#always present fic

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Always Present

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Ben may not be able to touch him anymore, but he still has his ways of keeping them intimate. Warnings: Dubious consent, drug use, sex work, and implied underage sex Word Count: 3,657 Ship(s): Klaus Hargreeves/Ben Hargreeves

Archive link!

A/N: So I decided to do a kind of character study about Ben and Klaus and what their relationship might have been. It end up being kind of sad but given that Klaus gets Ben back in a way in S3 I think that gives some natural catharsis. Thank you all so much for reading! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The evening air bit at his skin as he stumbled closer and closer to the edge of the alleyway where he had been trying to pick up guys. Something was coursing through his system that was making him feel like he was floating five feet in the air with every step that he took. A voice in the back of his brain was telling him to lift his foot, bring it forward, and then set it down so that he could continue to move in the direction that he needed to. The voice soundly oddly similar to Ben, which didn’t make a lot of sense to him since he couldn’t see his spectral shadow anywhere.

He couldn’t see a lot of things right now, though, so that wasn’t a huge shock to him.

He knew a couple of things about the situation that he had found himself in. He was wearing his favorite feathery coat, the one that had a thousand pockets inside of it and was warm enough to keep him from freezing on the streets without being big enough to make it so he didn’t look sexy anymore. He had on a pair of very uncomfortable pants, the ones that he always wore when he was trying to pick up the high paying guys. He knew that he was wearing a clean shirt underneath it all, but he couldn’t remember where he had got it from or even what it was.

He was floating and he felt good, even though there was a hand on te middle of his back and he was be guided down an alleyway to someone’s car. He really didn’t like it when the guys wanted them to sleep in his car because he was aware that they could just start up the vehicle and drive him away to murder him. So far nothing like that had happened that he could remember, but it was always a fear hanging around his mind even when he was incredibly out of it on whatever it was he had taken.

The door to the car was opened for him and Klaus entered into the backseat as if it was muscle memory. He couldn’t tell if it was at this point because his bones didn’t even feel like they existed. He didn’t know what he had taken but he wished that he had enough of it to make it last a lifetime because he felt amazing.

He backed himself up against the door on the other side so that part of his back and all of his lanky legs were along the seats. The man that had escorted him out of the alley clambered over top of him so that his knees were on either side of Klaus’ hips. He had closed the door behind him so that they had some relative privacy.

Klaus felt his heartbeat jump into his throat as he heard the locks on the doors of the car snap shut, keeping him in there unless he was able to clear his brain enough to figure out how they came undone. He wished that it was easier to do that and still feel as blissfully out of it as he was. He knew that it wasn’t. This was the trade off that he made for not having to deal with the constantly screaming spirits that had plagued him since he was a child. He sacrificed safety and clarity for comfort and reprieve.

“You really are beautiful, you know,” the man said. 

The intoxicated superhero realized that he had said something like that before, so he began to wrack his floaty, spaced-out brain for something that he should say in return. He couldn’t find anything, but luckily he didn’t need to as someone whispered what he was supposed to say directly into his ear. “You’re not so bad looking yourself. Now, are we going to get down to business?”

The guy looked a bit shocked but then gave a nod. “Right, right. The guy that I talked to about where to find you said that I should bring lubes and a condom,” he dug into his pocket and then revealed the items.

The voice kept whispering into Klaus’ ears, so he kept talking. “That’s right. You know, I charge extra for guys that I want to fuck me and don’t just want a suck in a back alley.”

“I came prepared for that too,” he replied. It was really awkward to watch the guy move back so that he was sitting on his haunches and could dig through the other pocket. For a moment, Klaus wondered if he had ever slept with a guy before or if he was experimenting with some back-street prostitute that had a ghost for a pimp.

He pulled out a wad of cash with the hand that wasn’t holding the supplies and then tried to hand it over to Klaus. Whoever was telling him what to say told him to take the money, so he did. He shoved it into the pocket of his coat, the one that none of the cops had been able to find all the times that he had been arrested and dragged to jail. As soon as his money was safely where it could be found later when he was a little bit more sober, he removed his jacket and let it fall against the back seat.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” he asked, only because the voice told him to. Whoever it was that was guiding him through this interaction seemed rather antsy to get the whole ordeal over with. Klaus didn’t really understand why because as far as he could see, he was warm and the man above him seemed too nervous to be a serial killer or an abuser.

