingers tightened around your throat, your breathing now at his mercy as your insides coiled in retaliation at your building orgasm. 

His blazoned stare smugly watched you with pride as you moaned out his name in a string of silent mutterings. His hand moved to clamp over your mouth and his lips were near your ear as he thrust into you at an unforgiving pace. “Shh shh shh,” he tsked lowly. “She’s gonna hear,” he groaned, voice rasping and uneven with his desire getting the better of him. His other hand gained purchase on the headboard and by the clouding look in his eye from above you, you could tell he was close again. The pleasure you got from coaxing him to his first orgasm earlier still burned in the back of your mind, the thought sent a wave of enticement to your core. 

It was getting to the point where you no longer cared if your roommate heard either of you, your orgasm was becoming too hard to hold back. You tightened around him, evoking a husky moan to reverberate from his chest. He pushed a thumb over your bottom lip, biting into his own before quickening his pace to chase his own climax. The sight of you unraveling beneath him, a fucked out expression spreading across your face to match your blissed-out wave of pleasure, sent him over the edge too. 

He hungrily seized your lips in another kiss, his weight leaning on top of you as you threaded your fingers into his hair. He kissed you like you were the last sip of water and he was a man in the middle of a desert. He severed the heat between the two of you, flopping onto his back beside you. You turned your head slightly, noticing the time and shrugging from under his arm to stand up. 

“Hey, did you wanna get dinner or something?” He asked, propping himself up on his elbows. The sheets rolled off his body to cling around his waist; his hair was tousled and reaching down to obstruct his vision. His iridescent eyes watched your every move as you yanked your pants up over your thighs with a small hop. You tried to ignore the beauty that was the sheen of after-sex glow, painting his cheeks red. His features looked sharper as the sunlight peering from between the blades of your window blinds drew streaks across his face. His eyeliner was a smudged mess, something you fought not to smirk proudly at, knowing how hard he’d just worked on you. 

As you straightened your appearance to look somewhat presentable for your next lesson, you couldn’t help but notice his keen interest in you. He had proven himself to be quite the voyeur in the few hours you’d known him. “I have class actually. You can shower if you want while I’m gone, but I’d rather my roommate not get any ideas.” You perked an eyebrow at him and a smug expression flattered his features. He leaned back into your pillows, tucking his hands behind his head. 

“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit on my way out then,” he jeered, sending you a small wink. You rolled your eyes and threw your bag over your shoulder. 

You felt gross and in need of a shower, but the time you had left was already thin enough. “Whatever. Maybe you can tell her it’s rent day tomorrow?” You quipped and slipped out the door, hoping he wouldn’t make a fuss about leaving so you wouldn’t be bombarded with questions from your [hopefully] oblivious roommate. The last thing you wanted was your feminist reputation to be tarnished over a boy like Karl. Yet, the thought of Karl ruining you in any way brought heat to your cheeks slightly. 

It’d been a day or so since you’d met with Karl, and you were beginning to wonder if you’d just imagined him. Or at least you would have if your roommate hadn’t asked about him every time your phone had gone off or you had to leave for the day. 

Now as the leaves were beginning to flood with more vibrant colors, you walked at a slower pace, attempting to keep up with your roommate’s ramblings about a dinner she was planning. Pools of people streamed in and out of buildings as bells tolled in the distance as you made your way towards one of the common buildings. You hadn’t paid much mind to the handful of boys skating around the two of you until an all too familiarly framed figure brushed past you a little too close for comfort. You huffed slightly as he turned to smirk at you, his lip ring capturing your attention. “Excuse me,” you groaned, playfully. 

His face brightened as you pulled the strap of your bag further up your arm. He crouched slightly to twist his board, coming back towards you. “My bad, baby,” he cooed, swinging around you and smacking your ass lightly. 

You fought the blush threatening to spread to your cheeks at his smug display. “Are you trying to catch a sexual harassment case?” You hissed as he whizzed by you again, a grin painting his features. It was almost like he was an excited puppy, greeting his owner. His edgy appearance was almost a coarse foil character of its own when he acted like that. 

“Hey, you enjoyed it the other day,” he called back, as he hopped off his skateboard and regrouped with his friends, earning an eye roll from you.

Your roommate popped her gum from beside you, indicating her presence which you’d forgotten among the shenanigans with Karl. “Holy fuck. Can I have a go too?” She jeered, making you inhale sharply. 

“Good luck. He bites,” you jousted, glancing over your shoulder, which he seemed to have been awaiting as he sent back a cheeky wink.

[americxn]

Can I request Smut headcanons where reader is a detective and tries to seduce JPM to get information, but she el punished for being nosy.

Marked (JPM x GN!Reader)

alternative (more exciting) fic:

these aren’t really headcanons but we move

also, @undeadcortez very recently posted a fic titled deadly consequences that I would 1000% recommend reading as a general fic rec, but I also just wanted to mention it because I feel like I kinda followed a smiliar mood so please go read it!

warnings: hickeys, spanking, not full smut but still NSFW  wordcount: 2.4k

James knew your game from the moment you first set foot in his hotel, your feigned innocence providing him with endless amusement. Under the guise of a temporarily homeless student needing a place to stay whilst your downtown apartment underwent lengthy renovations, you had booked a room on the fifth floor of the Cortez for seven weeks; of course this was all fabricated: you were an established detective, having graduated from college five years earlier and having been assigned a job looking into the recent disappearances at the Hotel Cortez. The disappearances were perplexing, even to you; five people had gone missing over the span of a month, their bodies undetectable. And hotel owner, James Patrick March, was at the top of your list of suspicions. 

However, one month into your secret investigation had gotten you pretty much nowhere; James, a very private man, had only granted you with two meetings in the hotel’s bar, appearing for no more than ten minutes before excusing himself, leaving you with the barmaid, Liz. This, although incredibly disheartening, was perhaps the only thing that got you to the point that you were currently at now: working up the courage to knock on the door to James’ room for the date that Liz had set you and James up on.

Your nerves were overwhelming, the mounting anxiety that you would fuck this up and lose James’ recently ignited interest in you plaguing your mind as you rapped your knuckles on the hard wood of the door, your breath catching as it swung open almost immediately. You pushed down the flutters of pleasant delight that joined the nervous butterflies filling your stomach at the sight of him, glorious in his usual finery, a smile of genuine pleasure at your appearance growing on his pale face. Leading you inside with a warm greeting, he directed you to your seat at the long dining table in the centre of the room, his personal maid, Hazel Evers, nowhere to be seen. You keep your grimace hidden as you beheld the plate of steaming food already placed before your seat, your nerves reluctant to allow you to eat.

The dim light of the candles cast soft shadows across James’ face, the pale planes of his defined facial structure falling into shadow as you dined together, your glass of wine never empty as he took it upon himself to refill it for you, again and again. He provided pleasant company, and beneath your mask of growing romantic attraction with the man, you were secretly tucking every piece of personal information he offered you, which was limited, into a back pocket of your mind. 

