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madschiavelique · 1 year ago

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Hi dear, how are you?, could you write an imagine onde reader mentioning offhand how much she would love a whole family. Four, maybe six children? Girls and boys split right down the middle, but the second Miguel hears this (maybe the reader is on the phone, or talking to lyla. or someone at HQ) and Miguel loses his mind

1) Miguel can't help himself and he would grab you and put you on the mattress for a very long time...... or

2) torture himself for two weeks before telling her why he was avoiding her please.

HIHIHI BREEDING BARK BARK (sorry this took so long to write anon zehfrfgh i pulled an all nighter to make this one so also forgive me if there are some mistakes in this gksffgjgbf)

summary : miguel learns you want kids, a lot of kids, so he breeds you

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex - unprotected (be safe kids), breeding kink, soft!dom miguel, obsessive!miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 3,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash @haradasaya

Miguel was on his way to see you. He'd heard that you were back from your mission and that everything had gone well, so he'd come to get you to take you out for lunch.

He was taking advantage of the little free time he had to visit you, even though he would obviously pass this visit off as work-related in everyone's eyes. He had to always, always remain professional and keep everything under control so that everybody could do their bit.

"Six?!" asked Jess, the word choking in her throat.

Well, you were indeed back with Jess.

"Mhm, six," you affirmed as you both busied yourselves filing a report.

What were they talking about? He leaned against a wall. He knew it wasn't very polite to eavesdrop, but the word got around here. Most of society's building had cameras, and everything that was often said or done was recorded here.

He just wanted to listen to you, wondering if there were any topics of conversation that you weren't having with him and with the other spiders. Yes, he was manic, and probably a little too obsessive.

In any case, he wondered what you could have said to Jessica to make her exclaim like that.

"The more the merrier," you laughed softly.

"I hate this sentence so much," sighed Jess.

"Why so?" your voice was sincerely interrogative.

"In this context, it's really not my preferred idiom one might say," she replied as Miguel heard her tapping on a pad to enter more information.

What on earth could they be talking about? he wondered. What subject could suggest that six was far too high a number for Jess's judgement? He knew that Jess was an oragnised woman like himself, with a lot of tact and a fair amount of authority.

Was it perhaps a consecutive number of days doing an activity? Six days of marathon running might have been a bit much, but six days' holiday was never too much. He breathed in very softly, it had been years since he'd had time for such a thing. Did you want to take him on a holiday? If so, the number of days was inordinate. He would never be able to get away from his work for more than three days.

Maybe it was something else then. What was too much in Jess's mind with six?

Six empanadas perhaps? Miguel would obviously disagree. You can never have enough empanada for his taste. But Jess would probably disapprove.

Six... Six pets? It's true that having six pets might be a bit of an exaggeration, at least in Miguel's eyes of course.

Perhaps six books? No, that didn't make sense. Although Jess wasn't a huge reader, she did have a book in her hands from time to time.

So what was it? He was intrigued, that's for sure.

"You know, in my opinion, one kid is already way too much to handle," she sighed, "but six ? Nah, that's some good way of ending your life while still being alive."

But Miguel had barely heard the rest of the sentence, his mind having been caught by a single word: kid. He immediately froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Kid, like... children ? Like, actual human beings ? Small human beings ?

His eyes were wide, his mouth parted. No, he must not have heard correctly, although he dreamed that it was indeed that word that had been uttered.

"Why not? Surrounding ourselves with life is good," you said softly. "I'd love to see six little heads running around. I want three of each, three girls and three boys."

He wasn't mistaken: the discussion was really about the number of children you wanted. Six, he thought, six, six, the word echoing in his mind. He put both his hands on his hips, as if to hold on to something.

He pictured you, your rounded belly, stroking the hair of a child, your child, his child... both your children.

He swallowed, however, as another, immensely more tantalising vision took hold of his mind.

The vision of your cunt, glistening with your desire as from between its lips dripped little by little his own cum, his own seed leaking from you, your belly full of him...

It made his dick twitch for a hot second, and he couldn't remove that image, he didn't want to get rid of that image. The idea that your belly could be full of him, that he could breed you until he had no strength left was magnificent.

"What an egalitarian spirit," Jess noted wryly, "Well, it's all in order."

His thoughts were riveted on the image. He could almost hear in his own mind the sweet melody your moans would make as he came inside you again.

No, it was now impossible for him to think about anything else, he told himself that maybe he shouldn't be thinking about this. Except it's a well-known fact that if you tell someone not to think about something, they'll think about it.

He knew what breeding was, obviously, but what about you? Did you even have a clue what it was?

He tried to pull himself together, he had to either leave here or come towards you and pretend to come naturally. Would he be able to hold it together and act as if nothing had happened? Did he really have a choice in the matter after all? He breathed in, tightening his jaw as he decided to come towards you.

He walked purposefully, his usual grumpy face set surprisingly naturally as he advanced towards you.

"Ah, you're back," he sighed as if pleasantly surprised to see you both here, "how was the mission?"

"Excellent," Jess affirmed, "we've just finished the report, the anomaly has been taken care of as it should have been since we arrived."

He nodded, his serious face opening a control pad to check what she was saying and opening the file in question, pretending to read its contents. He had the impression that everywhere he looked the image came right back to him, on every tile, on every screen, everywhere in his mind.

"That's good work," he breathed.

"Damn right," nodded Jess. " Well, I'm off to join my own little demon, take care you two."

"See ya," you replied as she headed for the exit.

He wondered by what superhuman strength he managed to remain unwavering and stoic.

You moved closer to him, hugging his back and comforting yourself in the embrace.

"How was your day?" you asked, squeezing him in your arms.

Unwavering and stoic, Miguel, you have to remain unwavering and stoic.

You put your hands on his body, and with one touch his concentration was simply wiped out.

He turned to you, smiling a strange, uncertain smile as he stroked your hair, a little tense.

"You know how it is, just a lot of work," but his eyes were watching yours strangely, a flash of a vision where they were filled with desire looking back at him.

You studied him for a moment, noticing how distracted he seemed, his eyes looking at you in a strange way. You could feel a kind of desire there, a kind of longing, but you couldn't work out what it was.

"Is... everything alright?"

He shuddered, obviously his little show wasn't going to last much longer. He broke away from your embrace, he couldn't keep looking at you like that.

"Hey," you said softly, "you know you can tell me everything, right?"

Could I tell you this ? he wondered. He looked at you for a moment, another flash of you all moaning and covered in hickeys and marks on your body as you breathed his name. He looked away, closing his eyes in the hopes the flashes would stop.

"I'm afraid I cannot speak about this..."

But how he wanted to speak about this, to tell you how much he wanted to fuck you until you were full of him, until the only thing present in your mouth was his name and how much he wanted to see the sight of your round belly.

But you wouldn't listen to his silence. So you walked over to him and took his hand.

"Miguel, look at me. you asked, and he looked at you, his visions mingling with the reality where you were looking at him, worried. "Tell me."

He sighed. He couldn't run away from his ideas forever, run away from these images that he wanted to see in reality and not just in his mind. He wanted to raise his idea from the theoretical to the practical, and it was with an almost guilty breath that he admitted:

"I want to breed you."

There was a slight silence, his eyes plunged into yours, desperate to know what you were thinking. But above all he was met with confusion.

"What's breeding?" You had an idea of the term, usually used animalistically for the subject of... reproduction and maintenance of species. But just to be on the safe side with Miguel, you preferred to ask him anyway.

His lungs swelled like sails, did he really have to go through this?

"Why don't you ask Lyla what it is?" he suggested.

"Because I want to hear it from you, with your words" you assured him, your tone a mixture of strictness and curiosity.

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek, slightly afraid of your reaction. You were practically hanging on his every word, waiting for him to explain.

"Breeding is... the act of a male and a female animal having sex, also known as mating, to reproduce..." he explained, pausing, "and procreate."

Your eyes widened slightly, and the possibility that he had overheard your previous conversation with Jess came to mind. All the same, you looked at him almost inscrutably, and he couldn't work out what you were thinking.

But now that the words had been said, he could no longer hide, no, he no longer had to hide. His thoughts were finally out, burning on his skin and lips.

He moved forward a little more, his gaze suddenly darkened by the desires he was no longer hiding.

"I want to fill you up with my cum and make sure you get pregnant."

Your lips were parted, your surprised eyes looking into his, black with desire and longing. A silence filled the air, both your hearts beating loudly in both your bodies. Miguel waited for an answer, unaware of the warm cloud that had settled in your lower belly.

He chuckled a little, an understanding smile gracing his lips as he said:

"See, your silence tells me enoug-"

"Breed me," you cut him off.

He stopped moving immediately, the statement immobilising him just like when he had understood what you and Jess were talking about.

Had his mind and his fantasies come together to play tricks on him? Or had you actually agreed with what he'd just said?

"What?" he said, his pronunciation almost slurred as he turned his attention to your next words.

"Breed me, Miguel" you repeated, determined as you swallowed in anticipation. "I want to carry you... in me."

The gleam in his eyes was almost predatory, but after all, wasn't that the very essence of breeding? The raw nature of it, the bestiality, the quenching of the oldest instinct that ever was.

You only had time to see his eyes turn red as he lunged for your lips, kissing you with his mouth wide open as your teeth almost clashed and he attacked your tongue.

The power with which he kissed you made you take a step backwards, but you weren't going anywhere, because Miguel immediately placed his hand in the small of your back to make sure he had you close to him.

He let out grunts between kisses, his hunger for your skin lengthening his canines as they brushed almost dangerously against your tongue.

Then he lifted you in one swift movement, placing you on his shoulder as he headed for the door leading to his quarters, his impatience growing faster than ever. You bit your lip, already swollen from his kisses, his hand gripping your thigh firmly as he led you to the bed.

He laid you down, following every movement of your body as he kissed you again. He stood back for a moment, watching your body.

"Do you have sentimental value for your suit?"

"What?" you asked, confused by the sudden question.

"Just answer," he asked through clenched teeth.

"I mean it's old but I can live withou-"

You hadn't even finished your sentence when he ripped off your suit with an ease that sent shivers down your spine, ripping the fabric covering your cunt, tearing your panties and throwing all the rags into the rest of the room.

"No questions about the sentimental value of my underwear?" you laugh lightly.

"I'll get you some new ones," he breathed, a carnivorous sneer inhabiting his lips, "I'll take great care in chosing them."

You swallowed as he kissed your neck, nestling in and marking your skin with thirst. He straightened to kiss your lips, and whispered against them:

"Turn over, get down on your elbows and knees".

You complied, his instructions increasing the size of the cloud of heat in your belly. You placed your folded arms flat on the sheets, your knees slightly apart.

"Lift your hips for me, nena," he commanded in a tone as soft as cotton.

You listened, arching your back as you lifted your hips, your ass gloriously up just for him to fuck. He swallowed, his hand coming to grip one of your buttocks and pulling it apart, pressing it between his fingers and gripping your skin full hand.