“Uh, uh, right,” he stuttered, his eyes going wide. The man reached the hand that wasn’t holding the condom and lube down to his pants so that he could yank at his zipper. As soon as it was undone, he shoved them down about six inches and then removed his cock. It was a little embarrassing to see that he was already hard at the mere idea of fucking Klaus when they had done literally nothing other than get in his car and exchange money.

Klaus was no stranger to embarrassing sexual experiences though, so he didn’t think much about it. Instead he reached down to his own pants and began to wiggle them off. He tilted his head back so that he could see the windows, just to make sure that they were tinted and no one was standing outside, waiting to catch them. That was one of the worst hookups that Klaus had ever had, one where the cop had gotten all the way through fucking him before he revealed that it was a trap and brought him right to rehab.

There was no one standing outside of the window and he took note of the fact that the glass was tinted, which was going to make it remarkably harder for them to get caught. Klaus preferred it like that, because it made his job so much easier.

The ex-superhero got his pants down just far enough that his entire ass was open for use, but not so far down that it would take him longer than about thirty seconds to put his clothes back on. The man hovering over him had just finished sliding the condom over his member. His hands were quivering slightly as he discarded the crinking package that the protection had come in. The man uncapped the lube and then spread a reasonable amount of his cock.

Without any preparation or even asking if Klaus had prepped himself, not that he could remember if he had or not, the man moved the head of his cock so that it was against Klaus’ hole. He pressed in with a fluid motion in his hips, breaching the tight circle of muscle and forcing his member even deeper despite the resistance he was being met with.

“Relax, baby,” the voice that had been telling Klaus what to do for the past ten minutes whispered directly into his ear. It was only then that he realized it was Ben, the superhero that had been guiding him through every moment of his drug-addled adventure on the streets after he had left that house. He felt his heart swell with adoration in his chest as he thought about how grateful he was that Ben was still with him even after Klaus had dismissed the ghost begging him again and again to get clean and live a better life. He loved Ben more than he ever knew how to express, which is why he hadn’t just ignored the advice that the other man had given him and let himself be killed. He was living because Ben wanted him to live, even if that meant prostitution and more drugs than one person should reasonably ever get their hands on at once.

Klaus let out a breathless moan, his back arching off of the seat a little bit. The muscles in his back were constricting so hard that they hurt like nothing had in a long time. The stretch around his hole was uncomfortable and burned. This didn’t feel at all like the sex that he wanted to be having, and that was when he realized that he was beginning to sober from whatever he had been high on. He wasn’t sure if that was because of how uncomfortable the sex was or just because it had been a while since he had taken anything.

“I know that it hurts, but it’ll hurt less if you just relax,” Ben informed him gently. He could almost feel his lover’s hands on his hips. 

He could starkly remember the first time that they had done something like this, but it had been a lot more pleasant. There had been a lot of nervous shaking from the both of them, especially since Klaus was suffering through a little bit of withdrawal due to the mission they had most recently come off. Ben had hovered above him after what felt like hours and hours of fingering him until he was wide enough open that he could probably take two cocks. Yet as soon as the other teenager had pressed into Klaus, he had felt like they hadn’t done any prep. They had stopped after every inch to that Klaus could adjust and the experience could be pleasurable for the both of them.

But that wasn’t what was happening here. Here and now, the man was pressing into him steadily without even checking to make sure that the other was okay. Klaus was used to that happening though. No one really cared about the health and wellbeing of the guy that they had just paid two hundred dollars for a quick fuck to.

He did pause once he had bottomed out, though. Klaus finally had the time to focus on relaxing all of his back muscles and his hole so that it was more comfortable to have the intrusion. He realized then that he hadn’t cleaned out before he had stumbled out of the apartment he was loitering in, so it was likely that the guy was going to be grossed out once all of this was done and over with. Thankfully there was a condom between him and everything in Klaus’ entrance, so it wasn’t going to be as gross as it could have been.

“Don’t think about him, don’t think about what comes after. Let your mind think about me and only me,” Ben whispered. 

Klaus was well aware that he wasn’t sober enough to conjure any ghosts or make them solid enough to touch anything, which was something he had only been able to do once as a child and would likely forget as soon as he got high enough again, but he could almost feel the featherlight kisses against his jaw.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Ben reassured him softly. “Imagine that it’s me above you. Our lives are wonderful, we’ve got that apartment that we always wanted. You don’t have to do this shit to get money and you don’t have to resort to hard drugs to make the ghosts go away. We’re spending some time together after a date, we were so excited that we just couldn’t wait until we had gotten home. I took you into the backseat and played with you so much that you started begging me to fuck you so I just had to oblige.”