Hours passed, your eyes growing heavy from the copious amounts of wine you had consumed; you silently cursed yourself as a light film of alcohol induced bliss settled over, fogging your mind and softening the usually blunt edges of your conscious. 

You weren’t sure how it happened, but when James offered you a cigarette, you stood from your seat, seizing the opportunity and slinking over to him, plucking the one he was smoking from between his lips, pushing away his empty plate and perching on the edge of the table in front of him. His eyes glowed with a newfound hunger as you gazed down at him, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before passing it back to him. Lifting your legs up, you rested your feet on the edge of his chair at either side of his thighs, your breath hitching when his cool fingers settled around your ankles, encircling them in a light hold. 

Your feigned confidence manifested in a small smirk curving your lips in response to the eager glint in his dark eyes as you leant in slightly, cocking your head before asking a potentially dangerous question: “How do you feel about all those recent disappearances in the news? Has it affected business at all?”

James surveyed you carefully, the room falling silent as you waited for his answer, heart thundering. “I was wondering when you’d ask.” Was all he said, his lithe fingers tightening their grip on your ankles, pulling you off the edge of the table with a strong tug. You fell onto his lap with a gasp, James’ hands moving from your ankles to your lower back, holding you to him. You mulled over his words, trying to sort through all the possible hidden meanings that his tone, thoughtful and dark, presented. His body heat leeched into you with your close proximity, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t place as he brought his face closer to yours. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

His lowly spoken words drew your heart to a sudden halt, the muscles in your thighs braced on either side of James’ legs tensing up. He seemed to track the small changes in your body, his breath soaked with the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey as his smile turned positively predatory. 

“You can report me as being the culprit, but I can promise that it’ll do no good.” You drew away from him, your back arching as you tried to pull away, his hold on your back unwavering, not allowing you to move so much as an inch. “You knew?” You ventured reluctantly, a sense of dread settling over you as his tone fell utterly calm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached up, running the knuckle of a cold finger down the side of your warm face. He offered a hum of confirmation, his finger trailing along your jaw and to your chin, forcing your head to lift slightly. “You were playing with me.” You concluded aloud, your voice unsteady as the fearful realisation settled over you. “Of course I was. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.”

“I’m sorry.” You breathed in an immediate response, still trying in vain to break away from his close hold. “I’ll leave and just say that I didn’t find anything, I’m not -” you were silenced when James moved his hands to your upper thighs, pulling you roughly to him and bringing his face uncomfortably close to yours. “Are you really so bad of a detective that you resorted to attempting to seduce me for information?” His voice was close to a sneered growl, his hot breath fanning over your face as he spoke. At your injured silence, his words highlighting some unrecognised truth within you, he tutted, pushing you off his lap and abruptly standing, taking ahold of your wrists and forcing you across the room and through the open doorway into his bedroom. 

James was meticulous in extracting his punishment, ripping the clothes off your body whilst you merely stood there, staring at him, transfixed and not at all reluctant to do as he ordered as he pushed your newly naked body on his bed. The smell of him clinging to the deep scarlet sheets was intoxicating and you lie there, gazing up at him. He scolded you when you tried to cover your modesty, reaching down to pry your hands away from your body, positioning them over your head and ordering you to keep them there.

“You’re sinful.” He whispered roughly and you nodded, agreeing with his comment with renewed desperation. “Keep your arms above your head.” You blinked at him, but did as he asked. Satisfied with your obedience, James took ahold of your legs, pulling you roughly to the edge of the bed, positioning your feet against the floor on either side of his body as he lowered his head to the base of your throat, his hair brushing pleasantly against your collarbones. His lips were soft and warm as he pressed several kisses to your skin, drawing a trail up the column of your throat to your chin. You followed his movements by tipping your head back slightly further with each kiss as he progressed up your neck, allowing him better access and silently inviting him to use his teeth to mark you.

As soon as his lips had completed their journey to your jaw, skimming against the bottom of your chin, he pulled away, denying you the full kiss to your lips that you craved. He kept eye contact with you as he moved down your body slightly, his lips latching onto your ribs and proceeding to give them the same treatment that he had just forced your neck to endure. This time, he allowed his teeth to graze against your skin as he travelled from one side of your torso to the other, goosebumps forming in his wake, chasing after his touch.

You couldn’t help but groan when he pressed his nose to the space just beneath your breasts, his hot tongue finally coming into contact with your skin as he kitten licked his way up to chest. From above him, your own eyes were clenched shut, your mouth slightly parted as you forced yourself to keep your hands above your head. All you wanted to do was weave your fingertips into the dark strands of his hair but you knew that in doing so, you risked upsetting James and cutting this intimate exchange short. Using his tongue, he softly traced the area of skin where your ribs sloped down to meet your torso, tracing and licking back and forth.

James continued his thorough exploration of your body, skimming his warm lips along your abdomen, past your bellybutton and to one of your hips. You hissed softly when he bit down on your skin, simultaneously latching his lips onto you and sucking harshly. He moved back and forth between your hips, painting them in turn with blotchy, deep red marks, the sensation becoming slightly more painful as his brutal onslaught on your skin continued. His bites and kisses become increasingly more intense, his teeth closing tighter around your skin with each nip, eventually becoming hard enough to draw blood, leaving you squirming and whimpering beneath him. 

You were temporarily relieved when James pulled away, straightening and gazing across the marked planes of your trembling body with cruel excitement. That relief was short lived, however, when he took ahold of your torso, his strength unfathomable as he flipped you over with ease, placing his hands on your hips and pulling your ass up into the air, your knees scrambling to gain purchase on the edge of the bed, your back beginning to ache immediately with the strain of maintaining the compromising form he roughly positioned you into. The sheets were warmed by your own body heat against your cheek as you turned your head to the side, glancing behind you to see James taking in the view you presented him with, his dark eyes ravenous. 

“What are you doing?” You squeaked, your trepidation growing when James rubbed a warm palm across the curve of your bare ass fully displayed to him. “What? Did you think that this would be fun for you?” He crooned, allowing his nails to drag painfully across your sensitive skin. You winced, turning your head and burying it into the sheets as you braced yourself for what was sure to come next. “You look so much prettier with my marks all over his skin.” He mused quietly, the words causing you to shiver in anticipation as you awaited the harsh impact of his palm that he was sure to land on your feverish skin. When it came, you still shrieked, the force that he used unexpectedly brutal, the crack of his hand against your skin echoing around the large room.

He gave you no time to recover, instead landing another, equally hard slap to the other side of your ass, establishing a cruel routine of alternating between cheeks, each hit more jarring as he worked to increase the sensitivity of your skin, causing a light burn to spread across the entirety of your ass, tears pricking at your clenched shut eyes, squeezing out from behind your lids and soaking into James’ sheets beneath you; he had one hand hooked under you, placed flat against your abdomen to prevent your ass from shying away from the palm of his hand, his rings a cold impact against your soft skin, only emphasising the pain and leaving you a trembling, sobbing mess before him, waves of nausea rolling through you as James inflicted his punishment on you, any arousal that his lips had built dissipating more and more with each collision of his palm on your smouldering skin, the noises he drew from you utterly satisfying to you ears. 