"Already so good and wet for me," he mused, one of his fingers passing between your folds.

Of course you were already wet, the way he had introduced the concept to you making you all fuzzy and warm in your belly. You'd never been against the idea of Miguel being a bit more violent, and to be honest you were excited by the idea of him being so from now on.

Once he'd coated himself sufficiently, he pushed one finger into you, soft moans falling from your lips filling the room. He added another one, and your lust was growing by the second. You were getting impatient too, but you couldn't help noticing that Miguel simply couldn't wait any longer.

Miguel was always very keen about taking his time, preparing you well apart from the few moments when one of you needed a quicky, but here eagerness was getting the better of him, and above all his most instinctive desires buried deep inside him had taken the reigns of all his actions.

The thought of him being in you through your core made him feel so drunk on you. These ideas had already been marinating in his mind for a while, it had only taken this conversation between you and Jess to flip the switch. And he observed in adoration, seeing you like this, underneath him with your much smaller frame, sitting up and ready to take him.

"Hands behind your back."

His orders became more and more urgent, his tone wavering with envy. It was impossible for him to formulate a whole sentence.

So you laid your face on the sheets, cheek pressed to your side as you brought your hands behind your back, joining your wrists together like you were imagining yourself handcuffed. You shivered as his hand, whose fingers had previously been inside you, reached out from between your folds and took both your wrists at the same time, locking them in this embrace. His hand was obviously big enough to hold both your wrists together and prevent you from breaking free from his grip.

He had locked you completely.

He had blocked out any possibility of you making a move other than squirming around him. Miguel would never tire of this control, this hold he had over you right now. You were his, nobody else's, and he would let eveybody know this by fucking his seed into you and get as many babies as you wanted.

That's when you felt the head of his dick coating itself with your juices, preparing to burry himself into you. You couldn't see Miguel like this, but you could hear him. Dark growls vibrated in his throat, deeper than you'd ever heard them before, and it felt intimidating.

He thrust, pushing his tip into you, and you let out a groan of relief that sank into the fabric of the sheets. You breathed softly, letting Miguel's thick, long cock sink into you. No matter how many times you had done it, taken him like that, you still couldn't get used to it.

His lower belly finally touched the skin of your ass, his dick deep inside you. And you felt him pressing against your stomach. You knew that if you brought one of your hands to your stomach, you'd feel the shape of his cock against your skin.

He was so deep in you, an almost bestial growl escaped him as he slowly began to pull back before thrusting in hard.

You let out a little cry of surprise and pleasure that echoed around the room, and he repeated the same gesture. He kept bearing down on you until he touched your slick on his lower belly and pulling away, pushing back in the next second until it'd touch his balls.

Your body was burning, unable to do anything but arch your back more and groan. Your hands were gripping the void, and the impossibility of finding a foothold in all this was making you feel out of control. But you were enjoying the sensations he was giving you, and so was he.

He listened to the symphony of your voice as he picked up the pace, the feeling of your gummy walls wrapping all tight and warm around him was absolute perfection to him.

He knew it wouldn't be long before his first cum would hit, but he needn't have worried. Miguel could go on for a long, long time, and he just hoped that you could keep up, although he had no doubt that his best girl would live up to his expectations.

He could no longer string a sentence together properly, the words he was trying to whisper as he sank deep inside you coming out as if chewed up by his long fangs.

He grunted, his rhythm and the tilt of your two bodies giving you both exceptional sensations. The knot in your stomach tightened, threatening to burst as Miguel came closer.

And the world stopped spinning for a second.

You came together, your walls closing spasmodically around him as you felt him spill into you. Because that's what you wanted, right ? That's the one thing you desired, and he was going to give it to you entirely.

He pulled out, just for the pleasure of seeing the work he had so long dreamed of seeing. And the satisfaction was superb, his white creamy cum slowly pouring out of your wet cunt, still pulsing with desire.

A dark laugh rose from his throat as he sank back into you and you let out a startled moan. He lowered himself, his lips pressing against your ear.

"I hope you thought of six names."

It would be a long, long night.

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vixstarria · 1 year ago

Text

Intimacy

Hello friends, have some soft Act 2 Astarion.

Astarion’s struggle with sex and intimacy. Connected with my other fics but is a standalone, per usual.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, soft Astarion

Hurt/comfort, some fluff if you squint, love, angst, mutual pining, Act 2 spoilers, some fairly softcore smut

Approximately 1,600 words.

AO3

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he told you. You’d replayed that conversation over and over countless times in your mind, since.

You had no idea what you were doing either. Oh, navigating an ordinary relationship was simple enough, and you’d had your fair share of those – even if they’d all ended in disappointment at best, so far. Being with someone who’d just escaped 200 years of abuse, however... That was something new.

“I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.”

Well that was a fuck-up. He was walking sex. ...Most likely due to sheer force of habit, so necessary for survival over all those years, but still.

“I love you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

You were in over your head too. Completely. Hopelessly. In love with this catastrophe of a man.

What were you to do with him now?

Wait for him to take the lead in every physical interaction? It wasn’t in your nature to be so passive. He knew this. And you were sure he would love to be treated like spurned glass all of a sudden.

Continue as you were? Even though now all you could think about was whether a touch might bring up a repulsive memory? Assume that you could singlehandedly overwrite centuries of disgust and loathing, overnight? How presumptuous and overbearing that would have been.

Communicate? Ask? Listen? Sure. Absolutely. You did. Or tried, anyway. You were about as good at talking about these things as he was. And you didn’t really trust him to be completely honest at this point. Whether with you or his own self.

And so you explored. Slowly, cautiously and attentively.

The most innocent touches seemed to bring him an inordinate amount of joy. You weren’t surprised.

Passing him a vial of poison for his weapons and letting your fingers brush and caress one another’s, briefly. Wordlessly running a stray hand along his waist and planting a quick kiss under his ear while you walked past him as he stood talking with someone. Lingering with your foreheads or noses touching lightly after a kiss.

He leaped at any opportunity to massage your sore muscles or help you apply a salve, and you let him. It seemed he wanted to take care of you, and was working out all the ways how.

He still pleasured you in different ways, at times.

“You don’t have to...”

“I want to,” he said.

He just chose to keep his own pants on, now. You weren’t sure about his motivations. Could it be guilt? Or a misguided sense of self-worth? Did he still think this is all he was good for? Or, maybe you were completely overthinking it, and he was still just desperately horny, even if taking a step back. He was more present than before though, you could tell that much.

You considered his reactions to other forms of touch, careful not to make your observation obvious.

He hated being scratched. The entire area of his back covered in scars was off-limits for anything but embraces. He enjoyed playful bites, both giving and receiving. And more than anything, he loved holding you close, feeling as much of your body at once as possible, basking in its warmth.

In turn, you were more than happy to wrap yourself around him when you could.

“Why do you even like this?” he asked, apprehensive about it at first. “You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I can’t give you any warmth.”

“I can give you mine,” you said, simply. “Besides, you obviously don’t remember what it’s like to lie in a puddle of sweat with someone who runs hot. This is a nice change.” you added after a moment of contemplation.

You meant what you said, but you were dying to drag him into a hot bath, just to know what it would feel like for him to be warmed through. Maybe you’d get the chance once you got to Baldur’s Gate.

There happened to be a private room available at Last Light Inn that night. The group unanimously agreed that you and Astarion would take it, while the rest of your companions bunked in the common.

“For Shar’s sake, piss off, none of us want to see or hear you two,” were the exact words of their blessing, delivered by Shadowheart. Karlach sanctified it by throwing a (deftly dodged) half-eaten apple at Astarion’s head.

“Especially not hear!”

“I know this may come as a shock, but I’m actually not too fond of beds,” he said.

“New memories, Astarion,” you shook your head. “Beds are non-negotiable. I wasn’t too fond of rutting in the dirt either.”

“I’ll never grow tired of how poetic you are,” he smiled, unceremoniously throwing his gear on the floor. “New memories, you say?”

A while later, you were straddling Astarion’s hips as he sat shirtless on the edge of the bed.

“You know, you never did tell me what you like,” you sighed, your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck.

“Oh, what does anyone like? It’s all the same in the end,” he said, running his hands along your thighs.

“That’s not true,” you murmured in his ear. “I can show you some things that are pretty unique to you right now,” you said and ran the tip of your tongue along the lower inner edge of his ear, making him shudder and let out a small moan.

“You little devil, when did you figure that out?” he breathed.

“When I happened to brush your ear a while back, like this,” you giggled, repeating the hand movement on his other ear, making him catch his breath slightly again, “and you just about started purring.”

He just chuckled in response.

“So what other secrets are you hiding?” you purred, kissing around his ear. “I might just need to kiss and caress every inch of your body to find out.”

"Sounds like a terrible chore,” he said, falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Shut up and let me cherish you.”

You kissed down along one side his neck, slowly, taking your time, pausing to lightly lick or nibble on any spot that made him hitch his breath. He was putty in your hands by the time you reached his collarbone.

“Just don’t go any lower,” he said breathlessly.

You hummed your agreement. You couldn’t handle going any lower yourself – you were completely intoxicated with the scent of his skin and the sound of his sighs of pleasure, if you went any lower, you would keep going, and you didn’t think it was a day for that yet.

You continued up the other side of his neck instead.

You hesitated for a moment before your lips reached the bite marks left by Cazador, but Astarion made no indication that he didn’t want you to keep going, and so you continued. He let out a soft whimper as your lips brushed the scars.

“No?” you pulled back slightly, your hot breath still on his skin. He was lying with his eyes shut, head thrown back, neck completely exposed to you.

“Yes...” he whispered, hoarsely. “Very yes... Softly...”

You continued, lingering with your lips on the scars, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, snapping them against his own and grinding you against an unmistakable erection.

“I want you to make those marks your own... Yours and no one else’s...” he rasped.

This is probably a mistake, you thought, but you could barely help yourself as you moaned into his neck and ran your tongue over the scars, making him growl and grind you into himself harder. The friction, the knowledge that he wanted it too was driving you mad.

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that,” you begged.

“Go ahead,” he groaned.

“Not without you.”

Something in the energy changed then, and you lifted yourself off him, sitting up. Astarion stayed on his back a moment longer, before exhaling and also raising himself into a sitting position. You were still on his lap, facing him.

“Listen,” he took your face in both hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “I want you so fucking bad, it hurts. I want to tear your clothes off and ravage you until you’re speaking in tongues. I do.” His voice was hoarse. He paused, before continuing. “But even more than that, I want to remember this, remember you, and not have any of the dirt from my past mixed into it. It’s difficult enough to keep it at bay as it is.” His eyes teared up at that. “And right now, for now, this is the only way I know how to do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang from your eyes.

“No, you sweet idiot, you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you.” He gathered you in his arms, kissing away your tears as his own started to roll down. He sighed. “Great, now no one is coming, and everyone is crying.”

You both burst out laughing as soon as those words were out of his mouth.

You held each other a while longer, him stroking your back, before you broke the silence.