The ex-superhero’s cock began to fill at the idea of coming apart in his lover’s hands. It was one of his favorite things, before that fateful mission, to spend the lonely hours of the night wrapped up in his boyfriend as they took each other apart piece by piece after a joint shared between them. It was something that he was never going to experience again, and that made him sad, but he was just high enough to be able to ignore that.

“Good job, baby, you’re doing so well,” Ben whispered. The man above Klaus had moved his hands so that he was grasping the back of the backseat as well as the headrest for the driver’s seat. Klaus was used to people not wanting to touch more of him than they had to despite the fact that they were having sex with him, which always seemed strange but he had grown up with only the weirdest.

“Imagine that’s my cock driving into you. It’s got that curve that you like, the one that can hit your spot every single time I thrust into you,” Ben commanded him. Klaus threw his head back against the seat and let out a loud moan. In all his years of sleeping with other people, whether for money or for fun, he had never been able to find someone with a cock that drove him as insane as Ben’s had. Just the mere idea of having it fucked into him again was driving him up the wall with arousal.

“I’m holding down your hips and all you can focus on is the way that my cock is pounding into you. It feels so good when I lean down and kiss over the hickies I put all over your neck. You know how much I like it when people can tell that you’re mine because I’ve marked you up so much. God, you’re irresistible to everyone that sees you and I have to make sure that they knew you’re mine,” the words that were pouring out of his ghostly boyfriend’s mouth were the most delicious thing that Klaus had ever heard.

This was the kind or arrangement that they had since they had left the house where their father had abused them for the last several years, trying to find respite anywhere they could in the streets. Ben was there to talk him through every paying sexual encounter that he ever had, and even a couple of the non-paying ones when they got really bad. It only worked sometimes, because there had been times in his life when the ex-superhero had been too far out of his mind on whatever the drug of the evening was to hear or even catch a glimpse of the ghost.

Ben had stopped talking, which let Klaus know that the man paying him for this encounter appeared to be getting closer to his orgasm. At this point, the psychic had sobered up enough that he was able to fake the moans that the stranger needed to achieve his completion. That had been the entire reason that Ben had been whispering all those dirty words to him, to make him aroused enough that he could put on a facade and hurry up the whole process. 

Despite the fact that he remembered how unpleasant the whole experience was now that he wasn’t being fed the most amazing fantasy of his whole life, he was grateful that Ben had stopped when he did. Klaus had only cum a couple of times when he was servicing someone and it was always a bit of an awkward experience. He had to clean himself up with something that the customer provided him and it meant that he had to hang around them for longer. He much preferred it when he could bring them to orgasm and then bolt away from them as quickly as he could do deal with himself later.

The man let out one last grunt as he finally orgasmed, shoving his silicone covered cock all the way back into Klaus. He could feel the way that the cum was spirting out of him and into the condom, stretching out his insides even more so that he was extra uncomfortable.

As soon as he had finished, the man pulled out. He seemed to realize his mistake in not asking if Klaus had cleaned out. Before he had the chance to get upset or start yelling, the ex-superhero shoved himself back into his clothes. He sat up and unlocked the car in the same motion as Ben told him what kind of a lock it was.

It was almost like his heart had started beating again as he was able to push the door open and then step out into the cool air of the city. He felt weird and uncomfortable from being fucked with no preparation, but the more pressing issue was how his cock was pressed against the seam in his pants.

Klaus stumbled away from the car as quickly as he could while checking to make sure that all of his possessions were still present. He had a little bag of weed in his pocket, his favorite blunt roller, a lighter, the flask that he had stolen from his father when he was fourteen, and the hand-sized copy of Hamlet that Ben had given him for their seventeenth birthday. He also had the wad of cash stuck in the pocket next to his heart, which was important. He didn’t have to had to do that for nothing, so having his reward was reassuring.

He passed by the alley that he had just been in so that the man wouldn’t be able to find him and then slowly made his way back to the apartment complex that he was squatting in. It was abandoned and set to be demolished in a couple of days, so it wasn’t a place that he was going to be able to stay in for long, but it served him pretty well for the time being.

It was only when he had found the actual apartment that he had been staying in that he was able to pick up where he had left off with Ben. He dropped his coat down on top of the backpack that was laying next to his sleeping bag. He collapsed down onto the aforementioned makeshift bed and then shoved his pants down. He didn’t bother to try and finger himself or touch his ass knowing that he hadn’t had a decent shower in quite a long time and also hadn’t cleaned out. He wasn’t a virgin when it came to gay sex like his most recent customer had been.