With his brutal onslaught of your ass completed, James leant in licking a wet stripe from the top of your thigh, up your scorching skin to the plateau of your lower back, landing one final hit on one cheek whilst attaching his teeth to the other, sucking a deep purple mark onto your already brutalised skin. 

You collapsed onto your side as he pulled away, admiring his handiwork, your ass glowing with welts from where his rings had hit, pulling small raised marks up onto your burning skin. You watched as he stooped, gathering up all your clothes and bundling them under one arm, making a show of tucking your underwear into his breast pocket with a flourish before stepping away from you. He reached into the pocket of your jeans, locating your key card for your room on the fifth floor and chucking it onto the bed beside you.

“You can find your own back to your room. I’ll be expecting your next visitations to collect these.” He explained wickedly, gesturing to your clothes in his hold, throwing a self-satisfied smirk your way before turning on his heel and exiting the room. You stared after him in disbelief before shooting up, calling his name as he disappeared into the other room.

By the time you had stumbled after him, every inch of your body aching following his rough assault on your body, he was gone. It took you at least twenty minutes to work up the courage to leave the room, racing through the halls to get to your floor, the cool air of the hotel soothing your minor injuries as you barrelled barefoot down hallway after hallway, deciding to take the stairs. Thankfully, the late hour meant that the corridors were blessedly empty and no one was around to worsen your humiliation, much to James’ disappointment, who silently trailed you back to your room, the echo of your hotel door slamming and the following click of the lock making him chuckle. 

Taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

[1kook]

mean jungkook + library sex

alternatively titled: skirt chasers — drabble ii 

this technically takes place before drabble i so the chronology is all fucked up but bear with me girlies... as most things on this blog do, it started w/ a gif v.v somehow it ended up being 4k and none of its proofread but are we surprised at this point cue the ted talk ending sequence 

-

He was so mean.

Jungkook was horribly, terribly mean to you sometimes, and you wondered why you still allowed him to call himself your boyfriend when time and again he’d shown how mean he could be.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, voice but a hoarse whisper in the library, so desolate and void of the usual bustle of student life it had during the day time. It was nearing 10pm now, and you know the grad students who worked behind the front desk would change shifts soon. Their brief moment of inattention was what Jungkook had planned his little stunt around tonight.

He smirked, eyes facing forward at the empty seats on the other side of the table. Empty, because unlike your usual study dates, where he’d sprawl himself across from you and spend about half of his time just admiring at you, Jungkook had decided tonight that he’d sit beside you.

You hadn’t minded at first, not really seeing what the difference between sitting in front of you or beside you made, so you’d let him dump his books onto the table. Yeah it made things a little more crowded as you tried to squeeze both your laptops and an endless amount of books onto the surface, but it wasn’t anything to cry about.

No, the real issue had presented itself fifteen minutes ago when Jungkook abruptly shut his laptop. Usually, this was Jungkook speak for ‘I’ve reached maximum productivity and would like to go home now’ to which you had instinctively shut down your own computer as well. But unlike other study dates, where your boyfriend would haphazardly shove all his books into his bag and then patiently wait for you to organize your stuff, pretty, doe eyes gazing at you like you were his entire universe, Jungkook had had different plans for tonight.

“Quiet in the library,” he scolded, no real bite behind his words, the tip of his pointer finger brushing barely—and you mean barely—against your slit again. A clock ticked somewhere. Another minute dragged by.

A particular prod further down your folds made you squeal, and Jungkook shushed you quickly. “So loud,” he sighs, finally turning in his seat to face you. His movement granted you a moment of relief, his teasing hand moving away from you. His usual adoring gaze was nowhere to be seen, dark brown eyes half-lidded as he placed an elbow on the back of his chair, leaning his head into his open palm.

The library was dead silent, save for the occasional stutter of your breaths as you became aware of the way his eyes swallowed every inch of your presence before him. “Kook,” you started, and stopped because your throat was a garbled mess from stifling your whines for the past five minutes. After you’d cleared it, you began again, hoping the sweet tone of your voice would be enough to persuade him. “Let’s go back to your dorm, yeah?” You coaxed, brushing your hands down your skirt from where he’d thoroughly ruffled it. “We can relax there, okay?”

Jungkook said nothing, eyes continuing to rake over your figure. When you’d fixed your skirt, something in his jaw twitched, as if he didn’t like you trying to hide the evidence of his doings. Suddenly, his free hand, the one that had lingered on the table top, surged forward to grasp one of your thighs, tugging it towards him until your legs were pleasantly spread, your skirt dipping between the valley of your thighs.

“J-Jungkook—!” You gasped as his fingers trailed upwards to the apex between your thighs, a sudden caress to your folds making your legs clamp up again. Jungkook paid it no mind, after all your movements had left his hand snug between your thighs. Your hands flailed as they searched for something to anchor you back to reality, eventually settling on grabbing the sides of the seat.

“But what if I wanna relax here?” He sighs, leaning in closer to you, hot breath fanning across your neck as he ducked down, licking a broad stripe up the vein on your neck. His hand continued to massage the inside of your thigh, every single movement punctuated by a brush of his knuckle against your folds. Surely you were wet, Jungkook’s low murmur and wandering hands enough to light the fire beneath your skin.

But the rational part of your brain argued that the librarians would certainly pass through here during this shift change, the open study area consisting of only tables and chairs. It was a miracle no one was here tonight, but you guess it’s because it’s early into the semester, and no one has truly hit that point where they’re rushing to type essays before the midnight deadline.

Jungkook squeezes your flesh, jolting you away from your thoughts. “Come on…” he crooned, and you melt impossibly into the wooden chair. “I thought you liked the library, baby,” he teased, and his soft voice guides you into a false sense of security, one that is brutality ripped away from you when he yanks your thigh toward him again, the brute strength he rarely exhibited making you whirl in your chair, until you were facing him.

“Jungkook, someone could catch us,” you nervously warn him, chest tight with every soft caress he gives your throbbing core. You wrap a hand around his wrists, as if to stop him, but your body betrays you and a particular nudge of his fingers against your clit has you pushing his hand onto you.

Finally, he removes his other arm from where he’d been resting it on the back of the chair, shuffling around until he too is facing you. His knee knocks against yours, but you don’t have time to complain before he’s clapping both palms down into your bare thighs, smoothing them up and down as he gazes at your flushed features. “Then you better be quiet, pretty baby,” he says, leaning forward until his nose brushed against yours, and your lower lip trembled as you anticipated his kiss.

It’s soft and sweet, like Jungkook’s kisses usually were, but it’s tainted by the ravenous hunger of his that has him shoving his tongue past your lips, licking and biting you like a man starved. It’s wet, so undeniably wet, but that’s how Jungkook liked it best.