“So the bite scars are pretty erogenous then?”

“Extremely. Use that knowledge at your own risk and peril, darling.”

He lifted your chin for a kiss.

“Shall we go piss everyone off for a while, maybe steal Lae’zel’s boots, then come back here for more ‘memories’?” he asked.

“Sounds childish and dangerous. I’m in.”

You needed to clear your head too.

Maybe tomorrow would be the day one of you would get closer to knowing what it was you were doing, and tell the other. Until then, at least you were in it together.

~~~~~

The “I love you” is not canon for Act 2, but it is my headcanon, damnit.

Like what you just read? Huzzah, there’s more! - Series master list

Next in series - Communication

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #softcore smut #bg3 smut #astarion smut

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markerofthemidnight · 6 months ago

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Thinking about liminal horror and how cool it would be to see some of that in the Headspace. Here’s a fun idea I came up with below the cut.

The house never, exactly, abided to reality’s rules. Its layout was similar to that of their house in the real world, but each room was bigger than it was supposed to be. They know because Mind personally measured the height and length of each room in order to confirm this, and it bothered him ever since.

Some rooms, like the jail used to hold Heart post-Ruler of Everything, would exist one day and then cease to be the other, as if it disappeared simply because the house doesn’t need it anymore.

But six rooms would always stay there consistently. Their respective rooms, the living room, the kitchen… and the Basement.

The Basement was a door tucked away in the darkest corner of the house, with an inordinate amount of wooden planks nailed to it. None of them had ever went down there before, and for good reason.

Mind reasoned that, if he and the others all represented parts of a person’s consciousness, then the Basement was probably the subconscious brain.

They say only 5% of our brains are dedicated to our consciousness.

And if the three sentient beings with insane anatomy, made of formless nothingness, and the endless labyrinth of trees with a nonsensical warping house in its centre, is just 5% of the actual Headspace…

…then they probably really don’t want to see what’s in the Basement.

But people get curious. And even moreso than that, Soul gets desperate.

So one day, he decides to do the unthinkable. He decides, to punish Heart and Mind for never listening to him, and never doing anything but arguing all the time, he’s going to lock them in the Basement.

To say they didn’t quite like that idea would be an understatement. Heart couldn’t get further away from that thing, and whilst Mind would usually scoff at him being so emotional, he never did so whenever the topic of the Basement came up.

Dragging them down there was relatively easy. Not because they didn’t try and fight back, but because they couldn’t, not with Soul’s near-infinite power so long as he has the Trident. The boards separating them from the Basement also didn’t put up a very good fight when he got to them.

He throws them inside, and they abruptly land at the top of a set of stairs, in such a way that prevents them from tumbling down the rest of the flight… however long that flight may be, as a fair chunk of those steps were covered in fog.

Soul’s about to close the door… but it doesn’t work. The door doesn’t have a latch. Well- that can’t be right. Were those boards the only things keeping the door shut this whole time? They couldn’t be, right?

He groans, and decides to do something… well, in hindsight, incredibly stupid. Instead of just finding a chair or something, he steps inside himself, and tells Heart and Mind to keep going.

And there’s a click, as the door locks.

…He could not have just heard that, right? Soul turns back to the door, and- it has a latch again. And a lock. A lock that won’t open. He’s trapped inside, just like the other two.

After a few seconds of manually trying to wrench the door open with his trident, he sees something else has changed about it. There’s a sentence on it, written in three different colours of blood- their blood.

It’s fairly small, but still easy to see even in the darkness of the Basement. There, perfectly legible with proper punctuation, written in a font reminiscent of an old typewriter, is a message to the three of them, or- no, just to Soul.

Look what you’ve done.

#chonny jash #cccc #cccc au #cj #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #chonny jash soul #liminal horror #I really went hard on this didn’t I #CJ basement AU #(tagging this just in case you guys want to see more)

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discount-shades · 2 years ago

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Sleepy Baby Part 2

a/n: I was shocked and flattered about how many people liked the first one. I figured I’d do Part 2.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1400 ish

Summary: Despite all evidence to the contrary Jake is still very confident in himself.

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Jake glances up from the dart board to see who was walking through the door of the Hard Deck. His shoulders slump when it isn’t you. It had been a month since you had played the Village Peoples’ In the Navy and walked out the door after calling him Baby. His friends had laughed at him when you made your dramatic exit. Penny had been delighted that you used the song in the way it was intended when she left it on the jukebox. To knock a pilot down a few pegs. She was known to play the song to tease Maverick.

From the moment he met you, Jake was hooked. Your smile, your laugh, your wit, it was everything about you. If he was being honest with himself it was probably the salute you sent him as you walked out the door that sealed the deal for him. You did not care that he was a pilot. In fact you spent most of your short amount of time with him mocking what most people fawned over him for.

While the pilot schtick got him laid, he always got the impression that the uniform was the key factor. Not himself. Spending most of his time at bars near the base probably didn’t help. They tend to attract a certain clientele.

When you had called him Baby he had been sure you would be back and had taken to spending an inordinate amount of time at the Hard Deck, waiting. He had even promised Penny to buy the bar a round if she would call him if you arrived and he was not there. No luck so far.

“Get over her, man.” Javy sighs at his friend's antics. “You were clearly more into her than she was you.”

“No, she was into me,” Jake insists, throwing a bullseye. “She said she would give me her number next time, well implied she would, but still.” Despite Javy’s laughter at the comment, Jake was sure. He just needed to see you again. “She is probably at a different bar.”

“That is because she is avoiding you, Hangman.”

“She is, but not like you think,” Jake took his time lining up his final shot. “I need to find her to get her number.” As the days of not seeing you back at the Hard Deck passed Jake was becoming more convinced that he needed to go find you.

“You don't even know her name!” Jake could tell Javy was getting exasperated. “And there must be thousands of bars and pubs in San Diego. How are you going to find her?”

Jake threw his final dart and hit the bullseye again. Turning he grinned at his friend, “But, she said she worked with kids at the library,” a plan was forming in his mind. “I’ll just visit her at work!”

“This is starting to slip closer into ‘stalker territory’ than I am comfortable with.” Javy said, rubbing his head. “How many libraries are in San Diego anyway?”

“There are 34 libraries within San Diego City limits, and another 33 in the surrounding county.” Bob said from behind them, reading from his phone.

Jake and Javy startled and spun around. “How long have you been sitting there?” Jake asked.

“Again, I've been here the whole time.”

Jake pointed his finger at Bob. “Phoenix doesn't hear about this!”

“No promises.”

…

Jake pulled his truck into the library parking lot and gently laid his head on the steering wheel. This will be the 42nd library he has checked, and the last one within city limits. It has been six weeks since he has started looking for you and he has his spiel down.

He’d introduce himself and apologize for forgetting the name of the woman who he had previously spoken to. She had mentioned some great kids programs for his niece who he will be watching for his sister who is on a business trip. Polite description of your features, hide his disappointment when he is told that no one matching your description works there. Graciously accept the brochure of the Children's Activity Program and on to the next library.

The good news is that if Evie ever did come to stay with him for a few weeks he would be set on activities for a seven year old to do. He sighed and got out of his truck and made his way toward the door.

…

You are in your office ordering caterpillars for the yearly butterfly program your library puts on. After putting the caterpillar kit in your online cart you click the sale tab on the website to see if there is anything else the library needs. The first item is a 3D tic-tac-toe game and you are reminded of him.

It has been over 2 months and, if you are honest, everything still reminds you of him. You regret not giving him your number more than you care to admit. Your therapist was right. You are ready to get back out there. But your heart is still too tender to go back to the Hard Deck and not see him. Or worse, risk him not being interested. He is the one that you let get away.

So every week you still go to a different bar. You make small talk to those around you. But you have not felt the instant chemistry you felt with the pilot. No banter, no jokes. And every time you meet someone who is charming you can't help but compare them to the pilot. And you still don't even know his real name.

“Hi my name is Jake Seresin, I’m looking for some children's programs for my niece.” Your ears perk up as you listen to the front desk through the open doorway. When the man describes speaking with a woman who matches your description you search your memories for men you have spoken to recently.

There was the man with a wedding ring who had hit on you. A single dad who had just signed his son up for everything, no questions asked, and someone who looked like a teenager who was looking for activities for his younger siblings. No uncles that you remembered.

“Our Activity Coordinator is in that office,” you hear your coworker say, “she is the one you need to talk to.”

You sit straight in your chair and look up, ready to greet the person walking through your door and your breath catches in your throat. It's him, looking just as good in jeans and a t-shirt. The pilot. Your pilot. He is smiling so widely when he sees you his whole face is lit up.

“Hugs and Kisses, you are a hard woman to track down.”

You press your lips together trying not to smile as widely as you want to. “I figured you were up for the challenge, Sleepy Baby," you reply.

“This is the 42nd library I have checked to see if you worked at.” He sits down in the chair across from your desk. “The thought of your smile was the only thing that kept me going.”

“Well 42 is the meaning of everything.”

“Oh Darling, you are the meaning of my everything.”

You give in and laugh, grinning so much your cheeks hurt. “I liked the imaginary niece in your story,” you lean back in your chair matching his posture. “Who did you steal her from?”

“Oh Evie is mine and very real.” He assures you. “My sister's daughter, she’s seven and happens to be delighted when she hangs me every time we play hangman.”

“A girl after my own heart,” you smile at the way his face lights up when he talks about Evie. “You let her win, don't you?”

“I do.” He admits looking slightly distressed. “She is the type who would steal imaginary kittens too and I can't help but love her for it.” You both laugh at his confession.

You sit for a moment, smiling at each other across the desk. “I’m Jake, and I never did get your name or number.”

You smile at him before leaning over and picking up a blank piece of paper off your desk. You carefully draw the number of lines for letters in your name and ten lines for the digits in your phone number. You hold up the paper with a cheeky grin. “Well Jake, my name and number, I’ll play you Sleepy Baby for it?”

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #topgun maverick #top gun hangman #hangman/reader #hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #top gun x reader

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dotthings · 7 months ago

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Some tea from Richard Speight, Jr. about filming Cas’s testament scene has surfaced from DLC6. [x]

nothing cut from script to screen but they added things, such as Cas having to paint the sigil on the door and leaving the bloody hand print on Dean’s shoulder [my note: wbk about the additions during filming. There's still the matter of the spanish dub because the latam dubbing team felt a verbal I love you from Dean, made sense. And a few other lingering questions that have not actually been resolved and we may never know, but I'll go along. If Rich is happy with what was filmed and got to screen in the US, I'm glad. I love 15.18 either way. Rich's comments also goes to show how collaborative making tv is and how fluid the process can be.]

Rich said the scene wasn’t intended to be about Dean’s reciprocation, it was to give Cas his moment to speak his truth, to speak his love for Dean, and Cas didn’t expect an answer back, he just wanted to be heard, wanting Dean to know. [my note: makes sense to me, and it’s what I’ve thought about Cas pov. Cas pov not being the same as audience pov and what the story might need next and what Dean’s needs are. But for that scene, Cas feels complete. It also very much means the emotional story from Dean's side is not resolved. Dean wasn't given his chance yet, by creative design, perhaps because the only way they could get this greenlit at all is if it was only Cas who got to speak. We'll see what happens next.]