His cock flopped angrily against his stomach as it was released from the tight confines of his pants. “Ben,” he gasped as he wrapped his hand around the base of it and then pumped up once. He was already so sensitive since he had gotten so worked up in the car but had to delay his orgasm for almost twenty minutes while getting somewhere safe.

“We got interrupted, didn’t we?” the shimmery ghost version of his boyfriend appeared a few feet away from where he was splayed out over the ground.

“Mhm,” Klaus whined. He began stroking himself lazily. He was doing it dry, which was a little uncomfortable, but it was leagues better than what he had going on in the car.

“You’re so handsome, baby,” Ben whispered. “Just jacking yourself off to me, thinking about the way that I would hold you down and fuck you. I’d thread my fingers through your hair and pull your head so far back that you could barely breathe while I used you. Then I’d make sure that you came so much that your legs gave out. You wouldn't be able to walk all day because of how hard I had fucked you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You know that I would, Benny boy,” he groaned. He thrust his hips up despite the fact that he was in control of everything that was happening. The stimulation from the walk back to his hide out had made it so that he knew he wasn’t going to last very long.

Klaus let out a happy mewl as the fire inside of his stomach was finally allowed to explode out over his entire body, consuming himself with endorphins. He had a hypothesis, that if Ben hadn’t died and he had been able to get laid whenever he wanted, that he wouldn’t have resorted to hard drugs the way that he did. He had no way to test this hypothesis though, so he kept living the way that he did in the hopes that it would one day please Ben enough that he could join the other in the afterlife.

The ex-superhero dug an old towel out of his backpack and then cleaned his hand off with it. He stuffed himself back into his clothes and clambered back into his sleeping bag so that he could sleep off the rest of whatever he had taken despite barrelling closer and closer to sober. 

For a moment, as he began to drift to sleep, he could have sworn that he felt Ben’s lips press a kiss to his temple.

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

[deprivedofbraincellsandsleep]

I will not tolerate any Aaron Minyard slander

[s0fter-sin]

fainting goat hybrid!ghost whose father and brother loved to scare him and make him faint; exploiting a weakness he didn’t understand and didn’t know how to stop. they took sadistic pleasure in watching his body lock up and fall to the ground with no hope of catching himself until he ended up with more bruises and scrapes from falling than from being beaten

that helplessness chafed at him and he forced himself through the drawbacks of his biology to secure a place in the military, even with the prejudice against prey animals. just for him to take a mission in mexico and find himself enduring the “hospitality” of roba who thinks his involuntary paralysis is a great deal of fun; especially when he learns he’s conscious the whole time

what haunts ghost most is his waking autopsy

not the pain of the incisions, not the trauma of watching roba reach into his body and play with his insides, but the knowledge that he couldn't get away because his own body betrayed him. he wasn't put under, no drugs coursed through his system. he didn’t have restraints fitted on him to lock him to the operating table. it wasn’t necessary

roba just had to make him faint first

after digging himself out of his grave, ghost puts himself on a dangerous cocktail of muscle relaxers and other medications; hormones that block hybrid instincts, vasodilators to increase blood flow and stop his muscles locking up, anti-anxiety meds to cut off his surprise response at the root. he puts his body through the wringer to the point that medical is constantly worried for his health and shocked that he isn't regularly OD’ing

but he will never let his body betray him again

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes

[somewhereincairparavel]

I'm so immersed in my jason grace new rome uni fic that I'm studying ancient roman law terms using this as an excuse. help.

[poisonousquinzel]

if y'all ever want a bit of modern harlivy angst that ends happy and doesn't feel laced with ooc toxicity in the like "oh the writer's apparent reference for ivy's characteristics in their relationship is plant ivy and that's it wow..." I'd recommend their little story from DC's Harley Quinn Romances cause <33333 it's very special to me

they make me unreasonably emotional

Ivy after reading Harley's au fic where she gets to punch Joker with her at prom:

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[laudaddysmitten]

Stunning View - Ch 6

By: LaudaddySmitten

GOAD Writer's Guild official

Chapter 6: Gravity

CW: rated Explicit (Eventual smut...we are now what I'd call "smut adjacent")

Summary

As Aziraphale and Crowley try to enjoy time together at Aziraphale's safely warded room, several things are bubbling under the surface. Will any boil over?

