#and in all those drawings i think 2 of them have no chest hair visible

[sanctus-ingenium]

Lord of Lies 13-15 (previous) (first)

Full-resolution PDF of the 15 pages (and the WIP page 16) available here!!!

and that's as far as i got! Story needs way more work than I had initially given it and again the art style was. insane for a first attempt.

I have the thumbnails of up to page 32 done so I can spoil the rest - our guy kidnaps the boy into the otherworld, employing a slightly crueler and more unusual punishment than Rósín (the girl) perhaps intended. she gets cold feed about it and this causes Pascal to be trapped with her because he guaranteed her satisfaction (not listening to a single word she said about her motivations or anything) and she was not satisfied. she now has to figure out a way to get that boy back without angering the supernatural entity who's just sort of there in her house now and quickly revealing himself to be monstrously cruel, and also without arousing the suspicion of the rangers investigating the boy's disappearance

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

pet names and looped pinkies [s.h.] 18+

hiiiii so i've never written for steve but just did a stranger things rewatch and have felt...inspired. i hope you enjoy! pls feel free to send suggestions or concepts or anything :) thanks for reading!

masterlist

summary: steve is your best friend and you have a crush on him and that's fine until one day it's not and the next thing you know you can't think or speak or breathe around him. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

warnings: loooots of pet names, fluff, pining,cursing, kissing, m masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, tiny bit of cum eating :))) 18+ ONLY!! MDNI

wc: 6.4k

part 2 here!!!!

You and Steve had been friends for quite some time now. 

Going from quietly watching him throughout high school, maybe quietly crushing on him too, to fighting monsters and trying to survive could do that to people. Make them friends, that is. 

The crush you’d been harboring on Steve didn’t go away, oh no if anything it had gotten about ten times worse in the time you’d spent growing close. That Steve you knew in high school was long gone. The, for lack of a better word, asshat you had come to blush over had turned into a protector. A funny, endearing, unnervingly hot protector that made your tummy flutter and your palms sweat. 

It didn’t help that he seemed completely unaware of your feelings, or that the things he did made your heart race and your cheeks turn pink. Linking his pinky with yours while you strolled around town, letting his thumb mindlessly rub circles on the little sliver of your stomach that was visible during movie night, giving a little tug on your hair when you said something cheeky, letting his dimple pop out when you teased him. 

And the pet names. God, the pet names! Maybe he did know! Maybe he wanted to torture you and make you squirm. They slipped from those perfect pink lips so effortlessly it kind of pissed you off. 

“Hey honey, how was work today?” 

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be late for the movie and I will not be blamed when we don’t have time to grab your snacks.” 

“Any chance you wanna pick up an extra shift and spend some time with me? What do you say, pretty?” 

He had the hair, the smile, the charm. You imagined it would be hard for anyone not to fall madly in love with him. It was surely hard for you! Steve did a good job of turning you to mush. It was hard to think around him, even harder to not think about him. 

Which is why you’re really struggling now, smushed on a far too little couch with 3 other people, your thigh pressed so tightly against Steve’s it’s making your head spin. It’s movie night, a tradition you’ve picked up and held onto tightly amidst all the craziness that happens in your small town. Steve is on your left, stuck between the arm of the couch and you. Robin is on your right with Eddie next to her and Jonathon next to him. A couch meant for 2, maybe 3, but all 4 of you packed on while the rest of your friends lounge on the floor or a chair, eyes all focused on the screen. 

Almost everyone’s eyes are focused on the screen. 

You’re staring straight ahead, sure! But while a movie that you now can’t even remember the name of is droning on, all you can think of is how your hip is touching Steve’s. Or how his pinky has somehow found yours again and they’re looped together on his lap. Or even worse, how he’s got his head resting on your shoulder and you can feel little puffs of his breath hitting your neck everytime he laughs. 

It’s driving you crazy, your hand not in his twitching by your side and your chest rising and falling a little faster than it should be while watching a comedy with your friends. You’re so distracted it takes you a few minutes to realize that Steve is no longer watching the movie, but is now focused on you and how uncomfortable you seem to be. He gives a small tug to your pinky, drawing your eyes to meet his and you’re so overwhelmed with him right now you could cry at the furrow in his brow and the small pout he’s wearing looking at you. 

“Y’alright, baby?” You can see his genuine concern at the state of you but all you can focus on is trying not to let a small whimper through your lips as you hear him call you baby. Not being able to look at him for more than a few seconds you drag your eyes away from him, a small huff leaving you while you shake your head, mainly at yourself. “I, uh m’fine. I’m fine.” Neither of you are convinced, you know that, but you can’t find it in you to care at the moment when all you can think about is taking his bottom lip between your teeth. 

He studies you once more, eyes taking you in quickly as he reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers around your neck a second longer, two fingers giving you a little pinch before he’s drawing his hand back to his lap. You find yourself staring far too long at his hand, wondering what it would feel like if he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Or if it would be as good as you imagined to have him slip that same thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, wearing that same smirk you’ve seen a thousand times.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re so fucked. 

As soon as the thoughts come, they’re gone because the next thing you know you’re using his and Robin’s thighs as leverage to jump up from the couch, turning to face everyone with red cheeks and a forced smile. 

“So I, uh, I gotta go! Just remembered mom wanted me home early tonight, some, uh, some family thing going on. Yeah that’s it. Family thing!” Everyone is staring, eyes wide with confusion written all over their faces. You love movie night, never miss it let alone leave early. 

You don’t give anyone the chance to question you before you’re bouncing up the stairs trying to pull your shoes on as quickly as possible. You know he’ll be right behind you, asking you what’s wrong or offering a ride home. You both know you’re full of shit but you can’t find it in you to care right now, too focused on getting away from him before you do something crazy like kiss him. 

Steps away from the front door you think you’ve made it. Can almost feel the relief of the cool breeze cooling down your skin that seems to be burning up from where Steve was touching you. You're so close, less than a foot away when you realize you weren’t quick enough. 

A hand wraps around your forearm, a large calloused hand that you’d know anywhere. Shoulders slumped in defeat and you turn to face him, not all the way because you don’t think you could handle it, but enough to acknowledge his presence. “Harrington, I gotta go. You know how my mom is, this’ll be held over my head for weeks if I’m late.” Lies. All lies. Your mom fully expects you to sleep at Robins tonight. He’s quiet for what feels like hours but is really only seconds before he speaks, “Let me give you a ride then. You’ll be home in less than 5.”

Now you know that cannot happen. You cannot be in his car that smells like him. You cannot watch the way his hands grip the wheel, and you know you won’t be able to look away. You cannot be locked in a car with him where you know he’ll try and figure out why you’ve been acting so weird tonight. And honestly you just cannot be around him right now without feeling like you’re going to faint. 

“No, no, don't worry about it, it’s a quick walk and I could use the fresh air! I’m feeling a little…off right now anyways so I wouldn’t mind being alone. Go finish the movie! Love you, see you, have fun!” And before he can react or try to argue with you, reaching up on your tiptoes you plant a quick kiss to his cheek, lips tingling as you turn and run out the door, hoping to god or whoever is listening that Steve doesn’t come after you. 

What you don’t see as you’re running down the sidewalk is your best friend standing in the doorway with his hand hovering over his cheek where you just kissed him and a blush crawling up his neck as those quick seconds play on a loop in his head for the rest of the movie. 

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

It’s been a few days since movie night. The night you’re refusing to think about but also the one you can’t seem to get out of your head. More specifically the sound of Steve calling you baby and the feel of his fingers brushing against your throat. 

Well you’ve tried not to think about it. 

You’re not sure why this is happening now. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember so why all of a sudden do you feel like panting when your skin touches his? Why now are his little smirks and pet names enough to bring you to your knees? Over the years you’ve done good, so good, at keeping yourself together in front of him, letting his comments and flirting roll off your back. But now…now you can’t be in the same room without wanting to tug on his hair or leave marks on his chest or feel so desperate to taste him that it drives you insane. 

You don’t know what caused this switch to flip but it fucking sucks. It sucks because besides all of that, he’s still your best friend. Yeah, it’s ungodly how hot he is but he’s also still the guy who buys you your favorite ice cream when you’ve had a rough day, who goes to see scary movies with you when no one else will because you’re the only one that likes them. He’s saved you, cared for you, loved you for a few years now and honestly that just makes it worse! 

He’s mouthwatering AND a good guy. Fuck him for that. 

In the few days since you’ve seen him he’s called. 11 times? Maybe more. And you’ve been conveniently in the shower or asleep or anything else your mother can make up while you try and figure out what you’re going to say to him. The problem with this is that the longer you avoid him, the more awkward and hard this is going to be. 

So when you wake up today, 4 days after movie night, you decide it’s time to be a big girl and talk to him. Not about your feelings, god no! But it is time to at least try to be normal around him and to stop avoiding him. You already know he’s gonna look like a kicked puppy, big brown eyes staring down at you while you try and justify not talking to him for days. You’re fucked. So fucked. 

Walking downstairs you hear the phone ringing and your heart drops. Maybe you’re not ready for this. Maybe your family can just move! That should work. You’ll miss everyone but honestly this seems like your best option at this point. 

Your dad is gone for the day, your mom is standing at the counter with her purse on her shoulder like she’s about to walk out the door with her mouth open, ready to give Steve yet another excuse to why you can’t talk to him. But you’re brave. You’re a big girl who can handle a phone call with your best friend. Your hot best friend you're madly in love with and want to climb like a tree. 

Your hand is out and reaching for the phone before you can talk yourself out of it, a sigh of relief leaving your mother as she practically throws it at you, running for the door before you change your mind. It’s by your ear for a good few seconds before you hear him, his voice raspy and deep so you know he’s just woken up and it makes your whole body buzz. 

“Hello?” 

It’s now or never. Never sounds nice. “Hey! How ya been? How’s it going? How was the movie?” The questions pour out of you so quickly you’re not sure he can even understand what you’re saying but you hold your breath and wait anyway. 

“How’s it going? Are you kidding me? Fuckin’ Christ! You’ve taken about 12 showers in 4 days and couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, why don’t you tell me how it’s going.” So he was upset. Totally fair. 

“Don’t be mad at me, please.” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth and you knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help it. He deserved to be mad at you, to yell and cuss and whatever else he deemed fit. But now that you had heard his voice again for the first time in days, the thought of him being upset with you made you want to cry, even though you had done this! 

You heard him take a deep breath and knew he was running his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends the way he always did when he was stressed. “M‘not mad, sweetheart. I mean, maybe a little but I was more worried! That something had happened or I had done something or…I don’t know. Was just worried sick and…god I just fuckin’ missed you.” 

Had you mentioned that you were fucked? His words hit you a ton of bricks, any thoughts you had about moving on or maybe distancing yourself gone in an instant. Because he was worried. And he missed you. He fuckin’ missed you. And god you loved him so much it hurt, so much you could feel it in your fingertips and toes like little zaps of electricity when you thought of him or heard his voice. 

You were gone for Steve Harrington. 

“I..m’so sorry, Stevie. I missed you too, so much and I’m so sorry and I’m just…I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never do! I’ve just been a mess and my minds been a mess and I thought some time to myself would help me but really it's just..it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m sorry and I missed you.” 

“S���okay, bunny. You alright? Can talk to me about anything, you know. I’m not…I know I’m not always the best at this stuff but I’d be good for you. I’ll listen to ya all day, do whatever I can to help you. Wanna come over? Movie night just the two of us? I’ll order you pizza and get you extra buttery popcorn and some ice cream, promise.” 

The thought of being alone with Steve sends red lights flashing through your brain but when he sounds so…god when he’s saying all the right things in a voice you’d dare describe as whiny you can’t help but to want to drop everything and all but crawl to him. 

So at the expense of your sanity you agree quickly, promising you’ll be there by 8 o’clock and hang up the phone before he can call you sweetheart or bunny again running up the stairs to take the coldest shower you’ve ever taken that does nothing to erase the thoughts of Steve from your mind. 

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

The walk to Steve’s was surprisingly calm. You weren’t freaking out completely, just a little nervous but that was nothing new to you when it came to spending time with Steve, especially alone. 

Unfortunately for you, that calm lasted for all of about 10 minutes. 

In theory it was a good idea to spend some time with Steve after ignoring him for days. It was an okay idea to agree to a movie night with your best friend. Was. 

But now that you’re standing on his porch and his door was just thrown open to reveal a freshly showered Steve, it seems like all of this was a horrible idea. 

An awful, terrible, horribly bad idea. 

Awful because you can see little beads of water from his freshly washed hair dropping and running down his throat. Awful because the urge to lean forward and run your tongue over them is so strong you swear your mouth waters a little bit. 

Terrible because he’s wearing that goddamn white t-shirt that is hugging his arms so tight and since when did his arms start to look like that? Awful because that same damn shirt is tight over his chest too. It fits him so well you can see it snug against his tummy and waist. It fits him like a glove and your hands clench at your sides to keep from touching him. 

And this is bad. So horribly bad because he’s wearing his favorite pair of light wash denim jeans that cling to his thighs so nicely you feel your knees wobble. One of your hands comes up to your mouth to run over your chin, subconsciously making sure you’re not actually drooling despite the way you wish you could drop to your knees and spend hours leaving marks on those thighs. You can’t see his ass and you’re praying to god he doesn’t turn around so you don’t have to suffer through seeing how his jeans hug him just right. 

While your mind is running a million miles a minute with thoughts of Steve, you realize you actually haven’t said anything. Haven’t made a move to greet him or walk in, instead just standing there with what you imagine is a slack jaw and wide eyes. Willing yourself to meet his gaze, you somehow manage to drag your eyes off his thighs and bring them up, up, up until you meet his. 

He definitely does not look like a kicked puppy right now. Those brown eyes are darker and he’s wearing a smirk that would make you do anything he asked. He cocks his eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his face as you try and collect yourself. 

“You look starved, honey. Wanna come in?” 

   *********************************

After the initial embarrassment wears off, you feel a little better. Somehow managing to brush off his teasing as if you weren’t just devouring him with your eyes, you follow Steve to the kitchen, laughing as he tries to balance all the snacks he’d bought for you in arms. He shot you a glare full of playfulness when you tried to help, insisting that he “was a big boy and could handle the snacks.” 

Now you find yourself on that same couch from last week, much more space between the two of you than there had been then, a good foot and half extra in fact. Steve laughed when he saw you practically throw yourself to the other end of the couch, hand reaching out for you with a little pout on his lips. “Think I’m gonna bite you or something?” God I wish. Please please please bite me! 