Rich saying because they did many takes of the scene with Dean’s emotional reactions, there are shots where Dean is crying more, or crying less. Editing put together different angles from different takes. [my note: the irony that naysayers are already trying to weaponize this to shut down the idea that anything got cut when per Rich himself, the facts on the ground are that the full range of Jensen’s acting for Dean’s response got reduced. No shade on Rich. But let's not erase or deny what was going on with Jensen's acting and how Jensen gave 110% and what wound up on screen was about 80% of whatever work Jensen did. Dean wept more than we saw, even before Dean was on the dungeon floor sobbing. Jensen’s performance as it stands is beautiful and powerful and full of emotion. It has taken an inordinate amount of hate and erasure, which is 100% cynical concern trolling to deny Dean’s feelings for Cas. More shots of Dean crying openly wouldn’t stop it, there’s no excuse for those responses. What’s there is loud enough. Only the most willfully cynical gaze could deny the love and anguish Dean showed.]

Rich said the parallel for John and Mary’s confession in TW 1x07 to 15x18 is a “coincidence” yet went on to talk about the trope of confessing love in a life or death situation and cited Leia and Han Solo among others [my note: it was also used again by an ep Rich recently directed in another piece of media I won’t say so I don’t spoil it. Also I’m laughing about how it seems he answered this. Total coincidence!! And spn 15.18 is like TW 1x07 is like Han and Leia and love confessions in dire situations is a common (romantic) trope. Pls, if anybody is taking away from this some kind of shutdown on creative recognition of the Destiel implications of it all, I don’t even want to know, I’ve had my fill of poor comprehension skills, poor critical thinking, and poor media literacy, oh my god]

Rich saying he was glad Cas’s words meant a lot to queer fans and that he feels it was important and a “bold” move that Bobo and Misha fought for. <3

So that's confirmation from director now, to add to writer intention, both actors, and an EP who greenlight Bobo's pitch for Cas’s testament as romantic. That is canon. That is a lock.

Cas's testament started out carefully padded into an “open to interpretation” zone. We have watched it be eased out of it and into the open.

I’m pleased it's openly acknowledged for what it is...and what I knew it was when the ep aired. I did expect it would be eventually, and would take some time. I’m glad it's here now.

As always, my appreciation for the work Rich, Bobo, Jensen, Misha did on 15.18 <333

#richard speight jr #destiel #jensen ackles #gay Cas is canon #Castiel #Dean Winchester

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artemistorm · 4 months ago

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Sicktember day 17: Brain fog/spaced out (Wind)

********

“Let’s take a break,” Time called.

“Finally,” Four groaned and flopped onto the ground. Sky sat down heavily beside him. Legend and Time quietly stepped off the road on opposite sides to use the latrine—or la-tree-n as Warriors liked to call it.

Wind sat on the ground. He was tired. Tired-er than usual. Exhausted even. He just wanted the day’s trek to be over with. Wind took a drink from his waterskin; the water felt unexpectedly icy in his throat and he flinched in surprise.

“How much farther are we going?” Twilight asked.

“I dunno,” Warriors answered. “Until the Old Man is happy with the distance we’ve traveled. I can’t imagine we’ll go too much farther, we had an early start. We’ll ask him once he gets back.”

“I’m okay to keep going!” Hyrule said cheerfully.

“Do you ever run out of energy?” Sky laughed.

“Him and Wild, our little rangers,” Warriors said.

Wind crawled so that he was in the sun—the shade was too cold for him. He lay down and stretched long.

“You’re like a cat,” Twilight said with a grin.

“Meow!” Wind replied. He crossed his legs and draped an arm over him eyes, blocking out the sun. The conversation around him faded into an indiscriminate droning, he began to doze. It felt like only a few seconds had passed when Time’s voice jolted him awake.

“Alright, is everyone ready? Let’s go.”

Wind groaned to himself. He was just getting comfortable! He sat up and then stood up. Time passed and he realized belatedly that he was just standing there staring at the ground. He rubbed his eyes. He must not be fully awake yet. Why was he so tired? Why was he so foggy?

And then suddenly, the ground became the sky. Brown faded into blue, so bright it hurt his eyes, and he squinted, eyes watering.

Suddenly, Sky was there. Wind? He mouthed.

“Wh… why is…” Wind started. Why is Sky laying on the sky? Why is the world upside down? Why is Sky flying? He knew none of those questions made sense. The world didn’t make sense.

“—onfused, give him—” As the buzzing in Wind’s ears faded, he heard Sky’s voice.

Why did his head hurt? Why did he feel like he was made of bees? Buzzing and vibrating under his skin.

Something grabbed his ankles, startling him. His heart leapt with fear as his brain screamed something about monsters trying to drag him off. Wind looked down but instead of monsters, it was Wild. He held Wind’s feet up and then sat cross-legged under them, resting Wind’s feet in his lap. Why would he do that?

A hand on his face, on his forehead. If felt cool. It was nice. But all too quickly, the hand left.

“Hey Wind, you with us yet?” Warriors asked, kneeling next to him. When did Sky leave? When had Warriors arrived?

“Hi,” Wind answered.

“How are you feeling, buddy?”

Buddy. Being called buddy annoyed Wind an inordinate amount. He wasn’t a little kid! But Wind swallowed the biting replies that bubbled up within him.

“Gross,” he said. He was nauseous, his heart raced, and he felt weak.

“You fainted. You’re sick. You’re running a fever.”

“Oh… that explains things,” Wind admitted.

“Just take it easy and rest here. We’re going to stop traveling for the day,” Sky said. “Some of us are going to work together to try and cook up some medicine for you.”

“Whatever,” Wind murmured. It wasn’t his problem. He had no interest in being vertical or doing anything at all. He didn’t care what any of the other heroes did.

Four draped a blanket over him and he closed his eyes again. Finally, Wind was allowed to nap.

#linked universe #sicktember 2024 #day 17 #lu wind

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sissylittlefeather · 1 year ago

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Role Play Part 1: Good Cop, Bad Cop

A/N: This might be a one-shot or maybe I'll write more parts. I haven't decided yet. It'll depend on whether anyone likes it. But this is based on photos from Sonny West's wedding. It's Elvis x fem!reader and it is dirrttyyyy.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, gun play, Elvis being bossy and dom, infidelity, cop roleplay, handcuffs, I think that's everything?

Word count: ~3.5k

When your cousin asked you to help with one of her catering events, you weren't exactly excited. However, you changed your mind when you found out who the event was for.

"You know who Sonny West is, right?!" You frantically ask your cousin.

"Kind of? All I know is Elvis Presley is picking up the tab for the whole wedding."

"I will absolutely help you with this event." You smile and grab her arm, squeezing it gently. This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you've never been happier to be related to her.

******

On the day of the big event, you spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom doing your hair and makeup. Everything has to be perfect on the off chance you happen to get to meet Elvis. You know it's a long shot, but still, this is a better chance than you've ever had before. Once you feel like the look is complete with your tight black skirt and white button down, you head out the door. You're assigned to work the after party at Graceland, so you get in your car and drive that way.

The wedding party isn't there yet when you arrive, but they will be soon, so you get to work helping prepare food and set out trays.

You're in the kitchen when you hear the party arrive and everyone heads out to their assigned spot. You're putting the finishing touches on your tray, though, so you stay behind in the kitchen. That's when you see him for the first time.

He saunters into the kitchen to get a bottle of his favorite water from the fridge. You don't notice him walk in, so you're startled when the refrigerator door opens. You gasp and put your hand on your heart, glad you didn't drop the tray you're holding.

"Oh, I'm sorry darlin', I didn't mean to scare ya." He drawls. Your mouth drops open a little at the sight of him there in his velvet suit and white tie. You've suddenly forgotten how to speak English. "What's your name, honey?"

A smirk plays across his mouth. He's enjoying the fact that he's got you speechless as you search your brain for the answer to his question. After way too much time, you finally get it out.

"My name is y/n. You're..."

"I am. It's nice to meet you, y/n. Welcome to my home."

"It's nice." You cringe a little with your response and he smiles.

"Thank you. I better get back out there. Hopefully we run into each other again." He winks shamelessly and you blush as he leaves the kitchen. You take a deep breath and head out to your assigned post near the drink table.

You stand there for about twenty minutes before you feel eyes on you from across the room. When you make eye contact he winks again and smiles. He obviously isn't paying much attention to the conversation he's supposed to be in. Your cheeks flush and it suddenly feels very warm in the room. You decide it's time for a bathroom break and grab another waiter to let them know where you're going. You get there and wash your hands with cold water, pressing them to your cheeks when you finish. You look in the mirror and shake your head a little and then head out the door. What you don't expect is to almost run smack into Elvis when you leave the bathroom.

"Oh my gosh!" You put your hands on his chest to keep from running into him and look up at him as he chuckles.

"I guess I did say I hoped to run into you." You nod, speechless again. "Are you afraid of me?" His eyebrows knit together in the center of his forehead, showing his concern. Finally, you find your voice.

"No! I'm sorry; I'm just a little starstruck. I can't believe you're talking to me."

"Why wouldn't I be talking to you? Look at you." He gently brushes some of your hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. You look at each other for a while and his eyes flick down to your mouth. Then, he cups your chin in his hand and starts to lean in towards you. As he presses his lips to yours softly, fireworks go off somewhere behind your navel. He pulls back slowly and you hear a voice.

"Boss, they're asking for you again." He sighs deeply and turns to the man sent to summon him.

"I thought I told you not to disturb me tonight."

"It's Priscilla. She-"

"Enough. I'm coming." He turns back to you and smiles. "I'll find you again. Don't worry."

When he leaves you there in the hallway, your breath comes in deep waves and you feel like you might pass out. Elvis Presley kissed you. And it seems like he'd like to do it again. You decide then and there that you'll let him- and more if that's what he wants. After gathering yourself a bit, you go back to your post next to the drink table.

When you get there, Elvis is doing some kind of demonstration with a few of his guns and badges. He's taken his jacket off and you can't get over how good he looks with his shoulder holster and belts showing. He holds up a long rifle and someone takes a picture as he talks. The way his rings clack against the wood and metal and he holds his cigarillo against the butt of the gun makes your warm center even warmer. The masculinity of the scene hits you in the soft and feminine parts of you and you don't just want him, you need him.

When he notices you watching with your mouth opened slightly, he gives you a knowing smile and licks his lips. A shiver runs down your spine and you pray that he will come talk to you again. You serve drinks and pass out smiles and wait patiently for him to be free.

Finally, he catches your eye and nods towards the kitchen. You don't hesitate to head that direction. When you get there, it's bustling with activity. He comes in behind you and you hear his voice boom.

"OUT!" All the waitstaff look at each other and then back at him. "You heard me!"

They gather their things quickly and leave, so that it's just you and him. As soon as you're alone, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and kisses the back of your neck under where you have your hair pulled up. He whispers into your ear.

"I saw you watching me with my guns. Would you like to see more of them?" You close your eyes with the sensation of his breath on your ear, but you manage to respond softly.

"Yes, please."

"Come with me." He unwraps himself from around you and takes your hand. He leads you up the staircase and through his office to his bedroom. You know someone must have seen you, but it doesn't seem like anyone cares. Or maybe they've just learned not to say anything. Either way, you find yourself standing in Elvis Presley's bedroom as he shows you his small arsenal.

He describes each gun in detail, but you're so distracted by how attractive he is that you would fail a test if he gave you one. Finally, he pulls out a small pistol and makes sure it's completely unloaded. Then, he hands it to you.

"You know how to hold one of these?"