Excerpt

Crowley knew allowing himself to be pulled in by Aziraphale's doubtlessly temporary desire would rip him apart. But he wanted to be ripped apart–by Aziraphale. Sudden, firm pressure on the front of his shoulders had Crowley taking a hasty step back — just in time to avoid falling on his arse — as his shoulders made forceful contact with the back of the door. Aziraphale's chest pushed flush against Crowley, keeping him pinned. Crowley found that he didn't mind having more of Aziraphale's body in contact with his!  Experiencing being handled with passionate abandon wasn’t bad either! Crowley was surrounded by Aziraphale; arms clutching his shoulders, the heat and weight of his body pressed into Crowley's, his moans in his ears, his smell teasing him each time he breathed, his taste sweeter than wine in his mouth. Aziraphale kissed as though Crowley's lips wouldn't remain in this reality for long, leaving him no choice but to chase them down with all his fervor and desire, devouring Crowley's mouth in a steadily more sloppy display.

Read on AO3:

Thank you for all the support, @goodomensafterdark !

Thanks for the beta help: @olfactoryventriloquism @outrageousring5655   @happynachohologram @adverbian @nosferatini @unapologetic-apathy

And finally, thanks for the artwork @lexarturo

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about all the ways you can be intimate with Price that doesn’t involve having sex

One thing about Price is that he’s known for his love for hats. But very few people know the reason as to why he wears them in the first place.

Truth be told, more often than not, he will let his hair grow past the length that’s stated in haircut regulations. Curls will start forming at the back of his neck , unruly strands will stick to his temple as he sweats and if it’s a particularly windy day, wisps of hair will fall into his eyes and obscure his vision. So to cover up the fact that he’s clearly breaking regulations and to keep his hair in check, he’ll wear a hat on his head.

He always tells himself he’ll cut it short. Hell, he even goes out his way to take down the box of clippers from the shelf where they’ve been collecting dust for God knows how long. But every time he intends to cut it something comes up and he opts for wearing a hat instead.

However this time around, it’s a different story since inspection week is coming up and you’re the first to notice how long his hair has been getting lately.

As you lean in for a kiss, you feel the unruly strands of hair wrap around your fingers tips. You smile as you twirl them in your grasp, lips still kissing Price’s.

He pulls away, mirroring the smile on your face as he says “what are you smiling about?”

“Your hair’s been getting so long lately” you say as you run a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the long strands as if to empathize your point.

His brows furrow, before a look of realization crosses his face “I guess it has, hasn’t it? I’ve been meaning to cut it, just haven’t gotten around to doing it,”

You nod as you continue to play with the hair at the back of his head, already aware of the box of clippers that’s been collecting dust on his desk “when’s inspection now again?”

“Next week. Cut it for me?”

The bathroom connected to his room is rather small, barely fits two people but you make it work as you sit down on the toilet seat while he sits down on the floor.

He sits so close you get a whiff of his cologne. The scent’s a familiar one, one you know not only by smell but also by name. It’s a cologne you’d spontaneously bought one day and had managed to use once or twice before it somehow ended up in Price’s hands. Now it’s a scent solely associated with him.

You can also smell the cigars he smokes. The scent is sickly sweet but also earthy- reminds you of mahogany much like the mahogany curls he's sporting at the moment.

You gently grab onto his shoulder, forcing him to shuffle closer. He’s now perfectly slotted between your legs, as you go to inspect his hair.

“Any special request ?” You ask as you card your fingers through his hair, carefully inspecting the length. The man lets out an appreciative sound at your gently touch before he shakes his head in response to your question.

“Just want it short?” You ask again, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Yes, please”

“What if I mess up ?” You joke as you continue to inspect the length.

“Don’t really care, I’ll wear a hat either way” he shrugs, and flashes you a smile over his shoulder.

“Alright” you say, before you reach down and gently grab onto the edge of his shirt “May I?” You ask, lips brushing his ear as you lean down to ask for permission.

He shivers at your touch, but nods his head at your question.

You gently pull the shirt off of him, leaving him in just the undershirt that he’s wearing. The sudden exposure to the chilly bathroom air has goosebumps raising on his skin and your hands quickly find his arms as you attempt to warm him up.

“Sorry” you say as you plant a kiss on his shoulder. He just smiles and shakes his head “it’s okay, not your fault yeah?”

You grab onto the box where his clippers lay and take out the one you needed for his hair. You quickly adjust the settings on it before bringing it to his head.

As you turn on the machine you feel the familiar buzz coursing through your fingertips. You try not to let your nerves get the best of you as you get ready to cut his hair for him. However, sweat still trickles down your spine, the clippers almost fall out of your hand and you have to take a deep breath and apologize beforehand in case this doesn’t go as planned.