But instead you held out your hand reluctantly, fingers twisting with his as he tugged you toward him. Movie night flashed in your head. His clothed thigh just inches away from yours, arm thrown over your shoulders and a cheeky grin on his face as he pulled you into his side. A satisfied hum was heard and you could have sworn you heard him mumble under his breath, sounding a lot like “much better” but it was hard to hear anything with the smell of him clouding your senses. 

Trying to get your thoughts off of him you reach forward to grab the dvd case laying on the table, a small smile gracing your lips as you see what he had picked. “John Carpenter's Halloween. I thought you said you’d never watch this?” This time when you turned to him, he was the one with red cheeks and shy smile as he glanced between the movie and you. A small shrug and wink was thrown your way, “S’one of your favorites. You should know you’re the exception to my rules.” 

You’re fucked. 

Heart pounding in your chest all you could manage was a smile and a small “thank you” before turning away, hoping he’d get up and start the movie so you’d have something to distract you from how sweet he was, watching a scary movie you know he doesn’t want to watch just because it’ll make you happy. 

It was about halfway through the movie when it happened. 

Everything was going well! You were snuggled into his side, actually paying attention to the movie and not sitting there distraught over being so close to him. You were so invested you hadn’t noticed your hand slip to his thigh during a scene that had made you jump. 

But Steve noticed. 

Too engrossed in your movie to see how your hand was holding his upper thigh and it definitely would have been too high if you’d been paying attention. You didn’t notice this or the way Steve was now on red alert, whole body tense with his hand gripping the couch cushion and his eyes trained on your hand as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. 

He could do this, he could ignore your hand and let you watch your movie. It would be fine. He’ll just slip into the bathroom when it’s over or wait till you go home to take care of his now aching cock. And god was he aching. He didn’t dare move, too nervous that you’d get all weird and fidgety like you’d been. This was the closest you’d been to him without seeming freaked out in weeks and he was not about to ruin that. 

The smell of your lavender shampoo overwhelmed him, a groan threatening to spill out while you sat there so unaware of how beautiful you looked just existing. He noticed everything about you. The slope of your little button nose and the way your lips, your perfect pink lips, parted just so when you were lost in thought. He noticed how your cheeks would turn the prettiest shade of red when he called you baby or honey or sweetheart. And he loved it, craved it even. He couldn’t tell if it was because of him or if you were just a sensitive little thing in general. He’d take what he could get with you, even if he had to live off your rosy cheeks and holding your pinky for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, honey, m’sorry but you have got to move your hand, please.” Steve’s voice in your ear so suddenly made you jump, a small yelp leaving your lips as you turned to see what he was talking about. You didn’t even realize you were touching him! But one look down at this thigh and you gasped, cheeks burning as your eyes moved from your hand clinging to his thigh over to now very noticeable bulge straining against those light wash jeans. Ripping your hand away as if he’d burned you, a string of curses and apologies flew out as you scrambled to move as far away as possible. 

If he looked pained with your hand on his thigh then he looked downright miserable now that you’d taken it away. “Don’t have to run away from me, honey. M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you I just…fuck I couldn’t sit still with you holding onto me like that.” He did his best to tug you back and you let him. “Sorry, Stevie. I wasn’t…I didn’t, I was just watching the movie I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

He looked at you with furrowed brows, eyes jumping all over your face like he knew something you didn’t, like he knew something you should know. Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other for some time before he sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch before coming back to look at you again. 

Hand cradling your cheek he gave you a small, tired small like he couldn’t believe you could possibly make him uncomfortable. That is not the word he would use. “Silly girl, I’m not uncomfortable because your hand was on me. I’m uncomfortable because your hand on me is making me wanna pin you down and fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.”

Oh. Oh. 

Lips parted you just stared at him, not sure you’d be able to form a coherent thought let alone words right now. He wanted to fuck you? Since when? Why hasn’t he ever brought this up? Doesn’t he know you’d do anything he asked of you? 

Steve let you process, could see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours and your eyes switching from looking at him to looking at where his cock was pressing up against the zipper of his pants. Maybe he’d said too much, gone too far. He was almost certain now that you liked him, wanted him, but maybe it was too overwhelming to be so blunt with you. 

“Y’know what baby? I can see you freaking out and I didn’t mean to make you nervous so I’m gonna go to the bathroom, alright? Gonna take care of this real quick and then we can finish the movie, can start another one if you want. I’ll be right back and we can figure this out later.” It was him getting off the couch that broke you out of whatever spell you were under, hand wrapping around his arm and if you weren’t so desperate for this, for him, you’d be embarrassed by the look of panic in your eyes at the thought of not getting to see this, to make him feel good. 

“Please stay. Just…fuck just stay, okay?” 

Both of you paused, staring at each other and waiting for someone to move or to breathe or just do something. A soft “okay” was murmured between you, Steve settling back into the couch as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck was this really happening? 

“Whatever you want to happen can happen, baby.” 

You definitely didn’t mean to say that out loud but now that you had, a little burst of courage hit you and you just let it pour out. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud I just..I didn’t…I’m nervous. You make me nervous. I want this. I want this so bad you have no idea but I didn’t know you wanted this so now my head is fucked and I’m rambling and kinda freaking out but you can stay. You can stay and I can watch or I can help or whatever you want just..stay. Ok?” You dared a glance up at Steve, his eyes wide and a grin broke out on his face. He looked as if you’d just handed him the moon not offered to watch him get off. 

Taking your hand in his he gave you a squeeze, “We’ll go slow. I can start and you can watch and if you wanna do more, feel fucking free, honey. But if you don’t, that’s fine. If you want me to stop, say the word. You’re in charge here,” he paused, lifting his hand to take my chin between his fingers so I’d be forced to meet his eyes, “and for the record, there hasn’t been I second I've known you where I haven’t wanted this. I’ll take anything you give me, swear it. Whatever you want, any way you want.” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice, moving his hand to cup your cheek and pulling you toward him, his lips pressing against yours soft at first, testing the waters and trying to keep you calm. His lips were just as soft as you’d imagined, sweet like the candy he’d been eating earlier. You groaned against him, pushing closer and opening your mouth to invite him in, the thought of his tongue on yours enough to have you reaching your hands into his hair to tug him closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. 

He pulled back first, a string of spit connecting the two of you and he cursed at the sight, “Jesus, fuck I can’t believe you’ve kept this sweet, pretty mouth away from me. S’not nice, baby. So mean to me, yeah?” If you thought you were desperate before it was nothing compared to now, now that you’d had a taste of him. 

“M’sorry Stevie, so sorry, not gonna keep em from you anymore. Promise, promise, promise.” You’re barely making sense, your head spinning and your body on fire. Foreheads pressed together you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t think or breathe or function when he was this close to you with his swollen, spit kissed lips just inches away from yours. 

Coming out of your post-kiss haze you move back beside Steve, eager and desperate to finally see him, all of him. His eyes widen as your hands go to the button of his jeans, tugging relentlessly and you're just so cute he has to laugh. Eager too and fuck how did he get so lucky?

“Take em off, please. Want them off, Stevie.” You’re full on pouting now and it takes everything in you not to cry. You’d do it if he wanted, you’d do anything. But he doesnt let it get that far, taking your hands off his jeans and cooing at you and it makes you feel a little pathetic but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he’s about to finally pull down his pants. 

He does so wordlessly, eyes bouncing from his lap to your face every few seconds like he’s checking in on you, making sure he’s not missing anything and that you still want this. It makes your tummy flutter and your heart race, his caring for you. His pants pushed down to his knees is all he can manage, head too fuzzy thinking about you and how he’s so hard it hurts worse than it ever has.

As soon as his jeans were out of your way you were staring, gawking really, at the white boxers sitting so prettily on his hips that were doing nothing to hide how hard, how big he was. A small wet patch forming where you know his tip is resting and it makes your mouth water. He’s just so hot. So hot and it makes it even better that this is because of you. Fuck.

A beg was on the tip of your tongue but before you could he put you out of your misery. Lifting his hips up you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep still while he pulled his boxers down, pretty, messy, cock slapping against his stomach. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! You’re so…I’m…fuck.” He breathed out a laugh which quickly turned to a wince when we saw how you were looking at him, at his cock. He felt himself twitch under your stare and you swear your mouth just fell open as if it was meant to be. 

His hand drifted towards his cock, eyes still on you to make sure you were okay. You gave him a nod and the sigh of relief you both had when he finally wrapped his hand around himself would have made you laugh if you weren’t throbbing. His head fell back against the couch and you were torn between watching him touch himself or watching his face while he did it. The former won, your eyes trailing the way his hand moved slowly, teasing the both of you. 

“S’pretty, you’re so pretty…” You’re not even sure you were talking to him, more just to yourself but he heard you nonetheless. His hips jerked at that, a small moan slipping past his swollen lips as he turned his head toward you, watching you with hooded eyes. I could watch this forever, you thought. 

You couldn’t believe it. A few days ago you were thinking of ways to never speak to Steve again and now here you were, watching him stroke his cock in front of you and looking at him as if he was your last meal. He held his hand out, a silent plea for something but you didn’t know what, not until he spoke.

“So good, baby, so pretty. Can you ju-just spit on my hand for me, honey? Lick it, spit on it, anything you want, I just need you please.” His words were slurred and if you hadn’t spent the last few hours together you would think he was drunk. He seemed so out of it, but in the best way. Like he didn’t just want you but needed you. It made you feel good, better than you ever had and it gave you a spark of bravery you were missing before. 

Knocking his hand out of your way you leaned forward with cautious eyes, watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing until it dawned on him and his cock twitched in his hand. You leaned forward, face hovering inches above him and spit, both of you watching as it dropped from your mouth to his tip, covering the top of his hand as he began to stroke himself again. His lips parted in an “o”, eyes squeezed shut and his tummy clenching as he let out the loudest moan you had heard, so loud and strong you felt yourself clenching around nothing.

You were wet but with Steve looking and sounding like that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how bad you were aching right now, far too focused on Steve and how his thighs were starting to shake a little and his hips were starting to move faster and more uneven. 

“C-can I?” 

His eyes shot open, head shaking furiously before he had even fully understood what you were asking. He knew he wouldn't last more than ten seconds if you touched him but he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was how pretty you were, how good he was feeling, how you had just fucking spit on his cock. He would take whatever you gave him. 

With a whine that you would replay in your mind for the rest of your life he took his hand off, tugging yours closer to take his place. Both of you moaned at the contact and you were almost convinced you could cum just from touching him. “Help me, I want you to feel good, please.” He looked like a bobblehead as he nodded, putting his much larger hand over yours and giving it a squeeze, helping you to stroke him just how he liked, though anything from you would feel a million times better than his own hand. 

Addicted would be the word to describe it. Now that you had touched him, felt how hot and smooth his cock was in your hand, how pretty it looked all pink and wet and coated in your spit. Steve liked it messy and apparently so did you. You thought you were addicted to his cock, and you were, but nothing prepared you for the absolute filth that started spilling from him once he finally had your hand on him. It made you dizzy and out of breath and goddamn you would have to throw these panties in the trash after this. Absolutely ruined, just like you were. 

“Fuckin’ dreamed about this, ‘bout your hand on my cock, s’good, baby.”

“Don’t think I don’t see you squirming, honey. My pretty girl all wet ‘n needy and I haven’t even touched you. Bet you’re drenched and achy, huh?”

“Gonna make me cum, gonna make a mess of us but I bet you’ll be good and clean it up for me, won’t ya, bunny?”

He was babbling now and you could barely make sense of what he was saying but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t and you didn’t want to. His cock was slick with precum and your spit one of his hands guiding yours in quick strokes while his other was gripping the couch so hard his knuckles were white. 

“M’close, honey…so so close.”

“Please, Stevie…want it, I need it, please.” And that was all it took. No warning, your words taking him by surprise and hitting him like a punch to the gut. He took his hand off, bringing it to your hair and tugging you to him. It was a messy kiss, lips pressed together while he moaned against you, just breathing each other in while he cursed and whined, his hips stilling and you slowed, looking down just in time to see him cum. Your hand and his lower stomach was covered, his hand that was gripping the couch now thrown over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. 

Chest and neck covered in sweat, he looked good. When he finally had gathered himself enough to look at you, he instantly regretted it. Instead of his innocent best friend, his sweet little bunny, he was looking at a little devil lapping at his cum on her hand like she hadn’t eaten in days. His softening cock twitched against his thighs and he stifled a groan when you hummed happily at the taste. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” You shrugged half heartedly, not even a little bit of you was sorry. 

“Can we finish the movie now, Stevie? I’ll probably pass out soon you wore me out, but I’m too tired to move.”

He looked down at you a little confused, your cheeks still pink and thighs still clenched together tightly. “You don’t…I can…I wanna take care of you too, sweetheart. Been dying to get a taste of you, know you’re sweet.”

You giggled and even though you were a mess, in every sense of the word, you didn’t think you could handle anymore and told him as such, eyes already feeling droopy and your body sagging against him. “Next time? Promise you can do anything you want to me next time but watching you cum was enough for me.” Your cheeks flamed as if you hadn’t just licked your best friend’s cum off your hand. 

“Alright, honey. Let’s finish your movie, you little vixen. Didn’t even take me out to dinner before you were drooling over my cock. A crime!” His smile was bright as you smacked at his chest and cursed him for teasing you.

You were sure that what had just happened would hit you soon and the panic would set in but for now you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you pressed a kiss to Steve’s bare chest and felt his grin against the top of your head. 

Did I mention I was fucked? 

[qwertyprophecy]

Update on The Dark Queen of Mortholme!

Phase one is now essentially completed for art, code and dialogue. Onwards to phase two; because every good boss fight needs that part where the boss gets unhinged and gains a whole new set of attacks.

I too have chosen to be unhinged and made a design for the Queen's final form that gobbles up animation work hours like nothing I've done before with pixel art.

Concept sketches under the cut:

Initially I didn't have any ideas beyond doing a more monstrous design that amps up the Queen's features and takes cues from the shapes and colours of her original spell animations. However after writing the dialogue leading up to the transformation I immediately landed on a specific concept.

The transformation is an outburst. It's a manifestation of the Queen's terror and defiance towards her approaching death. She's unraveling, and in doing so she's channeling more of her innate violent power that she doesn't usually let out. She's essentially been having a long argument with the Hero about who they believe they are. Thus far she's gotten by being all smug and detached, but now she's losing and forced to reveal more of her true self to continue.

So her final form's design should convey 1. an outburst, and 2. the unraveling of a false front. Her base design's spikes, hair and skirt all erupt out into the wilder shape language of her shadowy spell-tendrils. They can handily be used to draw the eye from all directions towards the center of her chest, where I wanted to have this cracking pattern, like something hidden inside her is coming out. It's bright as if blindingly powerful, yet the cracks make her seem more damaged and vulnerable than her base form.