When he pulls away, his lips are slick with saliva and you wonder if it’s his or yours. You don’t have long to ponder it, before he’s knocking your thighs further apart, hand creeping under your skirt again.

You gasp, a stuttering mess as he takes two fingers and runs them up the length of your slit, pressing down in all the right places. Your stupid panties limit him from doing much else, and you whine against his mouth when the purple panties stop him from shoving his fingers into your core for the second time.

“K-Kook,” you whine, hips unconsciously grinding in circles as you chase after his touch, desperate to feel more and more of him. Jungkook delivers a stinging bite to your jawline, and you squeal in surprise.

“Shut up,” he hisses, and then, as if punishment for your volume, he tugs your underwear to the side. He provides no warning before he’s plunging two fingers into your aching pussy. He succeeds in the complete opposite of his warning, and even though you bite down on your lip, the moan that tears its way out of your throat is still loud as hell in the library. “___,” he warns, curling his fingers inside of you until you’re seeing stars.

You pay no mind to his warning, so caught up in your pleasure that you begin melting into your seat. You forget the back of the chair is beside you, not behind you like it should be, and your body weakens with every curl of his digits. It’s Jungkook’s strong hand that catches you, gripping the small of your back in alarm. “God, you’re making this so fucking difficult,” he grunts, his arm around your waist pulling your bodies even closer until his arm is uncomfortably angled between your bodies in order to keep fingering you.

“I’m sorry,” you wail, the loudness of your voice literally the last thing on your mind right now. “It feels so good, Jungkook—s-s good!” You mewl, fingers gripping tightly at the sleeves of his t-shirt. He scissors his fingers, and you swear you see heaven. “J-Jungkook!” You cry out, hands reaching to cradle the back of his head, silky strands caught between your fingers.

“Sh shh,” he shushes, and you can barely see the vein protruding from his temple. You can’t tell if it’s from being turned on or from being annoyed, and you don’t really care anyway. “Shut up, ___,” he seethes after another particularly loud whine. You decide it’s from annoyance.

“I can’t!” You cry out miserably, hips rutting into his touch the longer he thrusts his fingers in and out. His thumb stretches up, pressing down hard on your clit. You nearly release a scream of bloody murder, but Jungkook predicts this and swallows every sound you make with his lips. Your moans are muffled against his mouth, your back arching impossibly further into his chest as he curls his fingers over and over.

When he pulls away, the pop of your lips is loud, and your breathing is loud, but Jungkook just wants you to be quiet. “So fucking loud,” he huffs, each word punctuated by a rough thrust of his fingers into your pussy. “Can’t shut up for five fucking minutes.”

You tremble in his arms, the muscles in your thigh twitching every so often from how good his fingers feel nestled deep in your core. “Kook,” you babble, desperately chasing the pucker of his lips as you feel your orgasm begin to rear it’s beautiful head.

“What?” He barks, pulls you so close that his fingers push impossibly deeper. His knuckles are right against your folds, desperate to join in on the fun. But Jungkook’s hands were so, so big, and even though you could squeeze four fingers into yourself on a good day, just two of Jungkook’s fingers were enough to tear you apart. “Still got more to say?” He huffs, bites down on your lip meanly, like he doesn’t know how badly you wanted a kiss.

You whine anyway, and it registers in the back of your head the way he’d thrown one of your thighs over his to pull you closer, your entire body nearly balancing itself on your tailbone as he manhandled you around to best fuck his fingers into you. “Please,” your hoarse voice gasps.

Jungkook presses another kiss onto you, obnoxiously using his tongue until you could feel the saliva drip from the corner of your lips, his mouth greedy and inconsiderate. His fingers are curled as they thrust into you, each shove inside of you rougher than the last. You can almost taste the arousal begging to wash over you, and it’s when the thin ring on his pinky nudges against your folds that it comes to fruition.

“J-Jungkook!” You shriek, but the second half gets swallowed by his lips. Your body spasms, a cloud of white enveloping your figure as Jungkook continues fucking his fingers into you, milking every last spurt of cum out of you. Your cum gushes on his fingers, staining the parts of your underwear he hadn’t pushed away far enough.

Even when you’re coming back down, his fingers curl and scissor inside of you. You twitch, your body sensitive from your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t show any signs of stopping.

“That’s enough, Kook,” you choke out, hand fluttering down to catch his wrist before he really does break you. Jungkook’s hand pauses, but he doesn’t try to move away.

“That’s enough?” He repeats after a beat of silence, dark eyes staring hard. “That’s enough?” He repeats, and you hate how your hips unconsciously shift into him at the coldness of his voice. But before you can get another good caress or two out of him, he’s tugging his hand away from you like he’s disgusted. Not at you—never at you—but at your presumed selfishness.

Without warning, he’s tugging the two of you up out of your seats, shoving you chest down onto the table. The chairs scrape terribly loudly against the floor, but you don’t have time to worry about that when Jungkook’s flipping your skirt up, exposing your ass to the entire study area.

“Jungkook!” You exclaim, and at this point neither of the two of you have any regard for your volume. If someone was gonna catch you, they would have done so by now.

“Shut up,” he snarls, tugging your panties down. “So fucking tired of you, ___” he spits once he’s pulled the garment down to the middle of your thighs. He roughly nudges a knee between your legs, knocking your legs further apart. “Can’t fucking follow directions,” he huffs, and your ears register the clanking of his belt buckle, followed by a quiet zip of his jeans. “Too fucking weak to hold yourself up.” The soft sounds of fabric. “And won’t even give me a fucking thank you for making you feel good?” He snorts, and his raging cock slaps against your ass.

“Jungkook, someone will see,” you say, only to have that thought cut off as he reaches down and tangles his fist in your hair, tugging you up abruptly.

“What did I say?” He huffs, and his cock finds itself deliciously pushed between your thighs.

Your lips tremble, body arched back into him. Jungkook gives another pull, and you sputter into action. “To sh-shut up,” you whisper.

Jungkook lets up, and his sudden release of your hair has your upper body flopping back down onto the table. You go to push yourself up onto your elbows, but Jungkook presses a hand between your shoulder blades and shoves you back down.

“Are you gonna be good now?” He murmurs, hands stroking your hip. The arm on your back leaves you, but you don’t move to get up. You nod against the table, your lower abdomen folding in on itself at the raspy tone of his voice.

Your folds are still soaked from the orgasm you’d had just five minutes ago, and even if you hadn’t, Jungkook’s unusually mean demeanor had your folds drenched with every rough shove and every bark he threw your way. “Gonna be good,” you promise, though you don’t even know what that entails anymore.

You don’t really care anyway, especially not when you finally feel the head of his cock brush up and down your folds, collecting a sheen of cum that he rubs over the rest of his cock. It catches on your clit, and you slap a palm over your mouth to muffle the whine that escapes you.