You do the first swipe with the clipper and watch as strands of hair fall to his bare shoulders. You quickly take the brush that came with the kit and gently brush the hair away from his skin. He hums in content as he relaxes into your embrace

“Good?”

He nods with a giggle “tickles”

You chuckle at that as you continue to cut his hair, tufts of it steadily falling to the floor and sprinkling across his shoulder. You even see the loose strands of hair sprinkling onto the undershirt that he’s wearing. However Price doesn’t seem to mind it, seemingly relaxed as ever.

Nothing can be heard except for the steady buzz coming from the machine, along with the soft noises Price will give in response when you ask him something. He’s long given up on talking, mind and body too relaxed to bother with it.

Your hands are gentle as ever as they grab onto his chin, cheeks and temples, turning his head in whichever direction is needed at the moment. His eyes, although closed, flutter at the touch, as he chuckles at the ticklish feeling that comes from your hands.

However you still check up on him to make sure that you aren’t hurting him.

“Am I hurting you?” You ask as you bring the clipper a bit closer to his ears. “Is this okay” You ask again when you fear you’re holding too tightly onto him. You even drop a “you tell me if I’m doing anything to hurt you yeah?” when you notice the flush on his skin.

Sometimes Price responds with a hum, sometimes with a nod and sometimes with the shake of his head (You almost have the mind to scold him for his careless movements but you allow him to do so anyway)He even chuckles at the last sentence as if saying not you, never you and that’s all the reassurance you need to continue cutting his hair for him.

At some point he does talk - asks if he can go for a smoke and of course you allow him to do so. If you smoke he’ll let you take a couple of puffs of his cigar. However he’ll use this as an excuse to steal a kiss since every time you lean in to put the cigar between your lips, he’ll place a kiss on your lips. If you don’t smoke he’ll have you light his cigar for him. He’ll playfully pulls you closer by your wrist, as you go to light his cigar for him, callused thumb mindlessly stroking it while you light it for him.

He stays in your embrace while smoking his cigar, enjoying your presence and your gentle touch.

From the bathroom window you can see that the sun is starting to set and the clouds of smoke that whirl around in the air become more prominent.

Price hooks his arm around your leg and mindlessly drags his hand along your thigh while he smokes his cigar.

“Thank you for doing this for me, love” he says and despite the clouds of smoke that swirl around in the air, you can still see the grateful smile on his face.

“No need to thank me ” you chuckle as you continue to cut his hair for him.

Once it’s done, you hand him a small mirror so that he can take a look at his hair. He takes a brief look in the mirror before he turns to you with a big smile on his face.

“It looks great,”

Truth be told he barely looked at his hair, didn’t see the crooked line or the uneven patches around his head (not that he would mind if he were to notice it anyway). All he saw in that very moment was your reflection in the mirror, the way you nervously chewed your lip, and the hopeful look in your eyes as you waited for him to comment on his new haircut.

Once it’s inspection day you’re back in that very same bathroom with him. He’s looking at himself in the mirror while you’re standing behind him with a comb in hand. His hair is still short and will surely pass inspection but you still want to comb and style it for him, claiming he needs to look professional and well groomed, seeing as he’s the captain.

“There, all done” you say with a smile on your face, finally feeling satisfied with the look of his hair. All of sudden he turns around, hands gently grabbing onto your hips before he pulls you closer to him. You’re still looking at his hair, searching for any imperfections that need to be corrected while he’s watching you with an adoring gaze. Once you spot a strand out of place, you lick the pad of your thumb before gently slicking it back with the rest of his hair.

You go to pull your hand away but before you can do so he gently wraps his hand around your wrist and brings your hand closer to his lips before he kisses it.

“Thank you again, love”

[sincerely-sofie]

Ohhhh, Anon's perfect apple ask is now giving me blessed imagery of Dusknoir cutting apple slices into bunny shapes. Maybe for Opal, maybe for him to show off, either way.

The soft, the dexterity, the GENTLENESS after such a prolonged period of violence he had undergone. Opal called him her gramps for a reason, after all.

(Referencing this post)

Hey how does it feel to have given me a prompt that had me tearing up all throughout the process of drawing it because of how unbearably heartfelt and endearing it is?

[sissytobitch10seconds]

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐕𝐈: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⚜

Sources: One | Two | Three

Event Host: @wickblr

Summary: Vincent toys with a candle recklessly to tempt Chidi into playing a dangerous game with him.