Continuing with the theme of an inner self showing through, the skirt's interior is also more visible than before. The flared jellyfish-esque shape connects with the deep sea vibe of the tentacles and contributes to the drama of a nonhuman silhouette.

A big thing for the silhouette is of course the massive hands. What's the thematic explanation for those? Absolutely nothing, I just think they look cool and dangerous.

Finally, lot of asymmetry was also introduced, both to increase the visual interest of such a large sprite, and to make her look like she's really losing it.

---

A note on animating this monstrosity: I've been trying to come up with a whole lot of cheats to keep a complex sprite like this as animated as possible without spending the rest of my life making this game. Early on I decided she should float, just so her idle animation can also be a moving one.

Secondly, the sprite is cut up to pieces so that I can keep reusing the loop of the writhing tentacles while moving her hands, for example. This is not something I like doing because in believable animation, motion in one part of the body always affects the other parts of the body. Treating a character as one entire whole when animating will make them feel more tangible, but alas, it's a compromise to avoid spending a hundred years in pixel-pushing jail. Like, I would love to see those tendrils flutter around behind her as she swoops across the room for her attacks, but... it'll be a lot more reasonable to move her as little as possible and instead add oomph to her attacks with some effects animations.

Anyways thank you for reading about monstrosity, she might be a pain in the butt to move but she brings me joy

[hashtagdrivebywrites]

Y'all bear with me on my bad phone pictures and excessive notes lmao, but, uh, ask and you shall receive.

Here's my concept art for Jason in my fic Imprint, where he's a halfa and Danny's biological dad and the king father/king regent? of the infinite realms.

Here's the first ever sketch I did somewhere around chapter 2 or 3:

Featuring larval Ghost!Jason, Pit madness/Lazarus Water and little bitty Ghost!Danny.

I was already thinking about the possibility of a crown but didn't know what to do with it yet so I just left a halo as a placeholder DBZ-style, which you'll see in the next few concept stages until I finish the latest one.

Ah, the oldest concept I had for the Pit is that it laid dormant in Jason's mind and would physically pull itself out of his head, which is why it's kind of half melded with Jason's helmet in this one. And I'm still kind of considering that idea, but I'm leaning more towards it coming from the bulk of Jason's body instead, as we see it in chapter 8 of Imprint when readers get to see Jason's ghost nonsense from an outside perspective. They (the Pit) is definitely more tiger-like now, and you'll catch a glimpse of a sketch dump where I'm trying to get a handle on tiger shape language (?). They'll still be water based and colored like the pits/a lagoon. It may be hard to picture- just trust me.

Uhhh let's see....the "lantern ribcage" is a part of the design that's really important to me so you'll see me consistently playing with it as I go through these early concepts. That's his core nestled in the lower part of his ribs, visible but protected behind the iron cage of his bones.

I wanted to incorporate Jason's helmet and other parts of his vigilante/hero uniforms in his ghost form since that part of his life is deeply personal to him.

I also knew that I wanted him to have a very monstrous aspect to his design- and I can't resist slapping pointy teeth on any of my concepts that deviate from being strictly human. So those aren't going away. Nostrils to breathe smoke and fire so Jason can better emote with most of his face being metal.

Danny's default ghost form, opposed to Jason's will still kinda be the one he has in his original dimension- black and white suit and the classic DP symbol on the chest, but probably better armored and with a bat emblem thrown in somewhere. So thats what I drew him with here- though little kid sized, with an added black streak in his hair to complete the inverse of the Lazarus Pit streak he has in human form.

In ghost form, when Jason needs precision, his go-to weapon will be the All Blades, which I have kinda illustrated here.

I may kinda set the bones of this design aside to use as a more humanoid ghost form that's closer to his living form, but that's still up in the air.

Here's concept 2, which I did on chapter...5? I think? Which is when I decided I wanted to make Jason's most comfortable ghost form to be kinda big and outrageous:

This one's got some notes doodled around it- but I'll type them out in case you can't read my handwriting.

Jason was definitely leaning more toward dragon (and I'm still trying to find the balance between dragon and phoenix that works nicely for him, but we're getting there.)

I decided not to put heat pits on his face recently so that the parts of his head modeled after the helmet are smooth metal armor. I tried to elongate the head but still keep the lines of his helmet in the design.

This is also the first time I started messing with horns- which have been bent in just about every direction at this point trying to make them mesh well with the rest of his design. The uppermost notes in the image mention basing the shape of his horns off of one of his weapons. I thought that the flaming all blades would just be overkill at that point and decided to play with using the Kris knife he gets from the League. Which is....still overkill but it's less fire to draw, so we'll call it a even. There is also a note on my decision to make his horns into a pair only because of being Bruce's second son and the second Robin. (I have put way too much fucking thought into this if you haven't figured that out already).

Tried a different look for the teeth and ended up scrapping it.

I also started leaning more into making his back look as messed up as possible at this point and started thinking of the....mountain range in plated rows like a croc's back.

And here's concept 3, which also starts playing with colors and the all-tail, no-legs look that I decided to stick with:

This is definitely the biggest jump between concepts so far and was sketched up while writing chapter 7, which I think is the first time we get to experience his ghost forms (there's 2 that we saw in that chapter).

So I continued to smooth and lengthen the head and tried a different thing with the teeth- which I kept. I also felt a lot better about the lines from the helmet with this concept. I tried curling his kris knife horns forward, trying to play with their form. Those have changed since.

This is the first time I added hair, but it's hard to see. He, like Danny, has an inversed streak of black at the front of his 'do to reflect the Lazarus stripe.

Again with the halo placeholder because I was still on the fence about the crown. Started trying to make the mountains of his spine more volcanic looking. Don't know if I'm keeping that or not yet.

So the three major differences between this and it's predecessors is the 1) mantle of smoke that is constantly being expelled from his body that is supposed to imitate a kinds cloak/mantle; 2) the tail, which has since been changed into a fiery tail instead of a ghostly one; and 3) I slapped his Robin 'R' from the movie UTRH on him to make this form more...him, I guess, and also to make Bruce cry like a baby.

So the things that I have changed is the ribcage, the shape of the horns, the crown (which finally has a rough design and a name based on the fight he has to win to earn it- yes, I already have that arc scribbled out and will most likely be adding it into the story) and I added some extra stuff to the face to match the written descriptions in Imprint.

SO. -Claps hands together- I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, and I am always interested in hearing how y'all have interpreted these characters for yourselves.

If this is something you want me to do again with other character designs, let me know and I will. I am working on Jason, of course, and the Pit, Frankie boy, Danny's big long boi form, Gotham and some other odds and ends.

(Whoops forgot tags again)

[ambyandony]

shortcuts I took to make drawing the squatizi comic easier

Used a photo reference for the backgrounds (note: this actually made it harder, I couldn’t figure out which beach was in the picture I was looking at so I only had one angle)

(note 2: I didn’t trace the photo or anything but I did colour pick from it)

made Squalo’s towel fall off his shoulder because it looked awkward and it remains on the ground for the rest of the comic . That stupid fucking blue towel.

for fun I made it visibly do this like you can just see it slowly slide off

didn’t overline the background characters and made them all a solid colour cause fuckem

didnt even draw the background characters in one of the panels even though the lesbians probably still should’ve been visible . I just have to assume Squalo is in the exact position on the frame where they just aren’t visible behind him

there’s a rock in the background but I didn’t draw it at all when the camera angle was facing only tiziano because I fucking hate that rock

If I don’t like how something looks and it’s inconsequential to the overall panel and in a corner I just deform the panel so it’s covered. Cause fuckit

covered one of Squalo’s hands with Tiziano’s hair while they were hugging because it looked wonky and I redrew it too many times

accidentally drew Tiziano’s hair wrong in one panel. That wasn’t a shortcut I just fucked it up and by the time I realised I’d already coloured and shaded it and it sucks and I want to fix it

used speech bubbles to hide shit I didn’t like

used a grid to write most of the dialogue

chibified the boyfriends for 2 panels but that was more because the panels were very tiny.

I would say having Squalo’s arms covering his chest for the first half but that was intended and not a shortcut

One side of Tiziano’s hair was originally over his shoulder but it was very annoying so I scrapped it . Except for exactly one panel where I could not draw his neck/collarbone right in that exact area.

the other side IS partially on his shoulder but not fully. I just think it looks more elegant that way but it has the added benefit that I don’t have to think too hard about shading his neck . Thank fuck for men with long hair 🙌

Tiziano’s hair length is inconsistent because I was having trouble making it not look awkward in certain poses

not drawing the lips

Tiziano takes his stupid sunglasses off for exactly one panel because I could not make them look good and then he puts them back up on his forehead because he needed a free hand and had nowhere else to put them. He is not shown doing this

I save Squalo’s freckles till the last step. Squalo’s freckles go on when I’m done with everything else so I have GOT TO REMEMBER TO PUT THE FUCKING FRECKLES ON ITS GONNA BE SOOOO ANNOYING IF I POST HIM WITH NO FRECKLES

The background characters with speaking roles have the exact same hair and skin colour and I drew their faces simplified even when they’re visible up close for one panel because speaking roles or not they are still background characters. Even though I named them.

as an artistic choice I didn’t refine the lineart in the central panel of page 1 (inadvertently made it easier it was actually a choice for the aesthetic of the panel)

Didn’t try very hard to draw the back of Squalo’s hair.

things that did not make the comic easier

Adding extra panels . and reworking all the dialogue from the previous version because it was awkward

themed dialogue fonts

I HANDWRITE ALL THE DIALOGUE MYSELF ALL OF IT. AND I DECIDED TO FUCKING MAKE THE TITTLES ON THE IS AND JS CUSTOM FOR SQUALO AND TIZIANO. AMONG OTHER THINGS. HELP ME

drawing Squalo’s stupid nose broken

the last minute inclusion of the Portuguese Man O’ War

not knowing how to draw nipples

changing background character with speaking role #2’s swimsuit top and not knowing how to draw boobs

THOSE STUPID FUCKING SUNGLASSES

I draw Tiziano’s eyes so fucking detailed. Because he is beautiful

Emphasising Squalo’s musculature

not saving the base skin colour I used for Tiziano OR Squalo before I started shading

drawing them hugging. 3 1/2 times.

making this post instead of finishing it

[original-character-championship]

REASONS TO VOTE RAT!

are you undecided about whether to vote for rat kralie? is their inspiring blurb and cute art enough for you? HUH PUNK? IS THAT IT?!

well, you’re in luck, because i have a few more reasons to help secure them their rightful place as the #1 oc of all time!

1. they’re a flexible character!

originally a gorillaz oc (turned fandomless), i tend to throw rat into whatever interest i have at the time … or sometimes, i throw them into interests my friends have, because it’s just that easy to make them aus! with aus comes alternate designs, so here’s one that might appeal to you more than their main one: DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS AU!

[image id: a transparent, flat colored drawing of a character’s full body, with a basic standing pose. they’re wearing a flowing fantasy-inspired outfit with a metal shoulder plate, and they have split-dyed hair. there is purple makeup around their eyes, as well as on the tips of their ears, which are pierced and pointed in an elvish manner. /end id.]

2. they’re relatable!

maybe what i’ve already said about their relatability isn’t enough. maybe you think you’re not like all the other zoomers, and you couldn’t possibly kin rat kralie … but you’re DEAD WRONG. here are some relatable rat images for you to appreciate, and to show you that rat is truly the people’s candidate.

[image id: two bust doodles of the same character. in the top doodle, which is uncolored, the character is slumped forwards, holding their phone. they ask, “hey siri, how much caffeine can kill you?” to which siri responds, “5000 mg!” with a smiley face. the character replies, “ok. siri you need to take me to the hospital.” in the bottom doodle, which is flat colored, the character is visibly sleep-deprived and crying, with visible roots in their split-dyed hair. they’re saying, “i’m really happy for them actually!” /end id.]

[image id: a flat-colored waist-up drawing of a character with split-dyed hair on a gray background. they’re looking at the viewer with one hand proudly against their chest and saying, “i got my gender at 7/11. they just give those things out for free don'cha know?” /end id.]

3. THEY’RE FUNNY!

i know what you’re thinking. everyone thinks their funny, and everyone probably thinks their oc is funny, too. but as is tradition, i will now submit evidence to the court that rat is funny in every sense, both in character and as a tool for other jokes - so don’t take my word for it, just see for yourself!

[image id: a low resolution bust drawing of a character with split-dyed hair against a bright red background. they are flat colored and looking off into the distance, at an unknown party. in a chunky speech bubble, they ask, “why are you filled with so much aggression and hatred? i’m finding it difficult to assume what you must have went through to mold you into the person standing in front of me right now.” /end id.]

for ease of access, i will now provide a bulleted list of genuine rat quotes from various sources - but these are all things they’ve said in character at one point or another! (may be edited slightly for clarity/context)

“HE COULD NEVER REPLACE ME, HE’S NOT NEARLY AS SILLY!”

(with genuine horror) “do i have to work at an office job if i get in trouble?”

“yo mama living under communism.”

“i wanna be your lawyer, i love ace attorney! let’s explain to the judge that sans is ness!”

(upon spotting an enemy of the state) “hey … who’s that hobo over there?”

in conclusion …

sure, rat doesn’t have any crazy powers (in most aus), and they’ve never done anything super insane like killed god or saved the world. but let’s be real, you don’t have any crazy powers either, nor have you killed god or saved the world (to my knowledge). if nothing else, you have these things in common with them … but i’m sure if you got to know them, you’d have many, many more.

this is why, for the duration of their run in the championship, i will be answering ALL AND ANY questions about rat if you send them via ask to my blog (@ethanmars). in this way, we will prove who the best candidate is.

and remember: a vote for rat is a vote for girlboys everywhere!

[forbiddentaako]

Hi!! Just gonna straightup fangirl in your inbox for a sec

What program and brushes do you use for your art?? And how do you do skin and hair so well?? I'm just so in awe. Like everything looks so majestic. It belongs in frescoes painted by the ancient masters holy cheeseballs.

Thank you friend I am weeping this is so sweet holy fuck

I've been doing digital art for 6 years now so practice is definitely a big chunk of how I got good at drawing hair and skin. Recently I have also improved on it because I'm taking a figure painting class and that's helped so much with understanding how to work with paint texture and colors in order to create dimension and make skin and hair look realistic. I put some tips I learned from it in this very long explanation but if anyone wants it I can make a comprehensive list with examples of all the tips I use in digital art from the class.