"I don't." He steps behind you again and makes sure you have the gun pointed away from anything. He puts his hands on your waist.

"Feet shoulder-width apart." He runs his hands up to your arms. "Arms straight." He slides his hands down to yours and makes sure your stance is strong. In doing so, he also presses his rock hard cock into your ass. You damn near melt where you're standing. Then, he pulls back quickly.

"What?" You ask, nervously, afraid that he's changed his mind for some reason.

"Little lady, do you have a license for that firearm?" He has a playful smirk again, so you relax.

"No, sir, I don't." He pulls a badge from his pocket.

"Then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you." Sliding open a drawer, he lifts out a pair of handcuffs. He leans in close to your ear and whispers. "Let me know if this is too much."

"It's not."

"Well, alright then." He takes the gun from you and turns you around, pulling you close to him and kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth to dance with yours. He pulls back and looks you in the eye. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can kiss me and tempt me all you want. I still have to arrest ya."

You walk together towards the bed with him still wrapped around you and your mouths pressed together, kicking off your shoes as you go. He tosses the handcuffs on the bed and then lifts your shirt up and over your head. Then, he removes his heavy belts, letting them drop to the floor, and his shoulder holster, tie, and necklace. He lets you undo the buttons on his shirt and push it down his arms and off. His hands run up and down your body and then move to your back to unhook your bra. He lays you on the bed and reaches for the handcuffs.

"I hate to do this, but illegal use of a firearm is a pretty serious offense." He speaks matter-of-factly as he handcuffs your wrists around the bedpost. "Some punishment is in order."

With every word, your dripping center becomes wetter and wetter and your absolute need for him grows. He unzips your skirt and slides it down your thighs and off, leaving you in just your panties. With his hands on the inside of each thigh, he spreads your legs. Then, he runs a hand up to your core and feels the wetness there with his thumb.

"Mm. Good girl knows what I like."

"What are you gonna do to me, Officer?" His eyes light up when you play along with his game. You can tell this is a fantasy for him and you're not about to ruin it now. Besides, it's turning you on more than you care to admit.

"I'm gonna make sure you don't do anything like this again."

He moves back up to your chest and runs his tongue around your nipple while you squirm beneath his touch. He sucks lightly on the other nipple and kisses down your stomach. He presses a kiss to the place where your panties are so wet. "Is this what you want, baby?"

You moan softly with the feeling of him so close to where you want him.

"Yes, sir. Please. I promise I'll never do it again." He slides your panties off and puts his finger to your entrance, collecting the wetness gathered there to rub circles on your clit.

"Bad girls deserve to be punished. Are you a bad girl or a good girl, y/n?" He asks.

"I was nice and wet for you, Officer."

"That's true, but you still had that illegal firearm. I think you're a bad girl." He slides two fingers inside you and presses them as far as they'll go, his rings cold against your entrance. Then, he pumps them in and out quickly and lowers his mouth to your clit. He licks over and around it vigorously as you get closer and closer to your climax. When he feels your walls flutter, he backs off of you and pulls both fingers out. You whimper frantically and whisper.

"Noooo, Officer, please!"

"Bad girls don't get to cum when they want to. If you want to be a good girl, you'll cum when you're told."

"Yes sir, please I promise, don't stop!" He goes back to pumping two fingers inside of you, stopping to tickle your sensitive spot every once in a while.

"Does my bad girl want my tongue again?"

"Yes, Officer, please."

"Ask for what you want."

"I want you to lick my pussy again, sir." He gives you a smirk and slides off the bed. When he walks over to the gun case, his pants form a tent around his erection. He fetches the small, unloaded pistol, checking it again for bullets, and walks back to the bed.

"I need to show you how bad this gun can be before I give you want you want."

You nod, hoping he'll let you cum this time. But he doesn't go back to licking you. Instead, he takes the cold metal of the gun and pushes it to your clit gently. You gasp at the sensation and squirm again. He begins to use the tip of the barrel to tease your clit, rubbing it over and around on you carefully. Surprisingly, the sensation is a good one and at one point you cry out in pleasure.

"Oh God, Elvis."

"Does my bad girl want to cum?" He asks as he moves the gun on you gently.

"Yes, please, fuck!"

"Are you gonna be a good girl from now on?"

"Yes, Officer, please!" You moan and he pulls the gun away from you and sets it on the bed. He gets close to your center and blows on your clit gently.

Your orgasm seems to be teetering right on the edge and it's driving you insane. He kisses your hip and down to your pussy again.

"Has my bad girl learned her lesson?" You nod frantically and beg again as he licks up your slit to your clit and back down again.

"Yes! Yes! Please let me cum!" He smiles and presses his lips to your clit. Then, he begins to lick you again, sliding two fingers inside you, and you're so close that it almost hurts.

"Cum for me, baby." He whispers and you whimper as you feel your orgasm closing in. "Remember, good girls do what they're told."

He tightens his tongue to a point and licks directly over your clit hard and your center explodes with waves of undeniable pleasure, crashing over and over as you shake and pulse around his fingers.

"Oh, God, Elvis!" You cry out, completely forgetting about the party going on downstairs. He laughs and slides his fingers out of you.

"Good girl. Now I think it's time you try to convince me not to take you downtown." He retrieves a small key and unlocks the handcuffs, giving you access to your hands again.

"Yes, Officer." You push him down to lay on his back and settle between his legs. Then, you pull his pants down just enough to let his cock spring free. He moans softly as you run your hand up and down his shaft, rolling back his foreskin. When you lean down and lick the tip of his dick gently, he inhales sharply. You pull as much of him into your mouth as possible, gagging a little to fit him. He groans with the sensation of hitting the back of your throat. You pick up a steady rhythm of bouncing on him as you massage his balls.

"Yes, yes, that's my good girl." He moans, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. When you can tell he's getting close, you pull him in deeply again and back off.

"So am I going to jail?" You ask with a pout.

"I'm almost convinced to let you go." He pushes his pants the rest of the way down his legs and flips you over onto your back, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. "Just one... last... thing."

When he gets to the final word, he pushes into you deeply, filling you fully in one thrust.

"Fuck, Elvis!" You cry out again at the sensation of being stretched and filled so quickly.

"Goddamn, you feel good, baby." He whispers in your ear as he begins to pump in and out of you. After a few minutes, he pushes your knees up so that your feet are pressed against his chest. As he fucks into you, he has one hand on your foot and he leans down and kisses your toe. "Such pretty little feet. Did ya paint these nails just for me?"

"I did." You respond breathlessly as he pounds you over and over again. The feeling is almost overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Good girl. Such a good girl for me." Suddenly, he pulls out and rolls you over, spanking your ass lightly. "Get on your knees, babe."

"Yes sir." You get on your hands and knees as instructed. He holds your hip with one hand and uses his other to tease your slit with the tip of his cock. "Does my good girl want me to fuck her?"

"Yes, Officer, please." You whimper and beg.

He grunts as he pushes into you from behind, putting his other hand on your hip to brace you as he begins to slam into you over and over. His balls slap against you as he fucks you vigorously and you let out a soft cry with each thrust. It feels so good as his length hits your sensitive spot time and time again. He reaches around and begins to make circles on your clit as he fucks you.

"'M gonna cum soon, baby. Cum with me." He moans as he continues to push into you powerfully and rub your clit. Your breasts bounce with every impact and you wish he would never stop.

"Yes sir." You already feel your climax building and you cum hard, your orgasm running through you like wildfire just as he slams into you and moans loudly. You feel his warmth inside you and it just adds to the pleasure of your own pulsing orgasm. He pats on your ass before pulling out.

"That's my good girl."

He slides out of you and you lay down next to each other on the bed looking up at the ceiling, sweating and breathing heavily.

"Thank you, Officer." You turn your head and meet his eyes. His playful smirk is back.

"Anything for a sweet thing like you." He takes your hand and kisses your fingers in a gesture more intimate than your situation.

Suddenly, there's a quiet knock on the door and a voice nervously calls out.

"Boss, I know you said not to bother you, but your wife keeps asking where you are. What should I tell her?"

He looks at you with a devilish glint in his eye and mouths, "oh shit."

You cover your mouth and try not to giggle as he calls back to whomever is at the door.

"Tell her I had some police business to attend to."

The guy at the door walks away and Elvis rolls over onto you and peppers your face with kisses.

"Thank you for indulging me tonight." He leans in and kisses your mouth deeply. "That's more fun than I've had in a long time."

Something that's almost like sadness seems to settle on him and you kiss the end of his nose lightly.

"Of course! It was really fun for me too." He smiles again and kisses your cheek. Then, he rolls off of you and you both start to get dressed. He puts the gun and the handcuffs back where they belong.

"I'll tell you what, I'll never look at this pistol the same way again." You laugh and try to smooth your hair in the mirror. He wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses the back of your neck once more.

"Can I see you again?" You look at him in the mirror with his chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. You're married."

"Ehhhh, for now. I like you. Please?"

You turn around in his arms to face him.

"Now who's begging?" You joke playfully. He makes a pouty face.

"Please, baby. You can pick the role play next time." You raise an eyebrow. That idea is intriguing.

"Can I be in charge?"

"Honey, you can do whatever you want if you dress up for me."

"Deal." He leans in to kiss you and there's another knock at the door. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Boss, she really-"

"Will ya let me deal with 'er? I'll be down there in a minute." He turns his attention back to you. "I have to go. I'll find you. We'll do this again. On my honor as a cop." He winks and unwraps himself from around you, kissing you sweetly one last time. As you make your way down the stairs and back to your post, you suppose your cousin probably won't ask for your help again.

When you make eye contact with him across the room again, though, you really don't care. He's worth it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So do we want more?

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microtheory · 1 month ago

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So imagine you’re at a dinner party. Nice enough person comes up to you, starts talking to you. Let’s say the conversation starts to go in the direction of politics. You talk for a while. At some point in the conversation you decide to ask this person, “So what are your particular feelings about politics? I mean, where do you land on the whole political spectrum?” Imagine the person replies with, “Well, actually, I’m a communist. Communism is the solution to all of our political problems.” Now, to us, being people living in the 21st century that have seen history play out the way that it has, no matter what you think about communism, we would instantly have a lot of thoughts about this person and probably a few questions we wanted to ask them. See, because the word “communism” carries with it an enormous amount of baggage to us in the 21st century, baggage, it’s important to note, that just didn’t exist when people were having political discussions at the beginning of the 20th century.

That’s what I want us to consider here at the beginning of this episode, just how much has changed, just how much has transpired since philosophers were having these political discussions at the beginning of the 20th century. What I want to do is try to take a step outside of our 21st-century biases and try to do our best to put ourselves in the shoes of someone viewing the political landscape back when communism was first being proposed as a potential solution. See, because when you do that, you can start to see the political philosophy of the time within its proper context. You can start to see how, in many ways, the goals of the reformed democracy that we talked about last time and the goals of the communism that was being proposed back then were actually incredibly similar.