CW: smut, wax play/temperature play, bratting, self-harm scare (it's not what Chidi thinks), previously established BDSM relationship

What can Vincent be holding in his secret heart? What patience will win that knowledge? And how can Chidi quiet his own heart without knowing?

With respect, and with love. That is, as always, the answer. Vincent is being silent tonight, and that frightens him every time. But Chidi's worry is his own to manage. He's lucky just to be in Vincent's presence.

The most exquisite man in all the world is sitting at the window, watching the sun die behind clouds too thick to transmit the glow. There’s only a little light at the horizon, as the day turns to night without sunset. Outside, a dismal rain falls gently but persistently, and inside, the lights are off in the bedroom. The only fire of this evening is in Vincent’s hands. He’s taken up a long, white candle, and he’s playing with it more idly than Chidi would like. But then, it lends him that daring quality which Chidi loves, the dark playfulness that sometimes comes over him in the midst of fencing or even a genuine knife fight.

“Assieds-toi avec moi. [Sit with me,]” he says, without turning towards Chidi, and Chidi can think of nothing he’d rather do. He sets a matching chair next to his master.

Vincent is fresh from the bath, warmed and flushed all over. He seems so small, so fragile against the vastness of the autumn evening. Pink rosiness glows out from under the loose fur robe that he’s allowed to slip down off his shoulders. It falls around him as a blanket, giving him the look of someone disheveled, debauched even, to match his tossled, damp hair. The candlelight singes its way across his features in yellow-gold, turning his irises to honey. But Chidi can’t read the look on his face. Pensive? Dreamy? Tense?

He’s staring into the flame, unmoving. The wax pools slowly at its tip, a little hollow of mesmerizing liquid. Chidi watches Vincent watching it, tries desperately to read him. He’s so caught up in the effort that it takes a moment for him to notice how the candle is hovering over Vincent’s lap. It’s starting to tilt.

“Marquis.” He doesn’t answer. He’s doing this on purpose. Chidi’s heart goes into his throat. “Vincent.” Still nothing, not even a change in expression. The wax shimmers.

It’s pure reflex. His hand shoots out to shield Vincent’s skin, a split second before the drip can make contact. On the back of his hand, there’s a fiery sting. It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected but he’s speechless at what just happened. He notices that his hand is still on Vincent’s thigh but doesn’t dare take it away because the candle is still hovering above it. 

Vincent, to his surprise, just breaks into a smile. “Tu trembles. Pour moi. [You’re shaking. For me.]” There’s real tenderness coloring his voice. He leans forward and leaves a reverent kiss on Chidi’s lips in reward. 

He swallows, trying to focus on the problem at hand. “Bien sûr que je le suis. Monsieur, pourquoi avez-vous - [Of course I am. Sir, why did you - ]"

“C'est une bougie spéciale. Tu aimes ça ? Je l'ai acheté dans un club à Rome. La cire fond à une température plus froide que la plupart des autres, suffisamment froide pour couler sur la peau. C'est pour le plaisir. [It's a special candle. Do you like it? I got it at a club in Rome. The wax melts at a cooler temperature than most, cool enough to drip on skin. It’s for fun.]”

Oh. Chidi’s heart refuses to fall back into its regular rhythm, even as he exhales. “Ne m’effraie pas comme ça. Je pensais que tu étais… imprudent. [Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were…being reckless.]”

All he offers is a smug grin and a shrug. “Tu as ressenti un frisson, je peux le dire. C'est tellement protecteur… En tout cas, c'est plutôt sûr. Bien sûr, il y a parfois des histoires d'horreur à propos d'impuretés dans la cire qui fondent trop fort. Des cicatrices permanentes… on ne sait jamais ce qui peut arriver. Mon garde du corps devrait s'en préoccuper, n'est-ce pas ? [You got a thrill out of it, I can tell. So protective… Anyway, it’s quite safe. Though of course, there are occasional horror stories of impurities in the wax that melt too hot. Permanent scars…one never knows what could happen. My bodyguard ought to be concerned with that, wouldn’t you agree?]” His hand drifts back, threatening a spot closer to his torso, where Chidi’s hand is no longer in the line of gravity. With a lurch of adrenaline, he follows, just in time to be struck by another searing droplet. He’s farther up Vincent’s thigh now, and acutely aware of how his thumb is pressing against the inside of the flesh.

A game is afoot. Follow the fire. Protect the Marquis.