I don't know if this is what you were expecting but here's the far too long and detailed explanation of everything I do with art dscjbkcbj:

The program I use is procreate, and I exclusively use like 3 brushes for painting stuff.

(moment of silence for my lineart) If you're looking at my older art that has lineart I used to use a modified technical pen for lineart but procreate has since fucked me over and reset my brush settings/changed how the pressure tip works, so I no longer do lineart because I can't figure out how to make the brush go back to how I want it to.

I still use the default technical pen for adding solid blocks of color since it reacts with the fill tool well, and occasionally for flyaway hairs but alas, it doesn't get used as often anymore. I also used to shade with color with the medium hard airbrush when I did lineart, and would do a shadow layer using the overlay setting.

For the pieces that are more of a painting style, those I'll do a very light sketch with the default flat brush, and come back and darken certain areas like the eyelashes/eyebrows/nostrils/mouth opening so they come through most obviously. After that I'll make a layer beneath the sketch with the flat color, usually a more neutral tone so it acts as a guiding point for the shading. Then I just do a clipping mask layer on top and use the flat brush to shade.

The advice I actually listen to from my figure painting professor is to use cooler colors to help them fall back, and warmer colors to help come forward, but that's not cut and dry for skin tones, especially if you're like me and do a bunch of tieflings. In general I first fill in the cheeks/part of the nose with a warm color, the base layer of the shadows with a darker shade of the neutral tone (the shadow color gets super varied tho depending on where on the body it falls, and that variation helps add dimension, the neutral tone just helps to generally block things in), and the broad highlights with a slightly lighter and sometimes more saturated color than the neutral base skin tone.

Ive found for purple characters doing a warm shadow on places with just general dimension, a cooler purple for more intense shadows, and a cool lighter purple/blue for the highlights looks really nice, but it depends on the lighting you're going for.

I think the best advice I now follow from my professor is to remember light gets reflected in the shadows as well on things that have dimension. The most recent example I have is on the drawing of Miriam where her chest is partially visible, there's a reflective light between a medium and dark shadow layer on her tiddy. This effect just adds so much depth and breaks up the shadows so I 10/10 recommend it (usually using a cool color for this is best). When we paint models in class its most noticeable on the underside of the chin, shadow side of legs/arms, and on the chest or stomach fat.

Practicing and studying faces really helps to determine where what tones/values/colors look best, so I definitely recommend doing that because doing 2 paintings a week for class has helped me understand it so much better.

TLDR: Thank you so much and to answer your questions I use procreate and use the flat brush almost exclusively, I just fill in color with the technical pen and fill tool.

[lale-txt]

(n.sfw) sandwich chronicles: Smoker x afab reader (no pronouns) x Hina

a/n: part 2! read part 1 with Rayleigh & Shakky here. are… are we even surprised it’s Smoker for round two? my favorite tsundere who i love since 15+ years now. also YES Hina. go get it babe, you‘re doing amazing.

warnings: sub!Smoker on a leash, pegging, oral (both giving + receiving), dirty talk, spitting, mention of alcohol, face sitting (please let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 1.3k

you joined the marine the same time as Smoker and Hina did, making the three of you an inseparable trio over the years. Hina and you had to bail Smoker out on several occasions and the three of you got together whenever your jobs allowed it

tonight you invited them both over to your new apartment, it was tiny but it was something. you haven’t gotten around unpacking the boxes with your belongings, but figured a bed and a sofa to sit on paired with some booze and cigarettes would be enough

they arrived at the same time, Hina looking as stunning as ever (“Hina brought us more booze”) and kissed you on both cheeks as a greeting, Smoker didn’t bother to wear a shirt under his uniform as usual, but you didn’t mind being hugged tightly against his bare chest

they soon start rummaging through your moving boxes, helping you look for some glasses and plates. even though you labeled the boxes neatly, the didn’t bother and looked into every box they could find, digging out old photo albums (“y/n, why is there a nude of Garp in there? … for fuck’s sake, there’s more.” “Hina is disgusted.”)

privacy? don’t know her

which is why they find the box labeled ‘toys’ and open it, knowing damn well it’s not puzzles and some fidget spinners

”how many flavoured lubes do you actually own?”

“wow, that are a lot of spare vibrators in case one runs out of power.”

”you’re really prepared with the condoms in every size… bought a big pack of the extra large one’s huh”

”please don’t tell me you used that with Garp. oh my god, y/n. i think you lost and gained all my respect for you at the same time.”

with a cigarette dangling from her plump lips, Hina found something that caught her eye, reaching in and pulling out your strap on. she smirks, dangling it in front of Smoker’s face who tries to give you a judgmental look but you‘ve been close friends for long enough to know that he‘s really more curious

”i assume this is not for a dog?”, the white hunter guessed, holding up a leash and a collar. you grin and take it from his hands, nestling with the clasp of it and put it around his neck. he looks pissed but holds still, his face close to yours as you adjust the collar

”it suits you so well.”, you whisper in his ear before you take a step back, looking at the vice admiral who rolled his eyes but blushed a little, downplaying how much you startled him with those little words

”that’s the one made out of sea stone, right? we bought that together but to see it in action… well, that’ a nice view.” Hina tilted Smoker’s face a little with two fingers, admiring the collar around his neck, grabbing the leash attached to it and forcing him to his knees

judging from the outline of his cock in his pants he seemed to visibly enjoy it, having both you and Hina gazing at him in such a submissive position, despite his face trying to tell a different story

”you’re such a pretty boy, Smoker.”, you coo, crouching down to be eye to eye with him, gently stroking his hair before you grab him by it with one hand, the other sliding his jacket off his broad shoulders.

Smoker pulls Hina who still holds the leash down to you, giving you both a long “let’s ruin our friendship” stare before he leans in to kiss you first, moving on to Hina and groaning a little when you and Hina exchange a hungry kiss, too

while Hina chains Smoker’s arms behind his back with her devil fruit power, you slowly unzip his pants, rubbing his throbbing cock through the fabric, kissing and licking his neck, drawing out sounds off him you’ve never heard before

both you and Hina strip down to your underwear, making Smoker on his knees watch as you pull down Hina’s panty close to his face, revealing her already dripping wet sex. she returns the favour, with your back faced to Smoker as she spreads your wet folds for a better view, holding him back on the leash. you could still feel his erratic breaths between your legs, lusting for more

“you want to fuck us so bad, don’t you, Smoker?”, you mutter as you turn around, admiring his beautiful face in your hands as he blushes, the tip of his hard cock peaking out of his unzipped pants

Hina kisses you and bends down to Smoker, kissing him too, while she frees his sex and strokes it quickly, causing the vice admiral to hiss and moan before he cums quickly, spilling his load on his stomach and Hina’s hand

which earns him a handmade cock ring from Hina who doesn’t fuck around

both you and Hina use Smoker as you please, pressing his face to your core and making him lick up your juices, grinding on his big thighs while telling him what a pretty, pretty boy he is, pulling him by his white hair to spit into his mouth

you relocate from the floor to your bed, Smoker lying on his back with his arms locked above his head, groaning and arching his back, begging to cum again

“so greedy, tsk.”

Hina stuffs his mouth with your panties, muffling his groans, before she starts grinding on his hard cock, teasing him more

you watch and enjoy the view as you reach for your strap on and some lube, Smoker turning his head to you and giving you a shy nod when you hold up your items, asking him for his consent

while the pink haired rides Smoker’s cock, you start teasing his hole with your lubed fingers, gently massaging it before you slip one, then two in and curl them up. it was an absolute delight seeing Smoker react to your touch, turning him into a whimpering mess with such a little gesture

he was about to lose his mind as Hina cums on his cock, still not releasing him from the cock ring as her flesh clenched around him, your fingers still teasing him from the inside

while Hina frees him from his gag, kissing him on the lips and telling him what a good boy he was, you position your strap at his hole, lubing it all up

”think you can take me, Smoker?”

through all of this he hadn‘t lost his sass, giving you a little ‘tsk’ that quickly turns into a loud moan when you slide in the tip of your strap, stroking his cock up and down slowly while doing so

Hina sits down on Smokers face, muffling his moans but increasing hers, while you watch your plastic cock slide in and out, slowly going deeper with every thrust until he took you whole

”told ya, didn’t i?”, he huffed between two breaths, his whole body trembling when Hina finally removed the ring around his cock, relieving him

“aww. someone wants to be praised. i won’t be gentle then anymore. see if you can still take it..”, you answer, lifting his legs up to reach a deeper angle, thrusting again but faster this time, making him groan and whimper, unable to hold his load back anymore and cuming all over his stomach and the sheets

both you and Hina chuckle, more than pleased by the view. you wait patiently until Smoker catches his breath again before you slowly pull out, Hina freeing him of his wrist chains too

as you both snuggle up against him on each side, you gently stroke his face, drawing small circles with your fingers on his chest and telling him soft words of affirmation, letting him now that he can be his big old tsundere self again

which he will be eventually, but for now he melts under your touch, kissing you both softly

nothing will change for your friendship except that you will repeat that more often from now on <3

[magniloquent-raven]

soulmate au part 3!!!!

(read part 1 and part 2 here)

it takes three weeks for anything to happen.

they see each other at school, exchange glances in class, brush past each other in the hallways, fingers grazing as their shoulders bump, incidental touches that wouldn’t draw attention but still leave billy tingling and giddy and embarrassed at himself but…

he’s still getting used to having a soulmate. a real, tangible person he can reach out and touch.

and maybe he’d get used to it faster if he could touch him more, but life keeps conspiring against them. they can’t seem to get a second alone. when it isn’t steve’s kids are crawling all over him 24/7 it’s neil breathing down billy’s neck because he ran out on one fucking class.

well, and then had to lie to neil about why, which was probably what put neil on high alert, but still.

three goddamn weeks.

and neither of them have been patient about it. steve keeps writing billy notes. in the middle of class scrawling things like you have nice eyes and i wanna spend time with you and billy can fucking feel how smug steve gets about making him blush. it’s all he can do not to make a scene in front of half their peers. sometimes he’s not sure if he’d punch steve for being an asshole or kiss him for being sweet.

or both. he can do both.

but mostly he wants time, and somewhere to just...be. with steve.

and he gets that, three weeks after their conversation in the parking lot. steve’s parents will be out of town, and his kids have some stupid game night planned. max keeps asking to go but pretending she isn’t, badly feigning disinterest, and best of all, neil and susan are planning a weekend trip to visit susan’s bedridden aunt a few hours away.

billy is determined to take full advantage of those thirty-six hours. neither of them will acknowledge it directly, but he knows max will tell neil he was home all weekend if she has to. he has no reason to be nervous about being caught, or anything else. it’ll be fine.

it’ll be fine.

he tells himself that over and over but it doesn’t stop him from checking every corner of the house in case neil’s hiding behind a door somewhere before he can even think about getting ready to leave.

he checks again after he’s showered and dressed.

thankfully max is already gone, so she’s not there to see him pacing around like a neurotic rat in a maze.

it almost worse that he isn’t just anxious, he’s excited. and it’s making him twitchy.

there’s no plan. they aren’t going on a date or anything. he’s just...going to steve’s house. steve’s empty house. he’s going to be alone with his soulmate. the list of reasons why that scares him is endless.

and he’s not sure if he’s more terrified of the possibility that steve won’t ask about the makeup thing or the possibility that he will.

knocking on the harringtons’ front door is. an experience. it shouldn’t be. it’s just a fucking door. but billy’s palms are sweating and suddenly he has no idea what he’s even going to say, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder even though he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, and it feels like he’s been standing on the porch for a fucking eternity but—

his worries don’t exactly melt away when steve opens the door but there is a warm flutter in his chest that’s...new. and distracting.

and steve smiles at him all sunshine and chocolate, and the second the door closes behind them he grabs billy’s hand, wide-eyed, questioning, watching billy’s reaction.

his palm is just as sweaty as billy’s and it’s gross, but also kind of comforting.

“hello to you too,” billy snickers, and steve visibly relaxes, lacing their fingers together properly.

“hi,” he breathes quietly, his gaze soft, but intense, focused. “waiting sucked, okay. i’ve been wanting to do that forever.” he shakes their joined hands for emphasis.

“...that all you were waiting to do?”

steve’s grin turns sly, and his gaze drops a little. “no.”

billy wants to kiss him. he wants to be kissed. he wants steve’s mouth on him, somewhere, anywhere, right now. it’s a nice mouth. he’s spent a lot of time looking at it, and thinking about it, about the way the steam from the showers turned his lips so, so red, wet and slick and both too close and too far away, wondering what he’d taste like—

but steve turns away, taking all the air in billy’s lungs with him. it’s so jarring a shift that billy actually sways a little before he gets ahold of himself and lets steve tug him by hand and lead him upstairs.

the wallpaper in steve’s room has to be some kind of hate crime, but billy doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because there’s a beige bag sitting conspicuously on top of steve’s neatly made bed. the clear plastic top is zipped shut, dusty with age and spilled powders, but billy can still make out tubes of lipstick and eyeliner pencils through the haze.

he stops in the doorway and stares at it, thoughts at a stand-still.

steve’s still clutching his hand, tighter now, and no longer pulling him along. “i—uh. the bag was my mom’s, i think. found it crumpled up under the sink, so, like. she probably doesn’t even remember it exists. and the stuff in it is...new.”

“...new,” billy echoes faintly.

“yeah. yeah, i—i bought it. had no idea what i was looking for though, so i hope i did alright.”

billy blinks at him.

“was—was that okay? i know maybe isn’t exactly a yes, but i kinda hoped it could be, y’know? it’s—it’s totally cool if it isn’t. if you’re—if you’re not up for it. or…” he trails off awkwardly and grimaces.

billy takes a breath. “i’m up for it,” he assures steve with more confidence than he feels.

and steve absolutely beams at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

turns out steve not knowing what he was looking for meant he bought...everything.

as billy pokes through the mess he tries not to feel too apprehensive. or at least tries not to let it show. too much. he chews his thumbnail, picking up an eyeliner pencil with the other hand. it’s good shit, all the products are, with fancy names for colours and designer labels. it’s all leagues better than the drugstore clearance shelf crap he lifted as a kid. which doesn’t make this any less nerve-wracking.

“it’s been a while since i did this, so. don’t expect it to be, fucking, art or anything.”

steve shuffles closer from his spot at the foot of the bed and touches billy’s knee. “the eyeliner earlier this year…?” he gestures vaguely at his own face, eyebrows raised.