Remember, at this point in the timeline of discussion about political philosophy there were three major conversations that were going on that were all trying to solve the same general problems that existed in political philosophy of the time. One was democracy; one was communism. And the general problem they were both trying to solve was “How do we ensure that in the future society doesn’t evolve into a situation where a relative handful of people have an inordinate amount of control over the lives of the majority of the population?” This had been a serious problem in the past. Democracies of the past had produced this situation time and time again, which was why there was such a serious discussion about a reformation of democracy that would preserve the true essence of a democracy, which was a government by the many, not a handful of people.

Well, communism was very similar in terms of what it was aiming to do at the time. Like we talked about when we did the series on the Frankfurt School, for neo-Marxist thinkers at the beginning of the 20th century, there was a short period of confusion when it came to what exactly was going on in the world. See, Marx prophesies that very soon the proletariat would realize that all they had to lose were their chains, and that, inevitably, they would rise up; they would overthrow the bourgeoisie, and they would implement a new system of economic order. Let anyone who agrees with Marx at the time cross their fingers and hope that it ends up being communism. But this communist revolution just wasn’t happening in the West in almost every case. So what exactly was going on?

Neo-Marxist thinkers went back to the drawing board. Why does it make any sense at all that people living in these abject conditions, working jobs that were in many cases completely brutal, why would those people stand for it? Why didn’t Marx’s prophecy come true? Well, very quickly the trend that emerged in neo-Marxist thought at the time was that control over a population of people extends far beyond the halls of Congress or the ballot box. Political control is almost always dictated by cultural control.

This is why the Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci spends a considerable amount of his work exploring the concept of political control and, more specifically, the very important question of “When there is a dominant social group, or a dominant class within a society, how exactly does that group ascend to power, and then beyond that, how do they maintain that power once they’ve gotten it, especially when the social order that they promote with that position of power is oftentimes completely at odds with the well-being of the average person?” The fact is that sometimes when a leader is elected, they don’t pass policy that’s necessarily good for the majority of the population. Sometimes they support policy that really only benefits them or friends of theirs that are fellow members of a dominant social class. Gramsci wants to find out, why is it that these leaders are sometimes capable of getting massive support from the people for policies that are actually hurting the average citizen more than helping them? How is it possible that the proletariat can feel so comfortable participating in a system that keeps them in chains, in the eyes of a neo-Marxist thinker?

Gramsci begins his explanation by evoking and repurposing a word that had been thrown around all throughout human history, but it was a word that he thought in recent years was starting to take on an entirely new meaning. The thing that was responsible for allowing a particular social class to ascend to power and then maintain that privileged status was what he called “cultural hegemony.” Now, this concept of hegemony is going to end up being massively important to the political conversation of the 20th and 21st centuries overall. And by the end of this arc on the show, we’re going to have looked at it from a lot of different perspectives.

But maybe the best place to start is to talk about the origins of the word. The word “hegemony” originates in ancient Greece. The root of the word comes from the Greek word meaning “to lead.” Some translators think it’s closer to the Greek work for “to rule over.” But, either way, during antiquity there were things called hegemons. Now, in the context of ancient Greece, a hegemon was typically a state that had a significant military advantage over another state, the arrangement being that if the weaker state didn’t comply with certain demands from the hegemon, they would be annexed or dominated militarily or burned to the ground. Take your pick, I guess. In other words, the term “hegemony” implied the threat of physical dominance over a population of people. And this was the case all throughout human history.

But Gramsci’s going to say that in our modern world the definition of the word hegemony needs to evolve with the political reality we are living in. We are no longer living in a world where most political control is exercised by military dominance over a population of people. Since the advent of mass media, people in positions of power have realized that a much more effective way of controlling populations is by manipulating the cultural parameters that citizens have to navigate. The general idea is this: to be a human being, living a life in our modern world at all, you always have to be living that life immersed within a particular culture. But what is a culture other than an elaborate collection of norms, rules, structures, mores, taboos, rituals, values? These things are not exactly abstract concepts. They are acute. They are visible. This is the cultural custom of a handshake, to pay deference to somebody else. This is not talking with your mouth full. This is the sum total of every ritual we engage in on a daily basis that all come together to create a cohesive society.

But what Gramsci’s going to ask is, who exactly created all of these norms and taboos that we abide by? We can easily look to different cultures around the world presently and all throughout human history, for that matter, to see that a culture can function and flourish when things are completely different. The norms and taboos of a culture can be completely alien from the modern world that we’re living in and, yet, things still somehow manage to stay held together. So it makes Gramsci wonder, to what extent is the current set of norms and taboos serving to reinforce itself? To what extent are the citizens seeing the current set of norms and taboos not as a temporary instantiation of culture, but as just the way the world is. Once again, this is another example of this classic debate we talked about last time that’s going to become increasingly relevant. How much of the reality of the world can be explained by nature, and how much of the world can be explained by culture?

This is extremely important because, to Gramsci, if you can control the narrative and you can convince the average citizen that the current set of cultural norms is just the way the world is, then there’s not going to be much complaining. There’s not going to be much in the way of seeking justice and trying to change things. This is similar to a point we discussed from Simone de Beauvoir and The Ethics of Ambiguity. We don’t get mad at hurricanes. When a hurricane comes along and devastates multiple cities, people die; homes are destroyed, billions of dollars in damages, thousands of families displaced. And every one of those cases is a tragedy in its own right. But, as human beings, what do we do? We accept it. Why? Because there’s no sense in getting mad at a hurricane. There’s no human intent or will behind a giant storm. Nobody can be held morally culpable, so we chalk it up as an unfortunate series of events. Hurricanes are a part of nature. There’s nothing we could really do to stop it. Sometimes the world is going to be at large, and I just got to deal with that the best way I can and try to accept it.

To Gramsci, this is the old switcheroo that’s going on with cultural hegemony. Dominant social classes have the ability to dictate cultural norms. These cultural norms oftentimes serve to reinforce themselves, and people born into these cultures oftentimes view the normalized state of the world around them as nature rather than culture. Gramsci thinks this is a cultural story that’s being told. So often, citizens see it as just the way the world is and something they need to learn to accept. To Gramsci, this is why Marx’s prophecy hasn’t come true. This is why the proletariat continues to live in chains, because they’ve come to accept those chains as the natural state of the world that they need to come to terms with.

Cultural norms become to the average person what Gramsci calls the “common sense that they use to make sense of their place in the world.” When the common sense of your world serves to legitimize the dominance of a particular class of people and tells you that anything you don’t like about your socioeconomic situation, well, that’s just the natural order of things, then your very existence becomes reinforcing of cultural hegemony. You are reinforcing the political status quo simply by participating in the culture that you happen to be born into. This is why people that would otherwise never stand for being pushed around can find themselves getting worked into the ground in a factory, during the time of Gramsci, only to accept their place in the world as a necessary part of how the world works. “Parts of my life may be hard, yes. But you know what? That’s life. Life is hard sometimes.” That’s the sort of dialogue that goes on in the working class.

But, look, it’s not like -- okay, it’s not like Gramsci’s saying that life should never be hard here. The more accurate question would probably be, how hard does life need to be for a person? And how many hard aspects of life have been made into a normalized part of our modern world that we just accept, that disproportionately serve to benefit a dominant group within society? Being a neo-Marxist, you can no doubt guess what his first and most commonly used target is throughout his work, capitalism. So, to Gramsci, even people that are struggling within a capitalist system have, oftentimes, lived their entire lives immersed in a culture that promotes the merits of capitalism. This, in turn, creates a sort of economic Stockholm syndrome where, despite the fact they’re struggling, the citizens identify themselves and their place in the world in relation to capitalist ideology. When the entire way that you view the world has been given to you by a culture that benefits from maintaining capitalism, Gramsci would say, don’t be surprised if that education produces a few blind spots.

These blind spots are the point, okay? Cultural hegemony in many ways is accomplished by getting consent from the population to keep things the way that they are by making sure people are blind to other options at their disposal. Keep in mind, as we continue talking about cultural hegemony, that this isn’t always accomplished by an organized group of people that are actively trying to control things. Cultural hegemony can exist, and people can be a part of perpetuating that status quo just simply by acting out of their own self-interest. See, because their self-interest is always considered in relation to how the current system can help them, they unintentionally end up supporting things staying the same.

What Gramsci’s getting at is that for any single person or any social institution to appeal to groups that are in positions of power for the sake of your own self-interest, you must in some capacity there go along with the way that things are currently structured. So, for example, if you’re a politician or a social commentator that wants to make the world a better place, the only way you are ever going to be able to get your message across is by participating in the existing culture and using the tools at your disposal. This is an ideal situation for cultural hegemony and one of the goals of its final stages to Gramsci, to make the values of a particular culture seem so a part of nature and so in line with “common sense” that the members of that culture don’t even question them anymore; to get people completely entrenched in this world where they mistake the reality of their culture for the reality of the universe; to think the reason things are staying the way that they are is because people are weighing all their options, they’re thinking about it for a while, and then they’re making the best choice, not merely complying with the demands of a cultural hegemon that has control over them.

That said, just like the militaristic hegemon of ancient Greece, the goal of cultural hegemony is to stay in power. Now, over time, dominant social groups have realized that the most efficient way of doing this is by controlling people’s systems of values. Gramsci thinks by and large people acquire their systems of values by listening to and studying voices within a culture that he thinks are massively important, public intellectuals. Gramsci makes an important distinction here between two very different types of public intellectuals. There are “ruling intellectuals” and “organic intellectuals.”

Now, the “ruling intellectuals” are going to be the sort of foot soldiers for the dominant set of cultural norms that are currently in place. These are the people whose commentary on the world is going to reinforce the status quo. Keep in mind, again, this is in no way saying that these are bad people, necessarily. Most of them may not even realize what they’re doing. But Gramsci, nonetheless, wants to shine a light on the insular and, oftentimes, self-reinforcing world that many of these intellectuals come from. So often, it’s from academia. So often, these people are completely out of touch when it comes to what life is even like for most people in a culture.