Vincent leans back, as if he’s just getting comfortable, and lets the robe fall open. Chidi can’t help stealing a glance at his erection before locking eyes with him again. They’re both breathing too fast. But he’d better keep his focus on the candle - now it’s close to the V-line of his hip. (V for Vincent. V for voluptuous.) Chidi’s hand slides up to follow, feeling the dips and the curves and the sudden hits of pain. Vincent’s thigh is all disused muscle and gentle plumpness, the innocence of a body that has never known physical labor. Chidi presses into it to convey his urgency. The sense of danger still lingers, the need to prove that he’ll never let Vincent feel even an ounce of pain on his watch. 

Vincent keeps moving the candle. Up. Back down, up again. He’s puppeting Chidi’s hand, teasing himself with it. He bites back a moan but the way it changes his breathing still halts Chidi’s. In another second he moans anyway, frustrated - he’s teased himself too much and now he can’t take it anymore. 

Then the candle is over his cock. Chidi could swear Vincent’s eyebrow twitches upward just a fraction in challenge.

There’s no hesitation. Chidi grabs it, cupping the tip in protection. The candle flickers as Vincent tenses up with sudden pleasure. “Putain… [Fuck...]”

“C'est dangereux, monsieur. [This is dangerous, sir,]” Chidi admonishes. “Si ça coule ici, ça fera trop mal, peu importe le type de bougie. [If it drips here it will hurt too much, no matter what kind of candle it is.]” He's still shaking. But he doesn’t safeword.

“Alors tu ferais mieux d’être extrêmement prudent avec moi. [You’ve better be exceedingly careful with me then.]” The Marquis' voice is unnaturally soft and heady. 

God, this man will be the death of him. “...D'accord, je le serai. […Okay, I will be.]” Chidi puts a second hand at the base of his cock, now enveloping it completely.

The Marquis grips at the arm of the chair, making the most gratified sorts of noises, while a lazy drop of wax strays onto Chidi’s wrist. Vincent throws his head back, breaking eye contact for the first time in their little game. “S’il te plaît… ne reste pas assis là. Ne vois-tu pas que ce n’est pas suffisant de supporter ma douleur ? Fais-moi plutôt ressentir quelque chose de bien. [Please…don’t just sit there. Don’t you see it’s not enough to take my pain? Make me feel something good in its place.]”

And of course, Chidi obeys. He translates the heat in his hands into long, sensual strokes that wring heavenly noises out of Vincent. It seems to go on forever in that otherworldly space of total service and devotion. The candle is their hourglass and time counts forward only by each drop of wax. With every hit, both of them jump, heightening the tension. 

Vincent’s breathing is getting heavier, his eyes half lidded. The candle is burning low, and as the flame approaches his master’s fingers, Chidi’s fear becomes more real. He accelerates his pace until Vincent’s hips start to thrust upward into his grip. Good, he’s close to losing control.

Everything is on fire now. If Chidi has a body outside of his busy hands and the bulge straining at his inseam, he has lost all awareness of it. It’s swallowed in the pure sex of those delicious sensations, in the scent of wax and smoke and Vincent’s musky-sweet pheromones, in the sight of Vincent’s parted lips and shadowed eyes, in the next huge drop of wax building up at the edge of the candle.

The final rush of warmth comes not from above, but flooding into his palm, accompanied by a high-pitched whine and a string of French expletives as Vincent melts completely under his touch. Chidi loses himself in it, in a bodily sympathy for Vincent. He realizes too late that there’s a wet spot forming in his slacks. 

Vincent giggles. “Regarde ce que tu as fait. Je - [Look what you’ve done. I - ]“

“La flamme, monsieur! [The flame, sir!]” It’s glowing right against Vincent’s fingers now. Before anything can happen, Chidi’s breath snuffs it out. With a swift motion, he sends it flying onto the windowsill where it can't touch Vincent anymore.

There’s darkness. Silence. Only the light of the blue-black sky and the patter of raindrops and the ocean of their breathing. Vincent amends his phrasing. “Regarde ce que tu fais pour moi. [Look what you do for me.]” There’s no misinterpreting the affection in his gaze now. He leans forward.

The last whisper of smoke is trapped between their joining lips.

[thevioletcaptain]

...there's only one bed, and -- thanks to a curse -- that bed is dean winchester

[thrutheinferno]

pssstttt @sewerkingcharlie 👀👀

ugh also just realized i forgot mac’s eagle tat, ignore that :(

(click 4 better quality!!!)

[boiledegghole]

car crash (no car)

art of my own ultrakill fanfic, art inspired by DECT and this image. i hate america and i hope it explodes. this is why i put mirage here