“friend of mine did that,” billy mutters.

and then his whole goddamn life came crashing down around him because of it.

his anxiety spikes, and he drops the pencil back into the pile, shoving the bag away. “i can’t fucking do this,” he snaps, and he’s halfway standing already when steve reaches for him, alarmed.

“billy, wait—” the hand on his elbow is soft, gentle, but he still flinches away. steve withdraws, fingers curled, lips parted, shock and hurt at war on his face. “i’m sorry. i—shit, i’m sorry—”

“don’t.” billy shakes his head, pulling away further. his lungs hurt. there isn’t enough air in this room. “just—forget it. this was a mistake.”

he’s through the door and heading down the stairs before he can think about it, before steve can respond. he wouldn’t have heard him anyways, not over the echoes of his father’s voice that follow him no matter how fast he flees.

but he stops just short of leaving. stands on the ugly little mat by the front door and stares down at it, his forehead inches away from resting against the wooden doorjamb.

he doesn’t want to leave.

he doesn’t want to go anywhere but back upstairs.

and...he kind of hates it. he has no reason to want that. he barely fucking knows steve, and he certainly doesn’t owe him anything. not a look at his authentic self or even a fucking apology. nothing.

so why does he want to give him all of that and more.

why.

it’s fucking terrifying and ridiculous and confusing and…

“billy?” steve calls out tentatively, far enough away that billy doesn’t startle. he’s making his way down the stairs.

if he’s gonna run, it’s now or never.

now…

or…

he turns around, and leans back, his shoulder thudding heavily as he hits the wall. his eyes itch, and rubbing them doesn’t help.

“billy…” steve’s right in front of him now, hovering just shy of being close, worry etched into every line of his face. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have pushed, i’m sorry—”

“not your fault,” billy mumbles, muffled against his palm. “stop apologizing, harrington.”

steve sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “i...uh.”

“you were gonna do it again weren’t you.”

“...no.”

billy snorts quietly, head falling against the cold wallpaper at his back. “fuck,” he exhales, hand dropping to his shoulder. “look, this is...threatening to be the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, and good things don’t just—it never lasts. it always blows up in my face, and you should know that before you get caught up in it too.”

there’s an awful, drawn-out pause while steve purses his lips and tilts his head and looks billy up and down, his gaze gentle despite the scrutiny.

“i want to touch you,” steve says quietly. he waits for billy’s hesitant nod before he wraps his arms around and tucks his face into the crook of billy’s neck. “i’ve been waiting for you my whole life, hargrove, you’re not scaring me off that easily.”

and...billy always wanted to believe in the romantic notions people wrote about in songs. soulmates being destined for each other. epic, unconditional love. he never had any reason to believe it was real, but he clung to it anyway. despite the part of him that was wary, afraid of putting too much stock in something that might break his heart later on.

so for steve to just outright say it like that…so matter of fact. the reality of the situation smacks him in the face a little.

he puts his hands on steve’s waist, slipping under his shirt to rest against soft bare skin. touching him feels...right. when he lets himself feel, lets himself be here, in the moment. the sweet scent of steve’s hair, the warmth of his breath, the soothing pressure of his fingertips smoothing the wrinkled fabric of billy’s shirt. it all adds up to a feelings that billy can only describe as home.

not home like the place, but home like the warmth of sunlight and sand between his toes, ocean spray on his lips. a feeling he’s always had to chase to capture, but somehow it’s...here. quiet and still, and nothing like he’s used to, but it’s here.

and his touch seems to put steve at ease as well, he practically melts into billy’s embrace, which does strange and addictive things to billy’s heart.

but he can’t just shut his fucking mouth and enjoy the moment.

“bet i could, though. scare you off. i might, some day.”

“billy,” steve sighs, and pulls back enough to look him in the eye. “trust me when i say, you’ll never even make the top ten scariest things i’ve seen.”

and he wants to scoff, or feel insulted, or push the issue, start a fight, but. there’s a hollow look in steve’s eye. it’s not the face of some sheltered rich boy who thinks he’s a big man, no, there’s truth there. billy believes him.

stopping the tide of questions is almost physically painful, but he knows there’s no going down that road today. he’s hiding enough of his own skeletons to be sure they aren’t ready for that yet.

he might just be ready for something else though.

“i wanna try again.”

steve blinks at him, confused for a beat, two, and. “oh!” his lips part around the exclamation, distracting billy for a moment. “the—the makeup? you don’t— you don’t have to.”

“i want to.” he hesitates, and then presses a brief kiss to the tip of steve’s nose, startling a smile out of him. billy grins back. “i want to.”

[stillebesat]

Code: Blanket (part 2)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Virgil, Janus, Patton Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Prompt: “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” with Anxceit? (platonic is 100% good for me) Blurb: A friendship doesn’t stop just because one person decides to act like a dick. Especially when said dick is obviously in trouble. Overall Fic Warnings: Homophobia talk, Neglectful/Abusive Parents implication, Capitol Riot references, Injuries Taglist in Reblog

Part 1

“Your son is sneaking out.”

If the weight of his husband settling on top of him in the bed hadn’t been enough to fully wake Logan from sleep, the gleeful tone of Remus’s voice in his ear and the words he spoke were certainly enough to do so.

He tilted his head to the side, squinting up at his husband’s shadowy figure looming over him, ignoring how his heart had jumped into his throat, leaving an aching cavity in his chest. “If our son is sneaking out after dark, Sir Night Owl.” He said, working to sound calmer than he actually felt. “Then that’s obviously your influence at work and your problem.”

Remus gave a low chuckle, kissing his cheek. “Lion Kinging me, Messire Early Bird? Fair enough. I accept.” He shifted to roll off the bed, only to pause as Logan grabbed his hand.

“Virgil’s never snuck out before.” He whispered, flinching as he heard the front door close. Why would his son feel the need to do--sure teenagers were known to be rebellious, but he’d been clear that Virgil could talk to him about anything, anytime. To have him just suddenly leave without a word to them, without any indication that anything was wrong--

Remus squeezed his hand. “I heard him say ‘The offer still stands, D.’ as he walked by our door, sooo~ secret relationship?”

Logan pushed up onto one elbow, breath catching. “You heard him say Dee?” He demanded. “You’re certain?” He hadn’t known the two were still in communication. The end of their lifelong friendship last year had been...volatile. Virgil had been miserable for months afterwards.

“Yes?” His husband tilted his head. “You know them?”

Logan nodded, rolling over so he could grab his glasses from the night stand. “So do you. It’s Janus. Son of the Daemons.”

Remus stiffened, hissing like a broken teapot. “What offer could Virgiepoo possibly make to that horrible family of--”

“They were childhood friends.” Logan interrupted his husband before he went off on yet another long winded swearing spree about the Daemons. “Janus didn’t always approve of his parents...antics.”

Remus snorted, pulling Logan to his feet. “Antics? Those Ultra Christian Karens on Manbaby Cheeto Horse Steroids nearly cost both of us our jobs because they couldn’t stand the thought of their son knowing two gay men.”

Logan smirked, shrugging on a robe, placing his phone in the pocket just in case Virgil called. “And how did that turn out? With them facing the best lawyer in the country?”

Remus leaned in for a kiss. “Not good.” He breathed against his lips.

“Exactly.”

“Soo…” Still clad in only his boxers, Remus entwined his fingers in Logan’s, pulling him out of their bedroom towards the front door. “Son of our Enemy. Virgil sneaking out in the middle of the night to see him. What exactly is this offer that he’s offering to the Villains who aimed to destroy our happily ever after?”

An offer that Logan had believed had been firmly taken off the table over a year ago. “Simply put. Sanctuary.”

Which begged the question. What had happened in the Daemon household to convince Virgil to offer their home, after everything the two families had gone through, to their son once more?

“Sanctuary.” Remus repeated like it was a foreign word. “To one of their spawn? Are you serious?”

Knowing how much of a giving and forgiving heart his son had? Logan pulled open the front door, unsurprised to see the two teens standing frozen on the porch.

He had good timing like that.

“Boys.” Logan greeted, attention drawn immediately to Janus as he tried to hide behind his son only to be stopped by Virgil’s tight grip on his arm.

Janus swallowed, a tremor visibly going through him as met Logan’s eyes. “Mr. L.” He whispered, the porchlight throwing his face, and therefore, the stark purple bruise and cuts by his eye into sharp relief.

Sanctuary. He could now totally understand why Virgil had chosen to reach out.

The crumpled state of the boy’s clothes, the mask -an unusual accessory for the known anti-masker, anti-vaxxer family- the greasy hair, all of the obvious signs of neglect, Logan mentally catalogued as he immediately reached out, drawing the boy closer to him. “Janus.” He breathed, hating how the boy flinched at his movement, how he trembled under his touch even as he leaned into Logan’s hand as he cupped the boy’s uninjured cheek. “What happened?”

“Well, I hope what’s happening is that we’re kidnapping the demon spawn for ranso--” Remus cut off, inhaling sharply as he too caught sight of the facial disfigurement. “Lo, lemme see that.” He demanded, gently pushing him to the side so he could take the boy’s chin into his hands, tilting his head this way and that in the porch light.

Virgil relaxed, even as Janus visibly tensed, trembling under Remus’s scrutiny.

For good reason. The young Daemon had to feel like he was stepping into the Lion’s den by coming here.

“It’s okay, Dee. Remus is a surgeon. The best. You’re in safe hands.” Virgil said softly, keeping a firm grip on his friend’s arm as the boy shifted his feet like he was debating about turning tail and running.

Something he’d never thought Janus would do. The boy took after his parents in being willing to face confrontation head on, no matter the odds.

Something definitely was wrong here.

“What happened?” Logan repeated, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

Janus’s eyes flickered between him and Remus, breath hitching as he opened his mouth. “I--I--”

Remus growled, eyes flashing as he turned to Logan, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “What happened?! He’s lucky the wound isn’t infected, Lo! It’s obvious it’s been untreated. Obvious that he’s been neglected, mistreated, abused!”

Janus flinched at every word. “Yes.” The word ghosted over his lips, barely heard.

Virgil shook his head, eyes burning with quiet fury. “It’s worse.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket, tapping on the screen and flipping it so Logan could see the tweet there. “His parents locked him in their unfinished attic for FOUR months, Dad. And then they left him to go harring off to D.C. to storm the Capitol!”

They…WHAT?!

Logan saw red as Remus swore, his husband pulling Janus into a tight hug, the boy letting out a startled squeak at the action. “I changed my mind, Lo. We’re not kidnapping him, we’re adopting. Surprise, my little rebel. You’re mine now.”

Janus’s eyes went wide, shimmering with unshed tears as he stood stiffly in Remus’s grip, fingers twitching. “Y-yours?” He whispered, in such a small voice that had Logan wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders as well. “I--I--but I’m---I’m--”

There’d been a time he’d considered Janus almost like a second son with how often he and Virgil had hung out at their house as kids. Logan wasn’t at all opposed to rediscovering that sentimeint.

“It doesn’t matter.” He whispered in the boy’s ear. “You have a home here, Janus, for as long as you need one.”

The boy shuddered in their hold, breath hitching as he bowed his head, not quite resting it against Remus’s bare chest. “I--I tried to---I couldn’t get out! I tried everything to bre--to break free and then they just….left me. Their SON. They--” He broke off as Remus pulled him closer, a soft sob escaping as his husband carded his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“It’s okay, Janny-boy.” Remus whispered. “You did what you could with what you had.”

Janus shook his head. “I--i should have---sooner. I couldn’t--I didn’t think they’d actually!! My own parents.”

Virgil pressed in on the group hug, gently freeing the face mask from the boy’s ear. “Dee. You couldn’t have known.”

“I SHOULD have though!” He growled, twisting his head to stare at Virgil, cheeks streaked with tears. “We’ve been friends for years, Annie! I KNOW you and Mr. L. and...and…but when things,” His eyes flickered to Remus and back. “Changed. The pandemic and everything---I didn’t...I sided with them and thought they had to be RIGHT this time, but then things...stuff happened and THEY LOCKED ME UP and treated me like I was A NUT CASE when I--I--” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “They wouldn’t listen to me.”

Logan exhaled, squeezing the boy’s shoulder as he met his husband’s furious eyes. “I’m sorry, Janus.” He said, keeping his tone soft. “Your parents have had their...good...qualities at times,”

Remus snorted, but kept silent as Logan shot him another look.

“And I know...they’ve only tried to protect you from their perceived evils in the world, but Janus.” He shifted his position so he could cradle the boy’s injured cheek. “What they did to you was wrong. So very wrong.” And bound to be worse when the whole story was told. “It’s monstrous that they chose to treat their own flesh and blood in such an abhorrent and inhumane manner just because you disagreed with them and I will not stand for it. You deserve better and you will be treated much better here than you have been there. I promise you that.”

Janus abruptly twisted in Remus’s arms to cling to Logan, resting his head against Logan’s chest, fingers digging into the folds of his robe, his thin body shaking with sobs. “Don’t make me go back.” He whispered.

Logan shook his head, pressing a firm kiss against the boy’s greasy hair. “Never.”

“I won’t let him.” Remus added, a growl in his voice. “I’ve adopted you, Jan. My word is law. No take backsies.”

Janus looked between the three of them, before focusing on Remus, licking his lips. “But. You...don’t know me--”

“You don’t know me either, kiddo. But no worries. We’ll fix all that.” His husband winked as he gathered both Virgil and Janus under each arm, letting Logan take a careful step back. “But FIRST.” He pointed a finger at the boy’s eye. “I’m getting you clean and stitched up while Logie here makes a little call to his Work Wife to figure things out. With luck, and I am rather lucky, there’ll barely be a scar when I’m done.”

Janus stiffened, glancing over his shoulder to Logan. “Work Wife?!”

Virgil chuckled, twisting Janus’s mask in his fingers. “Not an actual wife, Dee. Dad has a fellow lawyer friend.”

“Rival.” Logan corrected.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Rival that he constantly works with, so Rem calls him his work wife since he’s usually either with him or us.”

That wasn’t exactly true. He did go to other places and work with other people that weren’t Patton or his family. It just so happened that Patton ended up involved in a lot of the same sort of cases as him and so collaboration made more sense than going it alone.

Logan pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. “Needless to say. I’ll take care of it, Janus. You can trust me on that.” He smiled to the teen before turning his attention to his son. “Virgil, send me a copy of that tweet as soon as you can. And Remus,” He grimaced as his husband paused, raising an eyebrow. He could see him practically vibrating with the need to stitch the kid up now. “I know you want to treat Janus ASAP, but I need photographic evidence of every single injury and sign of neglect before you do anything.” An unfortunate delay, but he needed the evidence recorded before it vanished. He hit call, placing his phone by his ear. “As soon as you’re done--”

“It’s straight to the shower, JanJan. Or a long hot bubble bath. Either way.” Remus said, ushering the teens towards the door. “We need you to get squeaky clean while Lo here does his thing, and then I can treat those wounds of yours without them getting infected. Okay?”