Think about the common archetype of a philosopher throughout history. Philosopher decides they’re going to resign themselves from public life, lock themselves away in a tower, and just think about stuff really, really hard. That’s the path for creating better philosophy. You know, the last thing you’d ever want to do as a philosopher is have the basic thoughts of a normal, everyday person corrupting your unparalleled genius, right? Gramsci thinks this is completely ridiculous. Not only is this elitist and making tons of value judgements about how certain human experiences of the world are inherently better and can even be corrupted by other people’s experiences of the world, but aside from all that, Gramsci thinks this approach actually prevents you from ever being able to participate in discussions about politics at all, because political discussions always begin from the starting point of self-awareness and self-reflection, while considering how that self relates to all the other people around you. And how could anybody locking themselves away in a closet, thinking about stuff, ever hope to contribute to that conversation?

But, nonetheless, these ruling intellectuals oftentimes dominate the ideas that are available to citizens of a society. I mean, so often these intellectuals are the ones that write the articles. They’re the ones published in journals. They conduct the studies. They write the textbooks. So often these intellectuals control the education of the next generation of citizens, when so much of their prominence as an intellectual was only given to them simply because their ideas corresponded with the existing social order.

Here’s what Gramsci’s saying. Cultural hegemony is established by taking control of three things: the intellectuals of a society, the education within a society, and the philosophy that drives people to political action. So, in other words, if you’re someone that came up through the education system of an advanced capitalist society, Gramsci would say, don’t be surprised if there are some pretty glaring holes in your understanding of capitalism because, just statistically, most pieces of information you’ve ever had access to have been written by people that reached that level of social influence by participating in a capitalist system that benefits them. Your high school or university wasn’t taught by unbiased monks on the top of a mountain. That most likely, once again just statistically, you have come up in a world where you are far more likely to hear about the merits of capitalism and all the good that it’s doing for people in the world.

When conversations about the downsides of capitalism come up, you’re far more likely to hear them glossed over by other people. You’re less likely to have someone call you out for glossing over them. And the conversation’s likely to go in the direction of how the good of capitalism drastically outweighs the bad. When you hear people talking about socialism, when coming up in an advanced capitalist culture, you’re far more likely to run into conversations about the horrors of socialism, how it’s failed everywhere it’s been tried. And, if anyone brings up something good that socialism seems to have produced, it’s written off as a “broken clock’s right twice a day” sort of thing.

Now, here’s the really interesting part. This view of economics and how it plays out in the world may be absolutely true. Capitalism could just be a better economic system than socialism. But how would you ever know for sure? Because if you’re an intellectually honest person, you’d at least for a second have to consider that maybe your entire understanding of capitalism and socialism has been given to you by a handful of intellectuals you’ve entrusted your worldview to, that are intellectuals and gain their credibility simply because their view of the way the world is corresponds with the dominant cultural narrative that keeps the status quo going. Whether maintaining that status quo is good for a particular social group that’s pulling the puppet strings or whether it’s good for just keeping society stable, what if you’ve lived your entire life learning from a lot of really smart people that are all just telling the same side of the story?

Now, Gramsci would say that this is not just limited to capitalist societies, that it’s entirely possible to come up in a society that unfairly promotes the merits of socialism and creates the same sort of echo chamber of ideas. Gramsci’s goal was not to replace a Western world dominated by capitalist ideology with one dominated by Marxist ideology. His goal was to replace both of these narrow approaches with an ideology where the public has a general and intense level of skepticism about the status quo, no matter what the status quo looks like. The biggest mistake we can make, to Gramsci, is to see these ideologies as nature, or the way that things are. We should always be critical of the status quo. And the fact he’s so critical of capitalism is just him following his own advice about the status quo of the world he happened to live in.

To make a long story short, Gramsci thought that Marx and so many other Marxist thinkers that came after him were putting the cart before the horse, in a way. They were all so wrapped up in the possibility -- the inevitability of a communist revolution in the West. They were so wrapped up in waiting to see capitalism destroy itself that they completely missed the fact that different methods of cultural control could fragment a population to the point that a revolution could never take place.

Gramsci makes another important distinction in his work directly to these people that were calling for revolution, that for any meaningful social change to ever take place, regardless of what it is, there needs to be two wars that are fought and won: first, a war of position, then a war of maneuver. These orthodox Marxists of his time were far too focused on the war of maneuver, which was the actual communist revolution that they wanted to bring about. But Gramsci says, before that can ever happen, you need to defeat the cultural hegemon in a war of position.

Remember, a cultural hegemon will have control over three things: the intellectuals, the education, and the philosophy of a society. The goal of anyone trying to bring about any kind of social change, to Gramsci, should be to provide alternatives in all three of these areas. They should create a counter-culture, an alternative set of cultural norms and taboos, reinforced by the intellectuals whose job it is to actively challenge the status quo. He called this other type of intellectuals “organic intellectuals,” and it was their job to be skeptical of the existing order of things, to provide an alternative means of education that took cues from the counter-culture that was created, and to embolden the average citizen to take political action by giving them a philosophical outlook that changes the way they see themselves and how they fit into the world.

This is why so many attempts at revolution have failed in the past, to Gramsci. The orthodox Marxists that tried to organize it didn’t understand the “common sense” of the workers that needed to carry out the revolution. These workers saw themselves and their place in the world solely in terms of how they relate to capitalist ideology. The only way to shift their perspective enough to see the other side would be to fundamentally change the way they look at the world philosophically. See, an extremely important term in the work of Karl Marx that was used to describe the way he saw things was “historical materialism.” Gramsci was a neo-Marxist. When it came to these orthodox Marxists that we’re talking about, he distanced himself considerably from them. And a big reason why was because he thought they were paying way too much attention to the materialism part of historical materialism and not nearly enough attention to the historical part of it.

Gramsci may have supported communism, and communism may have played out in a particular way all throughout the 20th century. But Gramsci hated Stalin. He would have hated Mao. He would have hated Pol Pot. He saw people like these as opportunistic dictators, that took what could otherwise have been a revolutionary political philosophy, and they used it to create dictatorships where the population was forced to deify and worship the state. When, to Gramsci, a much more accurate reading of the work of Marx would have produced the true essence of his work, the spirit of revolution among people, the spirit of revolution among common people united under the desire to never again allow a handful of people to dominate and control the population. To those living at the time of Gramsci, communism and democracy seemed to be two extremely difference approaches to trying to solve the same general problem.

See, as we already know from earlier episodes, the feeling around this time in the world of philosophy is an intense skepticism towards reason. The Enlightenment gave us the hope that science was the answer. Science, when given enough time to develop, was capable of giving us answers to problems that throughout history have seemed completely unsolvable. When applied to the realm of political philosophy, for over a hundred years it seemed totally plausible that something like science, something as unbiased and without an agenda as science, could eventually study the way that people are, study their brains, study the way people work together within a society, and it didn’t seem crazy to think that science could eventually give us answers to some of these questions in political philosophy that seemed so difficult to answer.

But along came Friedrich Nietzsche, philosophizing with a hammer. Because at the end of the 19th century he asked the question, “What if the very act of conducting science at all carries with it cultural values that narrow and distort its findings?” We know there are many different ways of conducting science, depending on the specific field you’re in. We know that scientific revolutions have occurred where there have been wholesale transformations of the methods and assumptions that science is conducted through. What if these limitations and the unavoidable narrow scope that categorizing the universe must be viewed through is missing out on something crucial about what it is to be a human being? What if science, useful as it is, was never the savior that everyone thought it was? More on that next episode.

Episode #131 - Transcript - Gramsci, Cultural Hegemony - Philosophize This! - Stephen West

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staybabblingbaby · 9 days ago

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Project: Stack The Deck CH. 1 (a3d1)

Concept: Reader is a long-time trainee at JYP Entertainment, on the verge of being dropped completely due to her age. In her first stroke of luck in ages, she's presented with an opportunity: JYPE is producing a brand new type of audition show - 9 lucky trainees will be 'interning' with 6 of JYPE's active groups for a year in hopes of forming the first ever mixed gender AND mixed subgender group in k-pop. The catch? The trainees are only interning with their exact opposite groups, in an effort to appease ongoing protests.

Or - Babble gives in and writes Omegaverse. But this time, there's ~lore~

Word Count: 1,893

Notes: I started this instead of working on SG I'm so sorry ^^;; My brain just doesn't wanna take anything serious rn I've been having a Time lmao I have, perhaps, thought about an inordinate amount of lore for this ^^;; It's ok I just tried to apply logic to Omegaverse nbd. I never liked the 'inner wolf' rhetoric so this is my attempt to fix that while keeping the instinct drivel i adore lol. While also keeping a more human level of 'intinct'. Also this isn't very edited, so keep that in mind. Also also this is super slow-burn and focused on pack-bonds first, so while we may get to romance and maybe smut eventually, it won't be for a really very long time Heavily inspired by To The 9th Degree by azaluvx7 on Ao3.

Warnings: Mention of house-fire, discussion of medical misinformation that leads to protests (also mentioned)

Sitting across from the director is always a nerve wracking experience, no matter how many times I’ve experienced it.

Kim Jae-Hwa was a severe omegan woman with dark hair and a fair complexion. As the director of Training and Development at JYPE she held the future of all of JYPE’s unrealized talent in her hands.

That did, of course, include my own.

Having been picked up and dropped from several line-ups over the years, none of those groups having come to fruition at all, she was someone I’d seen probably more than I’d have liked to. Seeing her face always filled me with a potent mixture of hope and dread, something she was uniquely positioned to tip the scales of.

Today we were, oddly enough, sat in the company’s cafeteria instead of the director’s office or the conference room she favored. Seeing as how the last time I'd been in one of those rooms it’d been to have a very honest and pragmatic conversation with several of the older trainees about our future within the company and our options outside of it, I couldn’t be mad at the change of scenery.

Several of my classes had become one-on-one tutoring sessions after that conversation.

So yeah, sitting in front of her was always more than enough to make you break out into a cold sweat and send my scent spiking along with my thundering heartbeat beneath carefully-applied scent blockers, no matter how nice she was.

And she was nice, pushing a steaming coffee across the table to me, warm smile gentling her features. She cared about the trainees here, truly. It’s why she organized meeting like the one that chased away a majority of your remaining friends in the first place. Always looking out for us, whether we liked it or not.

“I heard you’ve been skipping a few classes lately, that’s not like you.” She says after a moment, allowing me to sip the warm comfort of the familiar beverage before her interrogation.

“Ah,” I flinch a bit, curling into myself, “I had to get another job. My apartment burned down recently, so it’s just been a bit hard to make everything work out.”