Jungkook chuckles at your antics, and his voice is breathier than its been all night when he says, “good girl.”

His cock pushes against your wet hole, and when the head pops through that initial ring of muscle you find yourself squirming on the table top. Jungkook’s gasps become noticeably louder the deeper and deeper his cock reaches.

He’s so fucking big, and the sheer size of his dick has you salivating like a dog. “Okay?” He murmurs, and you nod like a bobble-head, hips shifting back into him. He releases a low string of groans, each one different from the last, as he finally bottoms out. He fills you up so nicely, and you subconsciously squeeze around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, finger nails digging into your hips, and he suddenly bucks into your tight heat. Unprepared, you moan, the hand that had muffled you before resting flat against the table top. Another thrust and you’re sobbing. “Be quiet,” Jungkook seethes, and you’re surprised he’s still even trying to keep the two to you quiet.

“Please,” you beg, wiggling your hips back into him. You know he likes this best, absolutely adores it when you entice him like this. But at the same time, Jungkook’s never been this rough with you before, this careless with his words, and you wonder if the same applies now at all. “Need you bad, Kook.”

He thrusts into you once more, and this thrust kicks off the rest as he slowly and shallowly begins pumping into you. “Told you to—to shut up,” he grunts, slowly picking up the pace.

“Nooo—,” you cry when he pulls out, only to slam back into you.

“God, you’re so fucking bad at this,” he chuckles, but there’s no hint of amusement in his voice. He does it again, pulls all the way out before shoving back in. “Pisses me off so much when you don’t do what you’re told.” He’s huffing between every other syllable he says, roughly pulling your hips onto him. “Supposed to be my good girl, or do you not want that anymore?”

“No, no!” You cry, fingers digging into the table, but it’s flat so you just scratch your nails against the surface. It’s disgusting to have your face pressed into a dirty, public table like this, but everything you and Jungkook had done tonight was by far more so. “I want that, I-I—“

Your words get cut off by a moan, one Jungkook pulls out of you after he begins pistoning his hips into you. His balls slap against your skin so loudly, it almost sounds like someone’s clapping. “Then fucking act like it,” he spits, and it hurts where he’s holding your hips, but it feels so good.

Suddenly, his cock pulls away from your warmth again. Expecting him to just thrust back in like he’d done before, you yelp when he whirls your body around, and it’s the first time you’ve seen his face since he’d made you cum nearly 15 minutes ago.

He’s hot, so unbelievably hot, as he glares at you with that cold gaze of his. You almost can’t believe this is your sweetie pie Jungkook, who just two hours ago had peppered you in butterfly kisses behind the vending machine in the student center. He looks rough and uncaring as he pushes you back into the table. One hand snakes its way behind your thigh, pushing you up until you’re sitting on the edge, and only then does he rudely push you onto your back.

“Come on,” he sighs in annoyance, like he wants this to be over with. But his hard cock curving against his stomach says otherwise. With your new position on your back, Jungkook slides two hands up the backs of your thighs, until they reach the part behind your knees and he shoves your legs up, nearly has them touching your shoulders, as he finds his spot between your lips again.

You gasp, because as much as Jungkook liked having you on your chest, thrusting into you from behind, there was nothing more that you loved than seeing his features twist and turn as he fucked you so thoroughly.

“Fuck, Jungkook!” You cry, heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of his furrowed brows, the sweat that coated his neck and his temples, the way his teeth ground together with each thrust. He was gorgeous, a wet dream, except he was tangible and very much here and very much yours. Before you can stop yourself, you’re babbling like a fool. “I love you, I love yo—“

Your second confession is cut short by the sudden uncontrollable series of thrusts Jungkook rains down on you. His hips ram into you so hard, he’d have sent you flying off the table if he hadn’t been holding onto you so tightly. “Jungkook,” you gasp again, “I love you—“

“Yeah, I heard,” he snarls, eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy clenched around his cock.

You huff, and then reach an arm forward to cradle the side of his face. If he’s surprised by your sudden affection, he doesn’t let it show. “I love you,” you choke, eyes watering from the overstimulation, the pleasure, the way he’d been so mean to you all night. “Say it back,” you blurt, and Jungkook pauses to regard you with wary eyes. “Say it back, Jungkook,” you beg, eyes pooling over until tears trickle down your cheeks, “say you love me, Jungkook, please, please.”

He swallows your heartbreaking sobs with a kiss, gentle and sweet, nothing like the mean ones he’d been giving you all night. “Love you,” he murmurs when he pulls away, lips still brushing against yours. “Love you so much,” he admits, and rolls his hips against yours.

You cry even more, but Jungkook pays you no mind, readjusting his hold on you to continue his thrusts. “I-I love you,” you sob, and then wrestle his hand away from your leg only to tangle your fingers together. “I love you!”

“Love you,” he parrots back, jaw tight as he reaches the final stretch before his orgasm. You’re trembling in his arms, from the pleasure and from the crying, and all you want is for him to love you. “Gonna come,” he announces, and ducks down to press another kiss to the corner of your lips as he rams his cock into your heat, so deep you feel him brush against your cervix.

You gasp, body writhing beneath him, stiff and aching from the hard table beneath you, but all of that fades into nothing when you reach your second orgasm of the night. You flutter, limbs boneless as your body quivers beneath his touch, coating his hard cock in another layer of cum. Adding to the first orgasm’s cum and the pre-cum on his own dick, Jungkook’s last few thrusts sound so disgustingly wet, squelching loudly in the silent library.

His hips lose control when he finally comes, stuttering uneven strokes as he bursts inside of you. Rope after rope of his hot cum coats your walls, and he’s huffing after he’s given it all to you. When it’s all said and done, it’s like a switch flicks off in Jungkook’s mind, and he’s pulling out of you hastily, reaching for your bag and where he knows you keep that tiny pack of tissues to clean you up.

“Baby,” he hurriedly murmurs, cleaning you up as best as he can with a cheap tissue, one that he also uses to wipe himself down. He’s tugging your panties back up your legs when you finally slid back into action, wiggling the rest of the way into your undergarments. Your cheeks are still wet from the sobbing you did tonight, and Jungkook is like a deer in headlights the way he’s looking at you. “I don’t know what came over me,” he hurries to explain, then shrugs a sleeve further down his arm, wrapping the material around his thumb as he dries your tears off. “I-I’m sorry...“

“You were so mean,” you pout, and your cheeks feel warm, your nose slightly stuffed, the same way they always feel after any type of crying. Jungkook startles, stumbles over his apologies as his cheeks warm up, eyes wide and panicky.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters for about the tenth time, and helps you off the table, hands wrapping around your waist the second you begin swaying, your legs so numb. “I’ll never do that again, I promise, i-it was just a heat of the moment thing, baby, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I prom—“

“Shut up,” you huff, repeating those same words back to him, and Jungkook does so immediately. A smile curls around your lips, and Jungkook slowly relaxes at the sight. “Just tell me you love me,” you sigh, pushing yourself up onto your tip toes, lips puckered and ready.