“I--I---uh...Okay?” Janus asked, sounding half strangled as they vanished inside.

The phone clicked. “Hello?” A sleepy voice asked over the line.

Hopefully Virgil could smooth over any further confusion for Janus until Logan could come back and reign Remus back from going full Mama Bear on the boy. “Hello, Patton.” He said, leaning against the wall, listening as the crickets began chirping again. “It’s Logan.”

“Lo?” He could hear his fellow lawyer and work rival stifling a yawn. “Wassup?”

“My apologies for calling so late, but I need your help with a case. Right now. If you’re able.”

The silence on the other hand wasn’t at all encouraging. But then again. It was late.

“...My help? With a case? Now?”

“Yes.” He’d already said that. Hopefully Patton’s brain would kick into a higher gear sooner rather than later or else this conversation would be lasting ten times longer than necessary. “You remember the Daemons?”

“Mmm….yah? Your fight with them had you fired up for ages with all their nonsense.”

“Exactly.” Logan exhaled. “Their son, Janus, just showed up at my house in an obvious state of neglect. Injured. Possibly abused. More than implied that it was his parents who put him in his current state. And I am, unfortunately, too visibly involved with the Daemons in a negative light to be considered an adequate impartial representative for him, especially if I house him in my home for the duration.”

Patton made a noise of surprise. “House him?”

“Virgil was--is a friend of his and he offered him sanctuary here when he discovered that Janus was in trouble. I’m not refusing him a safe place.”

“Safe? You just said--”

Logan closed his eyes, resting his head against the side of his house. “I know. I’m not on good terms with his parents.” They could go rot in a tar pit for all he cared about them. “But I’ve known the boy since he was six, Patton. He’s been to my house multiple times before. Been friends with my son. I won’t hold a grudge against the child for the actions of his parents.”

“Ha. I doubt his parents would appr--”

“His so-called parents Locked. Him. In. Their. Attic. For. FOUR. Months.” Logan interrupted, unable to hide the fury in his voice.

Patton sharply inhaled. “They WHAT?”

Exactly. It was good to hear his work rival taking the same tone. Patton had a soft spot for kids. “They locked him up and then abandoned him, Pat. I don’t know the exact circumstances just yet on why they felt that this was justifiable behavior, but no child should be treated like a prisoner by their family and no so-called parent’s opinion on where or who their son stays with should hold any weight if they’ve failed to provide decent care for their child in the first place!” Logan took a breath, forcing himself to relax his fingers on his phone before he cracked the screen. “Regardless, if the boy wishes to go elsewhere I won’t fight it. But he needed a safe place to go to and he chose to come here. That has to mean something considering the history between our two families.”

“It--I’d have to look into it.” Patton whispered. “This isn’t--the circumstances--”

“Are abnormal. I understand.” Logan nodded, staring off into the night. “Will you come?”

Patton huffed a laugh. “It’s not every day--ah night--you say you need me, Lo.”

That was true. They were more often rivals in the courtroom than collaborators these days. But still, he wouldn’t want any other lawyer to represent the boy if he couldn’t do it himself. “I need you, Pat.”

The sound of keys jangled in his ear. “Be right there.” Patton promised as the line went dead.

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Love is in the Lines

Nesta Archeron x Cassian - Tattoo Convention Oneshot

Nesta loses Cassian at a tattoo convention.

Written for Nessian month. @illyrianet

Prompt 1: Tattoo Artist

Prompt 2: We came to the…together, and now you’re lost.

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2319 words

*******

“Cassian, I swear to the mother, when I find you…” Nesta grumbled to herself for the fourth, no it was the fifth, time in the last twenty minutes.

She pushed through the herds of people crowding the aisle, trying her best to scour every booth for her missing boyfriend.

One moment, he had been standing behind her waiting as she scrutinized a certain design, the next, she turned back around, and he had disappeared.

Deciding she wasn’t going to find him in this row, she turned the corner and began walking down the next aisle starting her search over again.

If she was lucky, she would spot his massive frame sticking out above the clusters of people, but so far luck wasn’t on her side because she’d been walking around the convention hall for almost half an hour now searching for him. Nesta passed each booth looking at the artists and the customers, but they were all strangers.

Getting to the end, she took one last scan over the heavily tattooed convention-goers—most having several visible piercings in their ears, noses, and sporadic other places on the face that she thought would be excruciating to pierce—and wondered what the hell she was doing.

Sighing heavily, Nesta turned and started walking down the next aisle.

Two years ago, if someone had told Nesta she would be wandering around a tattoo convention, she would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity of it.

A year ago, she’d have rolled her eyes and said that even her ink-covered boyfriend who made her realized she didn’t hate all tattoos, wouldn’t have been able to convince her to spend a day surrounded by the buzzing machines and colorfully covered patrons.

Last week, she considered it.

Being with Cassian had made her learn a lot about herself; one of those things being the fact that she found all of his ink incredibly attractive.

There was something about the way the ink stood out on his tanned skin that made it look like it was supposed to be there. She couldn’t even imagine her boyfriend without his tattoos. The one time she tried, she made a mental image of his arms without the swirling geometric designs and his back without the large bat-like wings, not to mention all the other little designs he had strewn across his body suddenly gone—and she was surprised to find herself dismayed at the lack on ink.

One night, when Nesta was idly tracing some of the lines across his chest, she confessed to Cassian that she wanted to get a small tattoo of her own.

At first, he had been shocked. As much as she loved his designs, he knew she still looked at most people’s tattoos with distaste. In her words, “most of the tattoos I see look like someone stumbled into a shop at four in the morning, drunk out of their mind, and picked out the first thing they saw. And the artist just went with it.”

But Nesta listened whenever he talked about his own designs; about how they all meant something to him. How every design held a memory. Every time he looked at them—whether he was intentionally studying them or when he caught a glimpse of one out of the corner of his eye—he would think about why he got it. Each tattoo made him remember a story, or a person, or some sort of inspiration.

They were reminders, self-expressions, and memories.

Even the one he got when he and his brothers were wasted and thought getting matching tattoos—done by each other, of course—was an amazing idea. He always pointed out that particular tattoo whenever Nesta explained her disdain for the “impulsive permanent decisions” saying that even though the design isn’t great, every time he looks at it he laughs and thinks of the great time he has when he’s with his brothers.

So when Nesta told him she wanted to get a tattoo, Cassian was more than surprised. But as soon as his shock wore off, he got the broadest smile on his face and immediately started asking her questions. What did she want? How long had she wanted one? Color or Black and White? Where on her body? Question after question, and Nesta was glad that Cassian had been thrilled.

Smirking, she remembered what he had told her when she asked him if he thought she would look good with a tattoo.

“Good?” She’d never seen him look more ravenous, already picturing what she would look like with ink covering her body. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “Nes, sweetheart, you are already so gorgeous, but, fuck,” he groaned, “you would look so fucking stunning that I don’t know how I’d ever be able to keep my hands off you.”

Then he made sure to show her just how much he liked the idea of tattoos covering her body, using his tongue to trace potential designs across every inch of her skin.

The next day, Cassian showed Nesta the poster for the tattoo convention happening soon which brought dozens of artists together to showcase their work and allow for people to get tattoos done, and admire the different aesthetics and designs.

When Nesta agreed to go with him, she made it very clear she was just looking for inspiration. It was practical, she reasoned, to go to see all kinds of designs in one place so she could get a sense of what exactly she wanted.

She figured he would be attached to her side, wanting to show her everything and point out his favorites.

The last thing she expected was to lose Cassian in the crowd.

Nesta finished eyeing another row of booths, still no sign of her missing, infuriating, boyfriend.

“C’mon Nesta, he said” she muttered as she walked. “It’ll be fun, he said. You’ll get inspired and I’ll be right there with you, he said.”

Nesta just about turned the corner when a booming laugh caught her attention. Zeroing in on the sound she caught sight of Cassian—well, his hair really. The long, dark, wavy strands were pulled up into a bun on top of his head, making his strong jawline covered in artfully groomed stubble stand out.

Nesta sometimes found it hard to stay mad at Cassian because no matter what she was upset about, he always found a way to make her smile. Even unintentionally. Like right now, part of her wanted to strangle him for vanishing on her and making her scour the convention hall for him, but hearing the sound of his laugh softened her and she allowed herself to smile at him before quickly schooling her features and making her way over to where he was sitting.

Sitting.

He was sitting in a reclining chair while the booth’s tattoo artist leaned over him to draw a new piece of artwork on his skin.

Nesta was going to kill him. Seething, she marched towards him.

He brought her here, he disappeared, and then he went off to get a new tattoo—without her.

Cassian’s eyes lit up as he spotted her. “Nes! Check it out, look who’s here.”

For the first time, Nesta looked at who exactly was inking her boyfriend.

“Az?” She blinked, momentarily losing her frustration. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

Azriel dipped his needle into the ink again and let out a low chuckle. Once he deemed enough ink was added, he gave Nesta a rueful smile. “I assumed this one,” he nodded at Cass who was still grinning at her “would show up today, but I thought I could get a couple of hours of actual clients before he took over my booth. I didn’t expect to see you here, though” Azriel concentrated on tracing another line but raised an eyebrow in her general direction.

“Yeah, well, this one,” she imitated Azriel’s tone and nodded at Cassian, “wanted to show me what one of these conventions was like, but apparently he decided it was better to run off and get another tattoo.”

Setting her bag down, Nesta sunk into the chair beside Cassian and crossed her arms.

“I’ve been wandering around for more than thirty minutes looking for you, asshole”

Az snorted, but didn’t comment, just kept drawing something that Nesta couldn’t quite see.

“Aw babe, don’t be mad,” Cassian leaned over as best he could and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she could turn away. Not that she didn’t want a kiss from him, but she was still upset at his antics. “You were so absorbed looking at that lady’s designs I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Nesta’s anger melted a little at that. They had been walking around for a while when Nesta spotted a particular design she liked. She dragged Cassian over to a booth hosted by a woman whose arms were covered in colorful images and had her hair pulled back in a bright bandanna. She had a handful of binders on the table filled with designs and photos of healed artwork.

It was the minimalistic stack of books that had caught Nesta’s eye from across the aisle. She followed the single line as it swirled around creating the image. She must have been more lost in thought than she realized if Cassian deemed it best not to interrupt her.

“And,” He gave her a wide grin, “I hoped I could find Az and convince him to tattoo me for free.”

Rolling her eyes at Cass’ satisfied look and Az’s long-suffering one, she watched as people passed by the booth. Some looked through the design books, others paused to watch for a moment as Az worked. Turning back to face Cassian, she saw he was already looking at her.

“Fine. I’m still annoyed, though.” She leaned in closer, “What are you getting?”

Now Cassian’s face turned a little nervous. He still looked excited and happy and keen in the way he always looked when he watched her, but now he started to look a little worried, too.

“Before you freak out or get angry, let me explain.”

Nesta’s mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios. What could he be getting that he thought she would be angry? What would Azriel agree to ink that she should be upset about? Was it—

“Great way to start.” Azriel muttered from Cassian’s other side.

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Nesta just as she stood up and walked around to peer over Azriel’s shoulder.

Az was putting the finishing touches on but she could see exactly what the image was.

It was delicate ‘N’ on the inner edge of his wrist.

Nesta didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—she just stared at the design now permanently etched into her boyfriend’s skin.

Cassian cleared his throat and Azriel backed away to put his needles down and give them a moment of privacy. As much privacy as they could have in the small booth.

“It’s an N,” Obviously. “For you.” Obviously.

Nesta couldn’t drag her gaze away from the letter. All her anger and frustration faded away. She forgot how irritated she was with him, how upset she had been when she turned around and he was gone. She forgot the instant jolt of panic she felt when she thought she had lost him.

Nesta took in each line and curve of the tattoo and felt such an overwhelming feeling of love for this crazy, impulsive, wonderful man.

“You…” She finally looked up to see him watching her face carefully.

“What do you think?” He waited for her to say something, but after a moment of silence, he started rambling. “Is it too much? Do you like it? You don’t like it. It’s too much. If you don’t like it I can change it. I mean, I can see if Az can change it. I could get it covered up—”

“No!”

Nesta grabbed his worried face in her hands and kissed him fiercely. She tried to pour everything she was feeling into that kiss, and make him know that she did like it, she loved it. She loved him.

“No, don’t cover it up.” She pressed her forehead to his before pulling back and intertwining their fingers, using her grip to lift his arm to get a better view.

“So, you do like it?” A slow smile appeared on his face.

Nodding softly, she told him, “I do.” Nesta swallowed, another rush of emotion hitting her. “You really wanted to get something for me inked onto you? These things last forever you know.” She tried to make a joke, but she was still feeling overwhelmed.

She almost couldn’t believe that he wanted a piece of her, something to remind him of her constantly and forever. It was insane; totally impulsive and unbelievable, but the sweetest most loving gesture anyone had ever done for her.

Cassian used his fingers to tilt her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “Of course I wanted to. Every time I’ll see it, I’ll think of you.”

She kissed him again.

Breaking apart, Nesta slowly moved her finger around the letter, careful not to brush it and hurt him.

“Why here?”

He forced her to meet his stare as he said, “I wanted it over my pulse point because my heart beats for you.”

He kissed her this time and put everything he had into it. She brought one hand around behind his head, the other rested on his chest, and kissed him back with just as much passion.

“That’s so corny” she murmured against his lips

They broke apart, each breathing a bit heavily.

Cassian gave her a cheeky grin and winked.

“You love it. And didn’t you know, sweetheart,” he gave her one more peck on the lips, “we’re gonna last forever, too.”

*****

I know I’ve posted a lot of oneshots recently, but don’t worry, I’m absolutely still working on my longer fics. I’m just taking advantage of the inspiration as it hits me

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading

[bestofbucky]

The Signal (1/2)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Angst, death, blood, canon level violence, swearing.

Summary:  You go on a mission with Bucky.

A/N: Part 2 will hopefully be up sometime soon.

“You ready doll?” Bucky asked as you were nearing your drop off point. 

You nod back, not trusting your voice. No matter how many times you have had to parachute from a quinjet it will never get easier. Of course, Bucky can tell how nervous you are by the way you avoid eye contact and start tugging at the straps of your harness. He pulls your hands away replacing them with his own as he safety checks your parachute.

You know that you have done it all correctly but having him double check it is the reassurance you need. You watch him, his slightly furrowed brow and tongue poking out giving away how concentrated he is. 