Jungkook sighs, a choked laugh of a sound, before ducking down to peck your lips. “Love you,” he sighs, “but please, stop me if I ever do that again.”

You blink owlishly. “Do what?” You ask as you shrug your cardigan on.

“Make you cry like that,” he says, taking your bag before you can even reach for it. “Hate seeing my baby like that, especially when it’s my fault.”

You roll your eyes, brushing through the empty study area and the empty library stacks. When you wave goodbye to the grad student at the desk, it’s a different person than the woman who’d been there when you and Jungkook had arrived two hours ago. His face is red as he spares the two of you a curt nod.

“Hm,” you trail off, taking his hand in yours the second you’re outside. It’s a little breezy outside, the moon shining bright over the dark campus. You think about how empty the bus will be on your way home, and how much Chaeyoung will scold you for being out late again. “Yeah, that was weird,” you laugh, brushing off any concerns Jungkook might’ve had about your little sobbing session tonight.

You’re nearing the bus stop, and before you can motion for him to hand over your bag, he’s tugging you down the sidewalk. “Come to my place tonight,” he pleads, eyes soft and round when he briefly glances at your undoubtedly unkept appearance. “Don’t want you going home by yourself, and I have to make it up to you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you goof,” You roll your eyes, but follow him nonetheless. The campus still has its occasional stragglers milling about, but when Jungkook turns to face you, moon high in the sky behind him, it’s like you’re the only two in the world.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you stumble when he yanks your hand to bring you closer. “Really?” Jungkook murmurs, and all you hear is his heartbeat against your ear and his breaths puffing softly against your skin. “Then please come over and let me do it again.”

[seokmingiggles]

earmuffs.

Prompts: "I thought our anniversary was in August?" And, "No one's ever given me something like this before."

Pairing: Min Yoongi x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, Valentine's Day.

1.18k words

No warnings; rated G.

Gift-exchanging can sometimes be awkward between you and your boyfriend, especially on February 14th when both of you want to play none-the-wiser that you have something secretly prepared for the other.

Alternatively, you and Yoongi know the best ways to stay warm this Valentine’s Day.

A/N: The prompts listed above come from this post! I decided on a whim that I wanted to write a little drabble for Valentine’s day. I was going through the notions of who to write for, ultimately deciding on Yoongi (clearly) since I haven’t written for him in a couple of months. Anyways, here’s some fluffy boyfriend Yoon for you! Happy Valentine’s Day ♡

•• "I thought our anniversary was in August?"

"What, that's the only time I can give you a gift?"

"Well, no," the boy shrugs, trailing off; lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. He stares at the wrapped present you placed in his hands—it doesn't weigh very much. Roughly the length of his forearm and about the height of his hand tall, the pastel pink edges of the wrapping paper are pressed over each corner neatly. A thin twine string holds it together, tied in a clean bow on the top. It's a minimalistic look, nothing elaborate or overly fancy, yet Yoongi handles it like even a heavy exhale will make it shatter in his hands.

The boy blinks once, twice, then meets your eyes and blinks a few more times, remaining silent. His expression is hard to gauge; it's not quite a deadpanned look as he's softer around the edges than he realizes.

"Stop looking at me like that, Min," you cross your arms over your chest. "It's weird."

"It's Valentine's Day, and you're calling me weird?" Yoongi's falsely-stern expression fails when the corners of his lips perk upwards. "How romantic."

You roll your eyes, arms unfolding, "Okay, so you do know what day it is. In that case, stop being weird and open it already!"

"Okay, okay," your boyfriend complies and turns in his seat to set the gift on the dining table. He holds it steady with one hand while he slowly pulls the string with his other hand. It gives with ease, piling to the side of the rosy rectangle in a heap of twine.

Yoongi looks at you once again as if to ask for permission to rip the wrapping. Once you nod in encouragement, he tears the paper; the sound tingles your ears. Revealed is a cardboard box, rather plain, nothing out of the ordinary. Yoongi continues, lifting the lid of the box and peering inside.

"Slippers?" his eyes flicker back up to you.

Sure enough, a pair of dark tan, backless slippers lay inside the box. They have a cream-coloured fuzzy interior, squishy and plush to the touch.

"Good observation," you tease. "But look, there should be something else inside too."

The boy returns to the box, removing the shoes and tissue paper to find what lies beneath. "A pair of socks?"

"Thermal socks," you correct and pull out a chair, taking a seat next to the boy. With a smile reaching up to your eyes, you add, "I wanted to get you the slippers a couple of months ago, but they were sold out everywhere. You know, the holiday rush, I guess. But I finally found them, and the socks, too," you grab the soft bundle, thumbing the thick material. "You always say how your feet are constantly cold, and I have the proof when you put them to my legs at night. Little, demon, icicle toes, I swear."

Yoongi chortles, standing from his chair and taking your hands to pull you up and into his chest. You easily comply with him guiding your movements, securing yourself to his torso.

"No one's ever given me something like this before," he mumbles into your hair. "Thank you."

"They're just slippers, Min," you say. "It's not a big deal, really."

"Doesn't matter. They're from you," he places a small peck delicately onto the top of your head. "Anything from you is a big deal."

Yoongi squeezes you tighter; your hair smells like sherbet ice cream, somehow. He inhales deeply—sweetness in the form of you fills his lungs.

Your cheeks warm in his embrace. The two of you slightly sway from side-to-side as if dancing to some muffled music, materialized as the rain rhythmically pattering on the windows.

"I love you, Min," your voice is swallowed by Yoongi's chest.

Yet, the boy feels the vibrations—the hot breath of your words heating his soul—and responds, "I love you too, bubs."

You remain in Yoongi's embrace until he mumbles, "Now, would you like your gift?"

You pull back to look at him, "You didn't have to get me anything."

The boy removes his hold on you. With a gentle pat to the top of your head and a grin, he mutters, "Sorry, I don't make the rules," and moves to the adjacent room to retrieve your present buried in the pits of his dresser. He returns with a small box about the size of his hand, no more than an inch tall, and hands it to you with a shy smile, returning to his chair next to you.

The gift isn't wrapped, although instead housing a silky red ribbon keeping the lid secure to its base. The box is a deep, chocolatey brown colour. Little paisley patterns are etched and scattered around both sides, only visible when you turn the case in the window's lighting.

You give Yoongi a similar glance as if asking for approval to untie it. The boy rests his elbow on the table, chin placed onto his palm as he watches you loosen the ribbon, eyes tracing every inch of you as you beam with curiosity and anticipation. You wiggle the lid off and peer inside. There lies a pair of woollen gloves. Black, tinted a slight navy blue, and incredibly soft when you remove them from their casing and onto your hands; a perfect fit. (Although arguably not as perfect as how Yoongi's hands fit into yours.)

"It's 'cause you're so cold all the time, more-so during the winter. And your solution of sticking your hands inside my coat pocket isn't that effective. It just makes me cold, too," Yoongi fiddles with the ribbon. "Little, icy demon fingers—yeah, something like that."