He finishes his final check and looks up at you, “What are you smiling about?” He can’t stop his own grin from spreading across his face. Bucky didn’t just smile with his mouth, he smiled through the crinkles in the outer corners of his eyes, he smiled through the scrunch of his nose and he smiled through the relaxation of his whole body.

“You.” The contentment you feel, that comes from simply being near Bucky, is obvious in your body language and voice. His eyes glimmer as he leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Bucky had joined the team about two years ago. For one of his first missions you were paired up, you worked so seamlessly together that it would be silly not to put you with each other for more missions. This resulted in the two of you becoming close friends, he trusted and confided in you and you felt the same. 

It would be normal for the two of you to be holed up together after a tough mission, looking after the other but not wanting any social interaction with anyone else. You were both extremely similar like that, tending to fall inwards but you both became experts at drawing the other one out.

It was a natural transition from friendship to romantic relationship. You had just come back from mission and you were cuddled up in Bucky’s bed watching a film. Bucky had turned to you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to go on a date with him to which you immediately agreed. The feelings were already there from the bond you had formed, it was just the physical side that was needed.

This wasn’t a difficult thing to develop for either of you. Bucky had never met someone who completely overwhelmed his thoughts and feelings as much as you did. You were always on his mind whether it was a comment Sam made that he knew you would be on the floor laughing at or a mental picture of you sleeping, the morning light making your skin glow softly. He thought you always looked like an angel but especially in those moments.

You had never met anyone who's laughter was so infectious, it had become addicting to be the one to pull those noises from him, to lose yourself in his lopsided grins and crinkled eyes. He drew you in like a butterfly to nectar. You couldn’t get enough of him. His voice, his hands, his kisses.

This mission, on paper, was a simple one. Apart from jumping out of a quinjet and landing onto a moving train, all you and Bucky had to do was stop an illegal trade. That’s it. The mission file didn’t cover who the parties involved in the deal were. From your experience, being trained at the Academy and moving up the ranks of SHIELD before finally becoming an Avenger, you know that illegal trades are normally between civilians who are in over their heads in some kind of criminal group. However, not long into the mission you realised it wasn’t simple at all.

It turns out that one of the ‘unknown parties’ is Hydra, never a good sign. The weapons they are dealing are enhanced with alien technology and they somehow knew that you and Bucky were coming. The only reason the mission didn’t get pulled is because the rest of the team was on standby, ready to step in at any moment.

In fact, the job got so complicated, so quickly, that you and Bucky found yourselves at the back of the train, severely outnumbered and being pushed closer and closer to the edge of the train where the back wall had been blown to pieces by the very weapons involved in the trade.

It was loud, the sounds of fighting were drowned out by the noises of the wheels on the tracks. The train was moving fast and the wind was whirling around the carriage meaning just one misstep could send you flying off the train and landing on the tracks below.

There was a moment when you thought you were a goner, but Bucky managed to haul you back into the carriage, putting himself between you and the edge of the train. A move that warmed your heart, knowing his history with trains was not a good one.

“I fucking hate trains.” You remember him saying when you had first got the mission brief. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You had laughed back then, but there was nothing funny about the situation you were in now.

The next ten seconds seemed to happen so quickly. One of the attackers yelled something in what you assumed to be German, he was holding the weapon you recognised to be the same as the one that blew out the back wall of the carriage. Next thing you knew Bucky had wrapped his arm around you and was launching you both off the train. 

Time slowed and you seemed to float mid-air as you watched the carriage go up in flames, shrapnel flying everywhere, the heat burning your eyes and forcing them closed. Then came the impact of the fall, quite luckily Bucky had managed to aim for the snow on the sides of the train tracks and not in the train tracks themselves.

Bucky immediately sits up and sends the signal for extraction, he then starts checking himself for injuries. You are lying on your side facing him, half your body concealed by the snow, the other half just poking out. His eyes travel to you as he looks over your body.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The concern was clear in his voice.

“No, I think I’m ok.” You try to move yourself but wince slightly. “I think I landed funny though because my side hurts.” You manoeuvre yourself onto your back. As soon as you get your right side out of the snow a gasp causes you to snap your head towards Bucky who is just staring in shock at your stomach.

His eyes are wide, eyebrows slanted upwards and mouth open slightly. You know whatever it is can’t be good. Gathering up the courage to look down at your stomach, you lift up onto your forearms. Finally looking down, the sight causes bile to rise and you have to stop yourself from gagging. A piece of shrapnel about the size of an A5 piece of paper is sticking out of your side. There is so much blood around it that it is hard to tell what it is and how deep it has gone.

It’s as if looking at it made it real because the pain suddenly hits you. Out of instinct your hand flies towards the wound to try and hold it or soothe it but Bucky quickly catches your hand stopping you. It’s like a flip switched in his mind. He suddenly starts stripping off his clothing. He takes his shirt and undershirt off before putting the rest of his gear back on. He moves behind you, placing his legs either side of you and lifting your upper body carefully, so you are now leaning on him. He manages to wrap your wound, careful to go around the shrapnel to try to stop the bleeding, but not push it in anymore. He continues to do the same with as much of his clothing as he can afford to lose in the snow. He takes your left hand and puts it over the clothing, then places his hand on top, telling you to press down as hard as you can, as he does the same.

You start to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side only getting stronger.

“Stay with me doll, backup is on its way. They’ll find us.” Bucky is practically begging and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open.

“You were right.” You say after a while and Bucky gives you a puzzled look. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You chuckle at your own joke but quickly stop when it causes shooting pains to fly through your body.

Bucky lets out a sharp breath from his nose. “When you get through this you will be able to join my ‘I survived a fall from a train’ club.” He jokes smiling down at you.

“I can’t imagine there are very many members of that club.” You smile back at him and he laughs, you can tell he is trying to distract you but you let him anyway.

“No, at the moment it’s just me. The events the club holds are very fun though!” His eyes light up as he continues to look down at you. “We’ve had freight night, that was watching scary movies that have a train in at some point. There’s train reaction, which is like the telephone game, that one was quite difficult with one person.” He laughs at himself which makes you giggle, trying not to contract your stomach. It doesn’t work and the shooting pains are back. The smile is still clear on your face and Bucky reaches his free hand up to push a bit of hair behind your ear.

“Bucky.” You whisper to get his attention, the words you want to speak are clear in the look of longing in your eyes. 

“No, baby please I don’t want to hear you say whatever you are going to say. You fight through this and you can tell me whatever it is when you’re better.” A frown is clear on his face.

“But I-“

“Please doll. You want to tell me whatever it is so badly, then use it as a reason to fight this. To come out the other side.” You scan his face and from the crease lines in his brow and the desperation in his eyes you can tell he already knows what you want to say.

You both fall into a comfortable silence. You realise being in Bucky’s arms is probably your favourite place to be. Feeling his chest steadily rise and fall, your head gently moving with it. You feel so protected, cherished, peaceful.

That is until Bucky looks down at your stomach to see that all the clothing he tried to use to wrap the wound has been completely soaked in your blood, he visibly winces. You move your head slightly to try and get a look but Bucky uses his free hand to tilt your chin up so you are looking at him instead. He holds the eye contact as he takes his jacket off and drapes it over you, covering your wound from your sight and warming you up as much as he can.

As secretively as he could, he sent the signal out to the team. The signal only used in extreme emergencies. Three long holds. The signal to say an agent doesn’t have long left to live.

The sharp sting of the cold has faded into exhaustion as the pain retreats from your body leaving behind a numbness you have never experienced before.

“I always thought I’d be alone.” You say pensively, “I never thought about death too much. I just always assumed I’d be alone when it happened.” You were slurring your words. If you were more aware of your surroundings you would have felt Bucky tense up at your words. Looking up into his blue eyes you wondered if death would be as serene as them.

“You’re not alone. I’m here.” Bucky’s once motivational words, convincing you to hold on, shift to words intended to comfort you, to draw out the fear of your final moments and replace them with solace. You had closed your eyes, his reassuring whispers gradually fading away as he cradled you close to his chest. You wanted to be able to hear his heartbeat but all you could hear was the erratic beating of your own heart pounding in your head. 

In the far distance you felt commotion around you so you used what was left of your energy to open your eyes one final time. The sight you were greeted with sent a wave of emotion through you. Your team members, your friends, they were all gathered around you, kneeling or standing in the snow.

“My family is here.” You smile to yourself as you let the tiredness overtake you. The last thing you feel is an ice cold tear rolling down your cheek. An overwhelming sense of calm consumes your body and your worries and fears simply fade to nothingness. 

Bucky knew even before the Avengers turned up that your chances of surviving this were slim. You were bleeding out fast and it was showing no sign of slowing. It killed Bucky to know that all he could do was make you as comfortable and reassure you as much as possible in your final moments of life.

When the team got Bucky’s first signal, the plan was for just Tony to go down and retrieve you both. Then the second signal came in. They all silently agreed they would land the quinjet and all go together, maybe to say goodbye if they had enough time. If not, just to be with you when you take your last breath. They all knew that there was nothing any of them could do.

What none of them could have predicted was Helen Cho and a SHIELD team transporting the cradle from one base to another. The flight path directly over your current location. Their quinjet picked up Bucky’s radio signal and they made the choice to land to see if they could help.

Upon arrival Helen rushed straight to you, checking for signs of life, she must have felt something because she ordered for you to be put in the cradle as quickly as possible.

Bucky was frozen, no he wasn’t cold, he was a super soldier, the cold barely affected him. He was simply in a state of daze, unable to move himself to get you into the cradle. Steve could see this and swiftly took you into his arms carrying you onto the other quinjet and placing you down in the cradle. As soon as you were secure Helen was directing a team of people to all do different things. Steve stepped out of the jet, not wanting to get in the way.

No one spoke, they all had their hopes that you would be ok, but no one was particularly optimistic. 

“We’ll take her to my lab, she’s not in a good condition and this jet can only sustain the cradle for so long, we can take one or two of you in this jet with us, but feel free to follow in yours.” Helen had stepped out and as soon as she finished her sentence it was like a flip switched inside everyone.

The team made their way back onto the quinjet but Bucky hadn’t moved, he was bathed in your blood, a ring of red surrounding him a stark contrast to the blinding white of the snow. Bucky gratefully accepted Steve’s hand helping him onto his shaky legs. He looked down at where he had just been. The red crater left in the snow told the story of what had happened but Bucky still couldn’t quite believe it.

Steve’s hand on Bucky’s shoulder guided him to the quinjet you were in. He sat there staring ahead unable to do anything more, Steve stayed close by his side but knew not to push anything.

“She wanted to tell me something.” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence but his gaze stays fixed ahead. “She wanted to tell me something and I couldn’t let her finish because I wanted to stay strong for her.” Steve stays silent knowing he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t let her say anything because I knew I would have broken down in front of her.” He continues as tears start to fall from his eyes. He feels everything, guilt, regret, pain, loss, hope but at the same time feels nothing at all. His body numb and still in shock.

“What if it was her dying wish to say whatever it was and I took that away from her.” A crack in Bucky’s voice causes Steve’s heart to contract. He pulls his friend into a hug, Bucky gladly accepting the comfort.

“We both know what she was going to say Buck,” Steve takes a deep breath to try to stop himself from crying, “and we know how she is. If she thought for one second you didn’t know what she was going to say, then she wouldn’t have let you stop her from saying it.” 

Of course Bucky knew what you were going to say because he felt it too. He knew, because to kill you both only one of you actually had to die.

Taglist: @vampirewithbedsidemanners @townwitchbitch @velvetcardiganbucky

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

           It was a big day for driveways and garages.

           You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

           “Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

           “Should be. Why, what’s up?”

           “I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

           Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

           “Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

           Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

           You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

           “Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

           Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

           “No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

           “A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

           “Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

           “’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

           “Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

           “Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

           “You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

           “Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch.  They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

           You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

           “Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

           “Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

           “Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

           “Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

           “Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

           You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

           Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

           DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

           “Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

           You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

           “Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

           “That’s why he needs a hug?”

           “Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

           “It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

           A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

           Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

           Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

           His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

           “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

           DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

           “Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

           He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

           She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

           “It���s okay.”

           The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

           After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

           “I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

           You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

           He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

           You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

           It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

           “My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

           “He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

           Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

           “Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

           He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

           They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

           “Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

           He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

           “You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

           As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

           “How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

           Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

           “You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

           “I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

           “Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

           “Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

           You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

           Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

           “Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

           Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

           Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

           “Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

           “As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

           “Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

           “Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

           “You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

           It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

           He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

           Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

           The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

           He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

           “Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

           “Like father, like daughter.”

           You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

           “You’d think I drugged them.”

           He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

           You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide.  You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.  

           It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

           The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

           Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

           “You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

           “That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

           You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

           But here he was still.

           Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

           No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

           “All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

           Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

           “Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

            “Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

-

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[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

The Actor

Long story short, if you haven’t followed @fangirltothefullest by now, I highly recommend that you do so right now immediately. She’s a very talented artist who has made all sorts of gorgeous fanart for a variety of fandoms. Now, those of you who are already following her probably know about the Sanders Sides/ Little Nightmares AU she’s recently created. Little Nightmares is one of my all-time favorite games, and ever since Little Nightmares 2 came out, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how I NEEDED to write for it somehow.

So, this is the start of a short series of snippets that I will be writing alongside Tashi’s drawings. Some may take a bit longer to post than others, but I will make an effort to finish them in time with when the art is posted. Once again, this AU is the product of @fangirltothefullest, not me. I’m just taking inspiration from her ideas. With all that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this snippet and the ones to come!

(Psst! You can also find this story and the ones to follow it at https://archiveofourown.org/users/WouldntYou_Like2Know)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, mentions of crying and self-deprecation, mentions of broken glass, mentions of blood. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Red leaned heavily against the mirror, head hanging. It was difficult to breathe without hiccuping--his little gasps for air sounded desperate and shallow.

Stop it. Stop it right now.

A whimper rose crept from his throat before he caught it. Why was he shaking?

Why are you always so pathetic?

That voice in the back of his head. . .was that his voice? It didn’t sound like his voice--or maybe he didn’t want to think it did. Was he thinking that? Why would he? He knew he had talent--he knew what he could do and he was proud of it!

. . .Wasn’t he?

You’ll never get to go onstage looking like that.

When he finally peered at his reflection, a pair of watery, pink-rimmed eyes stared back. He blinked and scrubbed at his face as though it would make the burning, stinging sensation go away. It didn’t. Because of course it didn’t.

Red wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat, leaving a wet smear. He gazed at himself again.

His face was flushed, eyes still puffy. Visible streaks glistened against the skin of his cheeks. The normally well-kempt hair on his head was frizzy and tangled.

___

The creature towered over him, veiled by shadows. At first, Thomas was sure he’d been caught. He couldn’t help but freeze in place as the creature slowly stepped closer, his heart more or less threatening to explode in his chest at any given moment. Thomas waited to be snatched up off the floor like a pest, to be crushed or eaten or dismembered, or. . .or. . .

Why wasn’t that thing looking at him? It was coming right towards him, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t it moving any faster? Why wasn’t it reaching out for him?

Never one to look a gift-miracle in the mouth, Thomas raced to one of the moldy cardboard boxes near the edge of the stage, curling into a ball on the side that wasn’t visible. 

And just in the nick of time, too--the huge footsteps came to an abrupt halt, followed by a rumbling murmur from somewhere above him. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, once again bracing himself for vertigo and a painful death. Neither came, and although the following seconds felt like hours apiece, that rhythmic thudding across the stage eventually started up again.

Thomas re-opened his eyes, and gathered whatever courage he had left to just barely peek around the corner of the box. What he saw next made him give pause, not out of fear, but simple confusion. The creature’s legs were facing his direction. Its torso, however, was pointing towards the ceiling, back arched in a way that suggested the spinal cord inside was broken. Its head was too far away to be seen, and its arms were stretching out behind it to rummage through one of the other boxes.

Thomas may have been fast and strong, but he’d never been very flexible. Of the few times he’d attempted to stretch his back, he remembered it being difficult, remembered it feeling almost painful but not quite, remembered panicking that he’d break something important if he continued.

So why--or how--was this thing doing just that so casually?  

Thomas held back a scream as the creature suddenly stood tall again, a chorus of sickeningly audible pops and cracks eliciting from all over its body. As he craned his neck to look up, up, up, it finally became clear: the creature’s head, as well as its arms, were on backwards.

The creature resumed its movements, and Thomas had to maneuver himself around the box as to keep watching it without being spotted. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it was much easier to make out more details than he’d realized there were to make out.

The creature was dressed in some kind of formal suit: the fabric must’ve been white at some point, as the stains and wrinkles and holes were practically begging to be stared at. The sleeves of this suit were long and billowing, possibly meant to be flattering as they hung from the creature’s elbows. Fraying tassels (which Thomas assumed had once been made to look like gold) stretched across the front of the suit in a row, partially hidden by a wine-colored sash, ending just above a brown leather belt fitting snugly around the creature’s waist. A long, dramatic tailcoat fluttered over the floor as the creature moved, showcasing the heeled boots that hugged its calves.

Now, even though this getup was clearly very old and clearly very ruined, it still gave the image of something endearing, like a costume that had been worn in a variety of performances and had been well-loved by both its wearer and their peers.

But then. . .then you saw the rest of its current wearer.

___

Red’s bottom lip began to tremble. He watched as his expression twisted, a rush of emotion flooding through him so quickly, too quickly.

Get a hold of yourself. They already think you’re stupid enough--don’t embarass yourself further by proving them right.

Red shook his head, then bared his teeth in a snarl. He felt his hands curl into fists as they hung at his sides. Then, without quite knowing what he was doing or why he was doing it, one of Red’s hands lashed out and struck the mirror, making the glass wobble and reverberate.

A dull ache blossomed throughout his knuckles. Red cried out and swatted his hand through the air, taking a step back.

Good actors don’t act like you are right now.

And all at once, the anger was back.

Red leapt at the mirror and punched at his reflection. First with the left hand, then with the right.

Tears were flowing freely from his eyes, but Red was ignoring them now. Both them and the growing pain in hands.

The only thing that mattered was that his rage needed to be taken out on something other than himself for once.

No audience will ever want to watch you.

His eyes widened at the sight of the glass starting to yield to him, as a spiderweb crack materialized under his fist. Red didn’t even notice how blood was starting to ooze from fresh cuts on his fingers.

___

The creature’s arms and legs were already just a bit too long; its hands only added to that with spidery, skeletal claws in the place of fingers.

Thomas swallowed a lump in his throat. There was something in the creature’s grasp, but due to how it was roughly his size, Thomas couldn’t tell whether the object was a broken doll or an old corpse.

The creature paced around the stage rather aimlessly, moving with a stiff-jointed gait akin to that of a marionette. Thomas startled badly as the creature’s footfalls were suddenly drowned out by a booming, cacophonous sound that should’ve come from the throat of some alien bird. It alternated between pitches, pausing for only a short few seconds before continuing on.

As Thomas watched, debating on whether or not he could afford to plug his ears, he noticed how the creature was timing its movements with the noise. It slowly spun on its heels in favor of simply turning, weaving its hands about in an odd, intricate pattern that was jeopardized by herky-jerky motions.

Thomas blinked, then tilted his head as he realized that music was flowing into the air from somewhere unseen. It was slow, warped, sad yet set to a lighthearted tune. Like an antique music box whose interior had gone rusty.

Did the creature think it was. . .singing? Was it trying to act?

___

Red gave a startled yelp as the center of the mirror suddenly shattered inwards, forcing him to bring an abrupt halt to his outburst as he stumbled and fell through the new opening. The carpeted floor turned hard and cold as he collapsed. Red blinked and slowly got to his feet, hissing at the throbbing sensation in his fingers and palms. He glanced over his shoulder at the broken mirror, which now allowed artificial light to peek into this otherwise pitch-black new environment. A small gasp escaped his lips as he turned in a full circle, squinted at a variety of unfamiliar objects cluttered here and there throughout the shadows.

That mirror had been a two-way one. And this room had been hidden behind it.

Red’s eyes wandered about, anger long forgotten in favor of growing curiosity. The walls in here seemed to be made of shelves upon shelves holding more than a dozen cardboard boxes, and he could see little bits of whatever miscellaneous stuff was being kept in those boxes poking out through the tops.

What really caught his attention, however, was a mask propped up against the far corner of the wall. Red hadn’t even realized that he’d been approaching this mask until he was close enough to touch it.

It seemed to have been made from cream-colored porcelain, which slightly shone in the dim light. It looked expensive, antique, but also a bit plain; Red found himself smiling at the thought of being able to paint flowers along the forehead and cheeks.

It was also clearly meant for a grown-up to wear, seeing as it was three times the size of Red’s entire head.

Red chose to ignore this  for whatever reason as he moved around to the side, as he stretched his arms to carefully turn the mask over and hoist it up, as he unconsciously looked at the world through the eye-holes. . .

___

Thomas glanced at the creature’s face, and his jaw dropped to the floor as a pair of dark, dead eyes drilled into his own from across the stage. He made to run again, before he paralyzed himself, but stopped short.

Wait. . .those eyes weren’t dark. . .they were missing! The creature’s eye sockets were completely hollow! Thomas chewed his lip and squinted, looking closer.

Were those cracks in the creature’s skin? Was that even skin at all?

. . .No, it couldn’t be. . .

The nose was too small, the lips too delicate--they weren’t even moving as the creature vocalized.

It was as though the creature’s facial aspects had been carefully sculpted. . .

Those weren’t its features.

The creature was wearing a mask.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas caught a glimpse of something shiny. He followed the reflective light and discovered six long, jagged shards of glass protruding from the creature’s hair like a twisted crown. But the shards clearly shouldn’t have been able to balance the way they did, to actually stand firm the way they did. It only made sense once Thomas discovered how one of the shards was actually sticking out from the top of the mask, around where the creature’s temple would’ve been. Like the shard had been forcefully driven through what looked to be porcelain.

Whatever was truly behind that mask. . .those shards were stabbing into its scalp to keep said mask from falling off.

@fangirltothefullest

[batwritings]

15 minutes of your time, dearest Bat, if I may. I'm studying to be a photographer, I really like taking pictures. A lot of the little jobs I do are taking graduation pictures for family friends. I got the idea of being the photographer of one of the boys, but in the nude....so I'm going to share it with you.

Model Gogy, because let's be honest he is so pretty and very photogenic. Filters are not needed for this man.

So you are hired to take photos of him on a regular because his agent likes the way your shoots come out. They have been the most flattering and it's all because you've got a crush on the British man. George is nothing but nice to you. The banter is easy and boarder line flirtatious at times. You are professional though.

Well one day you get an email from his agent, but it doesn't sound like them. 'Hey can we set up a shoot soon.' was the subject. The rest of the email was weird too. Not much information was shared and the dates were going to be in 2 days. Usually you got a week to prepare and plan things. But your Schedule was clear and to be honest you can say no.

So in the two days you scramble to get ready and made sure all your other projects were cleared out. You arrive at the address with probably more gear then you needed. It's just George there though he is awkwardly sitting at a table in the middle of the nearly empty studio waiting for you. He lights up when he sees you and even helps you with equipment. You ask him what the shoot was about and he blushes.

"I understand if you don't feel comfortable doing this. Honestly I wish my agent would have told you right from the start but I need nude pictures taken." He chews his lip nervous. The instant though of naked George with his dick out makes brain.exe stop working. The little longer you just stare at him the more nervous he gets, laughing weakly and rambling about something.

"I can...do the job." You blink back when he starts saying something about 'not worrying about it he can get someone else to do it but he trusts you'. He pauses and smiles relaxing some and smiling relieved at you.

"cool, thank you," he sounded like he wanted to say more but instead just fidgeted.

Clearing your throat you ask how he wanted to do this. He left it up to you. Again you couldn't think properly. Your own blush was surely visible. You look around at the sparse furniture. The large couch would have to work because it was the only thing besides the blankets and the floor. So you tell him the plan and proceed to set up. Usually you wouldn't, a scene would already be ready but this was different. George waited not wanting to get in your way. When it was ready you smiled at him.

"We can start when you are ready, okay?" He nods at you and plops down on the couch shifting a little awkwardly. Your camera was raised as you figured out the best angles for lighting. He was stiff and looked for once so uncomfortable.

"Do you want to do some normal shots to help you relax?" You ask giving him a warm smile trying to help him. He nods pulling off his jacket though.

"Maybe I can take of layers as we go." He says seeming to melt into his usual confidence. It was a good idea. He lounges across the sofa in his short, jeans, and shoes. Looking aloof and kinda reminding you of a cat.

He removed his shoes next, falling into another pose. Legs tucked against him and sprawled over a pillow. He looked so soft even in the slightly tight jeans. Which were the next things removed. George sat crisscross with the giant pillow him his lap and a daring look in his eyes. The light looked amazing spilling over his eyes and pale skin. There was hesitation on the next article of clothing. He settling on the socks instead. Crossing his ankles and popping his knees over the arm of the couch laying back with his shirt riding up his torso. A light whisper of a happy trail peaking out. It took longer for the next piece to so. A blush painted his cheeks. By now you were so focused on actually taking pictures you didn't even think about the situation anymore. His shirt was gone. His hands hiding parts of his chest and his eyes searched out yours. You pause for a moment taking in his figure. There before you was the nearly naked figure of the most attractive person you have ever seen. His lips were bitten red and his dark eyes looking up at you through thick lashes. The pretty pink looked like pastel chalk dusting his body. The pale skin seemed to glow in the bright lights and the many windows letting the natural sun in. Your breath catches when he give you a look that screams come here.

You don't move for a moment frozen just staring. He leans back spreading his legs and leaning back into the couch. His arms flexing as he holds them over his head and back. He is wide open and looked so damn good. You snapped a picture on accident your finger having been playing with the button. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Pushing your attention to the job. You take some pictures working hard not to drool over how god damn sexy he looked and inviting. Oh so inviting.

His hands slide down his body and stop around his waist band of his boxers smirking at you. Teasing the edges down. You gulp watching was the fabric slowly slides down his legs and pools in front of the couch. He is completely naked and standing in front of you. And the first thing you couldn't help but look at was his half hard cock. It twitched before your eyes. The muscles of his thighs flexing as he shifted into a better position on the sofa. Slouched back and looking like a lazy king. His hands gliding over his hips and dancing down his thighs. His eyes staring at you hard. One hand raised and he gave a come here gesture with one finger. Those dark eyes blown wide with the teasing lust. Your throat his dry and your camera is heavy in your hands.

Bitting your lip you move forward. He leans forward and takes the camera pulling you closer by the strap until you were nearly filling into his lap. He smirks and whispers, "wanna have some fun?" You shiver, slipping the strap off and nodding. He set the device down gently on the ground and takes your hips in his hands. He guilds you onto his lap. Your knees on each his of his hips. Those hands of his rubbing your thighs, looking up at your slightly and pressing your foreheads together. His breath smells so good, fresh and sweet like bubblegum.

He captures your lips in a hot kiss. His soft tongue dancing with yours.

While you kiss and relax more pieces of your wardrobe is removed allowing for George to touch you all over. The last thing to go was your underwear. He teases you firm hands pressing your ass and slapping it. You whine on his lap writhing excitedly. Your sex grinds against his and he moans too. The controlled ride of your hips into his was intoxicating. Your lips met and he leans you back to lay on the couch. Dipping between your spread thighs and licking your heat. The brunette sucks and licks at you for a long while your hands tangling in his hair. His slim fingers toying with your entrance. Using his own spit he presses in. A cry left your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and he continued. Your brains as become more empty the more time passed. An eternity later and you felt so fucked out you wanted to cum so badly. He kissed up your body settling between your legs. His hand that had prepped you smeared on the couch. His other hand tapping against your lips. You take them sucking hard and whining when he rubs the pads of his fingers over your tongue. When he removed them the next saliva was used to prep his cock.

The head was pressed into you slowly. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you leaned back moaning the further he pushed in. He wasn't very big but he did fill you perfectly. Tucking his hands under your thighs he lifts you off the couch some and draw his hips back before thrusting them forwards again. Grunting with he force he continues to build up his speed. You grab his thighs rolling your hips into him bouncing off his body as you meet in a slap of skin. The pleasure was maddening, the swell of release was just out of touch but this felt so perfectly good you didn't want to ever stop.

He stopped panted hard and moving you to lay with him, throwing your leg over his hip and the other straight tangled with his. This position hit something new for you cause you to cry out and grab hold of his hands on your hips. He speed up fucking hard and fast. You quivered and called out his name as you felt the swell spill over into creamy release. He followed soon after stilling deep inside and filling you up with a new pressure.

Needless to say you didn't get the pictures you needed.

📷

.......bat.exe has stopped working. HOLY FUCK CAMERA!!! THAT WAS FRIGGIN' AMAZING!!! AND THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE EVERYTHING IN SUCH DETAIL IS IMMACULATE! LIKE I CAN SEE IT IN MY HEAD AND FFFFFFU--

rebooting in progress, please wait. . .