You giggle and stand from your seat, moving to lean down and hug your sitting boyfriend with your gloved palms. His arms flutter over your back before connecting to you.

You kiss his temple, "Thank you, Min."

"Of course," he whispers into your figure. "Together, we'll have the warmest hands and toes of any couple."

You let go of your hug and cup Yoongi's face with the soft fabric. A quick peck to his round nose and then lips makes the boy's face heat.

"I'm glad I didn't get you earmuffs too," you tuck some hair behind his reddening ears, "you're already warm enough without them."

Yoongi continues to fiddle with the piece of ribbon, suddenly averting his gaze from you, yet his small smile remains evident on his face. He takes the ribbon in one hand and your fingers in the other, getting you to hold out your hand for him. He wraps the fabric around your gloved wrist, going through the bunny-eared notions to finish it in a dainty bow atop your hand; the bright red pops on the contrasting navy blue fleece backdrop.

You chuckle, "What, am I your gift or something, Min?"

The boy finally reaches your gaze. He stands with your hands in his, "Yeah," he mumbles. "Something like that," he repeats and kisses your cheek with a grin plastered on his rosy face.

••

[harryspet]

dimensions | peter parker

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark peter x reader, historical au, royal au, prince Peter, mentions of noncon sex, physical abuse, spanking, alternate dimensions, fluff, hella angst, alternate peter is basically ramsay bolton

A/N: This is an angsty idea from an anon “Angst thought: Peter's got a girlfriend he super likes but she gets switched with an alternate dimension's version of her who alternate him was the worst to (like one of your dark Peter fics bad) and she's terrified of Peter now”. I decided to make this like a historical au but it can basically take place at anytime in history.

THIS CONTAINS TRIGGERING MATERIAL AND ADULT CONTENT

main masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Wine dripped from his lips as Peter stared at you like a hungry wolf. What a beautiful prey you were. He was so lucky that he had decided not to kill you like the rest of your family. 

The kingdom you came from was made of sunlight. Sun dripped from the sun and kissed the skin of your people. You were a peaceful people. You had never seen war until you came to know Lord Parker. 

In Lord Parker’s part of the world, there was no sun at all. His fortress sat on a hill between a dark forest and a storm-ridden sea. His followers were loyal but this was because the family ruled with fear. They conquered and pillaged for power and your kingdom was just another line on his roster. 

You were nothing to him. Nothing except a toy. 

You scrambled backward, your back hitting the headboard of the bed you shared with him. Peter’s eyes trailed over the bare skin of your legs and up to the white nightgown you wore. He loved you in white, the contrast to your skin, and the innocence it represented. 

No matter how he tried to beat it out of you, that innocence was still there. 

Peter pulled the sheets all the way back and your body began to tremble, “My sweeting,” His words were kind but his intentions were anything but. He had his claws around your heart and you felt any wrong move would lead to him ripping it from your chest, “I recall informing you that you should refrain from speaking to my servants.”

Nothing. There were no words on your lips. 

Had Peter already diminished your fire? He thought he had mastered the art of pushing you all the way to the edge but not allowing you to fall over. 

The room was filled with grays and black, the only light in the room came from a few candles in the corner. You could hear the waves beating against the cliffs from outside the window. You let the cold hit your skin, allowing you to feel something other than sadness. 

Peter’s hands touched the mattress as his body leaned in closer, “You want to run from me, do you not?” You were frozen now. He cocked his head to the side, an evil grin decorating his handsome face, “That is why you asked your guard to help you escape. You thought he might take pity on you? Do you think the honey between your legs is that sweet? That any man would risk their lives just to taste it?”

Breathe, you had to remind yourself. Why had you done that? You should’ve known not to trust anyone. Anyone including those with sweet, forgiving eyes. 

Peter sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the large mattress. You recalled the memories of the last few nights. On your wedding night, he had forced himself inside of you with a force you couldn’t bear. You still ached between your legs. 

“I do try to be good to you. I try to be a good husband but … it seems the Gods have cursed me with anger …and your behavior lights that flame inside of me. Is it so much to ask that you be honest with me? To tell me what I hear is not true?”

Nothing. Again, no words escaped your trembling lip. Peter was starting to grow annoyed. He liked it better when you were screaming. 

“Answer me!” He screamed, causing you to hit your head against the wood as you flinched back, “You dare run behind my back!” Peter pounced, unable to resist the sweet touch of your trembling flesh. You resisted, but that only made the member in his trousers grow even more excited. 

Peter dragged you by the curls in your hair, forcing you to scramble forward until you were positioned across his lap. 

“My lord, please! Please, don’t!”

Peter smiled wide as he held you down, his elbow pressing into your back. “There she is! I knew my sweet princess was a fighter,” He pulled up the skirt of your dress, revealing your bare bottom. He could still see the evidence he left behind hours ago dripping down your thighs, “Continue to scream for me, my sweeting. I do enjoy your voice.”

You cried out, trying to wiggle from his grasp, as he landed several hard spanks to your bottom. You could feel it turning colors beneath his touch, the burning pain flowed through your body, “Please, please, I won’t do it again!” You begged, “I’ll be good!”

He didn’t stop until your bottom was raw and his own hand was bleeding. Tears streamed down your tired face, a complete look of defeat crossed your features, and ultimately satisfied Peter. 

“What is your name?”

You didn’t even remember anymore, “Nothing. N-No one. I am nothing but yours, My Lord.”

He dragged you from the bed though every step you took was like feeling fire against your skin. 

“No ones coming to save you!” Peter shouted as he dragged you out of the room, past your guards, and to the outside balcony that overlooked the entire fortress. Everyone was used to causing the scene with his cruelty so no one even batted an eyelash as you were pulled around like a ragdoll. 

He pressed you against the wooden railing, making you look out into the snow-covered court. The snow that was now soaked in blood. He was in pieces but you recognized him. It was the young guard you had talked to you. Stupidly, you asked him when the guards normally changed shifts in the compound. 

His legs were separated as well as each of his arms and then …. his head. His eyes were still open. “We cut off the head last,” As you closed your eyes, he pulled at your hair tightly, “He learned what happens when you try to steal my treasure. Treasure I bravely sought and retrieved on my own.”

It was all your fault. 

He was gone before Peter even stepped into that room. 

Your body was only protecting itself by shutting down and causing you to faint. Peter caught you as you fell into his arms.  

+

You awoke on a soft cloud. Everything smelt of sweet vanilla, even your hair. You touched your hair and found it longer and much softer than usual. Your eyes could barely adjust to the blinding light in the room. When were thing’s ever this bright on Lord Parker’s land?

Had he finally set the place ablaze with you trapped inside? The thought of it was delightful. You even considered closing your eyes again but, the room you were in, gave off an entirely different feeling than the fortress. 

You sat up in the bed and your mouth gaped as you took a look around. You stumbled as you stood up on the bed. The room was ginormous, even bigger than the over-sized bed. It reminded you of the great hall in the manor you grew up in … except it was a bedroom made of gold. 

You looked down at your body. This was not the white gown you were last wearing. There were no stains of blood or tears down the chest. There was also no burning on your skin, on your bottom or around your neck. 

You paused as the tall gold doors opened to the room. You stared as he entered, clad in a royal suit of blue, and wearing a smile. A smile? You had never seen him with a real smile, “Did you use to jump on the bed when you were younger?” He asked a tone you weren’t quite used to. It sounded pleasant, like there was happiness on his lips, “That was my favorite too.”

Had he slipped hallucinogens into your drink? Or was this just a nightmare of your own creation?

As he moved closer to the bed, you panicked, moving down to your knees, “M-My Lord,” You addressed him, your head tilted down. 

Peter paused, taking in your appearance, and his smile turned to concern, “Your Lord?” Peter asked softly, moving towards you. He reached for your hand and, although you didn’t pull away, he felt you shaking, “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You lifted your head, facing the demon, “W-Who is Y/N?” Peter searched your face for some symbol of amusement. He thought you might be pulling a prank on him but it was now clear that something was very wrong, “Where did you take me?”

Peter pulled away his hand, realizing he was only causing more unease, “I didn’t take you anywhere. This is my home. Our home. Should I call in the physician ...”

“We don’t live here …” You looked around the large room again.

“Y/N, do you promise me that this is not some sort of game?”

You shook your head quickly, “No games, My Lord.”

“My name is Peter. I am not your Lord …” Peter’s voice trailed off, his mind racing with concerned thoughts and confusion. Peter beckoned you with his hand, “Why don’t you come with me, Y/N? We will have a talk with May.”

A trick. This had to be some elaborate trick then. 

“I only talk to you, My Lord,” You assured him, “I won’t speak to anyone else, I promise.”

His eyes seemed to sadden. Sad? You’d only seen anger from him before, “Y/N, you can talk to other people. I am your husband but I do not control you. You have friends. You have a family.”

A sick joke then. You stared at him dumbfounded, before shaking your head, “You killed them. They were not worthy. You spared me despite my unworthiness.”

“I-I never-” Peter stopped himself, realizing that it was becoming useless to argue at the moment. You seemed to flinch at the slightest raise in his voice, “Walk with me, please?”

You were hesitant but you crawled from the bed, your bare feet touching the cool, marble floor. The fortress was grays and black. The fortress was soot and wood. This was a palace and the man before you were dressed like a prince. 

Peter noticed the distance you kept from it. Yesterday, you were madly in love with him. You held each other through every royal meeting and you spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. He remembered how nervous he was when Tony announced the plans for his marriage but, the moment he saw you, he realized his luck. He was even luckier that you felt the same. 

You glanced around the long hallways with tall white walls and ginormous windows that gave a view of the sun over a calm sea. 

“What city is this?”

As the name of the city left his lips, your heart stopped. It was the same city you were kidnapped and taken to but you saw no sign of the darkness that you remembered. Had the darkness all been a bad dream?

+

The woman named May attempted to explain everything to you. She noticed your uneasiness around Peter and kindly asked to have a moment alone with you. You were frightened to speak out of turn, for fear of Peter punishing you, but the woman encouraged you to talk to her. 

She knew all about the kingdom you hailed from, about your family and your peaceful people. They were all alive, Peter’s forces never led an attack against them. In fact, your father and King Tony arranged the marriage between you two. Peter was a Prince. The prince of a kingdom that did not wage war against innocents.

She checked your vitals, not noticing anything that was physically wrong with you. You didn’t even have the scars anymore.

Despite all of this, the thing that made everything sink in was seeing your family. Both your mother and older brother had not returned back to your kingdom, and you were able to embrace them after believing you had lost them forever. 

+

Peter wasn’t sure what to think of everything. So much had changed that he wasn’t sure if he was looking at the same girl anymore. He didn’t want to be a villain to his own wife. He regretted that the bond that they now shared was indestructible. To divorce was a sin and they’d both be shamed by their countries. 

“I can find somewhere else to sleep tonight …” You looked up to Peter, seeing how he was trying to hide his sadness. Your chambermaids had prepared you for bed, bathed you, and put you into fresh nightclothes made of the softest silks. 

“It is your room,” You told him quickly, “I should not deprive you of the comfort … the comfort of sleeping next to your own wife.”

“I can tell you do not want me to, my love,” His words made your heart pang. Love. Did Peter love you? At least, did he love the old you? “I will allow you to have all the time that you need. I do not wish to be the source of your nightmares.”

Peter had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to change that fear she felt. 

“Please stay,” You told him as he made a move to leave, “I do not want to be alone.”

You had spent the entire day with your family, and now you just didn’t want to fall asleep in the silence. 

Peter thought for a moment, deciding his plan of action. You couldn’t help that your breath caught in your throat as he approached where you laid on the bed. He didn’t reach to touch you, only to grab a pillow. 

He laid it on the ground beside the massive bed and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the hard floor. You rolled over in the bed, looking over the edge at him, “The floor is no place for a prince, your grace.”

Peter instantly shook his head, “I do not know what you mean, my love. It feels great down here,” You could tell her was lying and a small grin pulled at your lips. He was willing to sleep on the floor just so you could be comfortable?

“Peter?”

Peter couldn’t help how his heart fluttered when you simply called him by his first name. He liked knowing before that you liked him as a person, not as an authority figure. 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“What kind of things did I use to like?”

Peter didn’t expect the question, but as the memories rushed, he couldn’t help but smile, “You loved your family. You always talked about them, about your people. You wanted everyone to know that you were a princess of two, great kingdoms, not just my own. You made sure they were never forgotten.”

You continued to listen as you pictured it. You hadn’t realized they were memories of your own. 

“You liked to garden. It reminds you of your time with your grandmother. You love the life you can create, the beauty you can make.”

A tear slipped down your face as you remembered the older woman. 

“You liked it when we went out on the boat and rode in the bay. You liked the sound of the ocean and the sun on the skin. You hated that we kept the fish we caught. You hated how they had to die and you insisted that we give them to beggars on the street.”

You realized that this wasn’t some past you that Peter was talking about. The girl he was talking about was still you. She just had a better chance at life. 

“You loved looking at the stars. You smiled for days when I showed you the telescope my father purchased from that French merchant, I swear it.”

“Peter, I-I am sorry,” Peter noticed you were crying and shot up from his spot, reaching to hold your hand, “You are nothing like him. You are nothing like him.”

“Do not cry, please,” Peter begged, rubbing soothing circles on your skin, “There is nothing to apologize for. Whatever this is, we will get through it.”

As his thumb brushed the tear from your cheek, you saw him clearly. You could look into those brown eyes and know he’d never hurt you. 

+

Hope you enjoyed! (Also sorry, please don’t ask for a second part)