She knows this already, of course. All of my trainers were aware, as well as the manager who oversaw the older trainees. Well, older trainee, now, really. Reports about the trainees crossed her desk regularly, and since I was the only one in my class right now there weren’t many for my details to get lost between.

As expected, she just nods along, tilting her head at me, not surprised in the least.

“Where are you staying now, may I ask?”

I shrink further into myself at her query, embarrassment flooding me. “Just a hotel right now, director.” I admit, head low, “The building wasn’t really salvageable, and I haven’t been able to find anything I can afford near enough to the company yet.”

Jae-Hwa just nods her elegant head, not rendering judgment. In fact, as I glance up at the older woman, there’s something almost calculating in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you apply for the trainee dorms? It sounds like you qualify for them.”

Squirming uncomfortably in my seat, I cast around for a reasonable answer. It wasn’t like I could tell her that I was intimidated by a bunch of teenagers. I mean, in turn they were also intimidated by my seniority and sway with the more sympathetic trainers, but, well. A few bad apples could spoil a bunch, and I’d always been an easy target for bullies.

Even if they couldn’t hurt me physically or professionally, words often had a way of getting under skin. Especially from people I’d rather be able to mentor and pamper.

“The kids get a bit uncomfortable with me already,” I settle on, letting my shoulders shrug sheepishly, body pulled along by the half-truth, “I don’t want to make it worse by intruding on their space.”

Jae-Hwa simply hums, considering me. She probably knew this too, honestly. The truth of it, even. There wasn’t much that went on in the practice rooms that she didn’t know about.

There also wasn’t much she could do if I didn’t stand up for myself, so I just offer her a strained smile, silently begging for this conversation to move forward.

Stars above, if this was a new way of gently encouraging me to pursue other career paths it might have been the most effective one yet. Fleeing the building sounded great right about now.

“Alright, I won’t push it, you know very well what resources we offer by now. Better than some of my staff even, I’d bet.” She says it in a lighthearted tone, clearly only meant to tease, but hot shame rips through me again anyways.

Seven years was a long time to train, and while it did come with some perks (like knowing the training program than some of the managers), it still meant that I hadn’t been good enough to debut. That despite the extra experience and training, I still wasn’t good enough.

“I actually had something of a proposal for you,” the director continues, unbothered by my bowed head, “You may not have heard since you’ve been out lately, but the board has proposed a project in hopes of appeasing those protests that have been happening.”

I grimace at the mention of the ongoing protests, the loud chanting of the crowd in front of the building ringing in my ears at just the mention of them.

“The ones about co-ed groups?” I clarify, as if there are any others.

She shares a tight-lipped commiserating smile with me and nods, “Yes, those protests,” she sighs.

Honestly, the whole movement was stupid, in your opinion. On the surface it was progressive, inclusive even. After all, encouraging more co-ed groups could lead to a great many positive changes for idols. Less scrutiny on interactions between male and female idols, or alphas and omegas. More leeway with the very intense media attention, a chance to be more care-free when hanging out with their friends.

Hell, it could even be good for society at large, showing progressive ideals in a very visible way. That is, if the goal of the movement had been so pure or noble.

No, the current rhetoric was an archaic bunch of bologna ripped from an out of context statistic from a very old and very biased study about Pack dynamics and their impact on one’s health.

To brush past the bullshit and flowery words of concern, they believed that a pack needed at least one person of every sub-gender present to keep a balance of hormones and instincts and remain healthy.

Never mind that the same study claimed that omegas needed to be locked up in their dens and nests like birds in a cage or that betas were only really good for filling in negative space despite their very intensively studied and very important roles in a pack.

Unfortunately, despite making about as much sense as a flat-earther, one viral post had made it into k-pop circles and triggered a cascade of hysterically ‘worried’ fans, who really just wanted a chance to join the packs of their favorite celebrities.

It was common knowledge that many idol groups ended up as pack, especially those that enjoyed success. JYPE as a company very specifically encouraged this, boasting an incredible matchmaking record with 10 out of 11 of groups they’d tried this with becoming pack, a further 3 of those packs even being romantic.

The issue was that, in direct contrast with this nonsensical ideal, most idol groups comprised themselves of only one primary and two sub genders, due to the marketability and fanservice of it all. An alpha group would only have alphas and betas, and vice versa for omega groups.

Hence the very loud protests outside the building, mostly comprised of delusional fans baying for a chance to meet their idols for said idol’s ‘health’.

Normally the company wouldn’t cave to something like this, simply issuing statements of good health or waiting for it to blow over, but even I had heard of the large-scale boycotts and blackouts among various fandoms. Loss of profit or image was something the company could not, unfortunately, ignore.

Still, I frown at the director.

“Is it really a good idea to give into them?” I ask, worried, “Won’t they just get bolder, then?”

The director grimaces in agreement, but shrugs her shoulders, “Your guess is as good as mine, kid. In the end, it’s up to the investors.”

I give my own grimace at this. Despite actively wanting and trying to participate in the industry, I was old enough for the rose-tinted glasses to have come off. I could be disgusted by how the industry operated while still wanting to be a part of it. I’m talented that way.

“Just hear me out about it before we start picking it apart,” Jae-Hwa gently pleads, “This could be a good opportunity for you.” something heavy and sorrowful clouds her eyes, her voice lowering as she admits, “This could be the last opportunity I can get for you.”

My heart lodges in my throat at her words, nausea swirling in my gut.

Jae-Hwa really did care for her trainees. A bit too much, even. Enough to be blunt with us about our chances to debut. It had been a few years since she’d looked at me with bright eyes and a cheerful, “This could be it! You’ve got the talent, kid, we’ve just gotta show it to the world!”

She might take the older trainees aside to gently break their hearts, but she never forced them out. I was just the last one stupid enough to stay.

“You’re 23 this year, y/n.” She says gently, grimly, softly taking my hands into hers across the table, “I can’t protect you forever. There’s no telling when we’ll get to put together another girl group. You’ve got the talent, kid, but this might be your last chance to show it.”

She’s right, of course. 23 is old for a trainee. Hell, younger idols should be hitting the peak of their careers at 23. Even if I left JYPE, there’s only a very infinitesimal chance I’d be picked up by another agency. There’s an even smaller chance that theoretical company could debut me.

I swallow uneasily and tighten my grip on the director’s hands. I give her a tiny nod to continue, fighting off the urge to cry.

“They’re putting together a reality show,” Jae-Hwa begins to explain, holding my gaze, “Where they’re going to have our top trainees ‘intern’” she releases one hand to air-quote the word, her eyes rolling despite herself. It makes me giggle, and by her small smile, that was her goal, “with one of our active groups for the duration of a comeback.”

I tilt my head questioningly at her, “What does that have to do with the protests?” I ask. So far it seemed like just an innovative audition show to me.

the director’s eyes reveal her unease, even as her face stays resolute. “The trainees will be put in a pool for the groups to choose from.” She continues to explain, seemingly ignoring my question, “But,” She hesitates, “They’re only going to allow the groups to choose completely opposite- gender trainees.

#stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #skz fic #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray kids omegaverse #omegaverse

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motelsnleatherseats · 6 days ago

Text

After Work Happy Hour

“I swear, I never do this,” Dean murmured between short, heated breaths while trying to maintain his composure. It was difficult with Sam’s mouth laying kisses along his jawline just so his counterpart had a moment to catch his breath.

“Yeah, I know. You’ve said that at least 15 times since I kissed you,” Sam replied with a quiet chuckle, moving back to Dean’s lips to lay a lingering one there. The faint remnants of beer and unexpected whiskey shots could be tasted on the exhale.

“Mmn,” Dean mumbled as he moved a hand to push lightly at Sam’s chest, disconnecting their lips again.

He had put in an inordinate amount of effort trying to get back into his own lane after their paths had crossed, and now here he was, locking lips with the younger male while parked in a dark corner of his neighborhood.

“I don’t know if we should do this,” Dean finally managed, his eyes roaming Sam’s features back and forth slowly. Sam sank back in his seat and exhaled a bit of a calming sigh, taking a moment to get himself back in check.

“Are we about to have the whole, ‘this is a bad idea’ talk because we work together?” Sam asked with a breath of a laugh, clearing his throat afterward. He had sensed this was going to come eventually, mostly because Dean always seemed to push back against his initial plans, always second-guessing them and him. It was kind of annoying, honestly.

“Well yeah, don’t you think it’s sort of crossing the line?” Dean asked, licking his mildly swollen lips.

“As much as it crosses the line with you asking me out.”

“I didn’t ask you out. I mean, I asked if you wanted to grab a beer–”

“And now we’re making out in your car. I think that constitutes a date, Dean,” Sam retorted with a shake of his head.

“You know,” Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, conceding defeat. “Maybe this was just the wrong place, wrong time.”

“You’re right. We should move this up to your place in the next 10 minutes.”

Dean stared at Sam in a bemused fashion, but the other male’s expression gave no hint of it being said ironically. His face deadpanned and he swallowed, turning to face the steering wheel again.

“Have you… never done this before?”

“What? Of course I have. Shut up,” Dean stammered, shooting an incredulous look at Sam before clearing his throat again.

“No, no. I didn’t mean it like you’re a virgin or anything. But I mean have you never hooked up with men before?”

There was a thick silence that fell between them and Dean’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, like it was pressed back against his windpipe and trapping any witty retort he might have been able to come up with.

“You know what? This is over. Night is officially over,” Dean finally spoke up, shoulders tense now as he fumbled with his keys before he felt Sam’s hand just above his knee. He paused and glanced back over to the other male stiffly.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to offend you or embarrass you,” Sam chuckled, unable to really believe that his superior was so flustered from harmless kissing. “This doesn’t have to be any more serious than you want it to be. No expectations. I just.. had a really good time tonight, and I think.. well I hope, that we’re comfortable enough around each other and mature enough to take it a few steps further without it getting…” he paused. “Sticky may not be the best word choice, but I’m going to use it anyway.”

Dean took a few quiet moments to contemplate what Sam had pitched. The maturity part should have been true, but Dean had the sneaking suspicion with the way things moved quickly between them that it was going to be difficult to keep it on the down low at work. Honestly, just look at Sam Wesson. And he did for a few long moments, unaware that he was until the younger male’s expression cracked slightly under anticipation of a response.

“We can’t afford to let this get messy, Sam,” Dean finally spoke up, glad to see there was a smile instead of a look of disappointment on the taller man’s face.

“Then you’ll have to help with the clean up afterward,” Sam quipped.

Dean’s eyebrows raised, caught between amusement and surprise at how lackadaisical the other was. Less than 12 hours ago, he was about ready to put his foot down and tell him to forget it, to get any notion out of his head that anything would transpire between the two of them.

“So are you gonna invite me up or are we gonna keep making out in your car?”

“You know, for no expectations, you’re kinda making it seem like you planned this,” Dean replied with a wry grin, and Sam took that as an invitation to lean in and press their lips together once more, easing any lingering tension and hesitation that the elder may have had.

“Well when opportunity knocks,” Sam murmured against his lips and Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Dean was surprised to see that Sam could keep his hands off of him as they had the elevator to themselves. Surprised, and mildly disappointed, as the time spent without the younger’s hands or lips on him gave him time to reconsider what he was doing. He knew he shouldn’t be messing around with anyone from work, everyone knew that mixing business with pleasure was messy , at best.

His disappointment faded quickly once he had his keys in the door, because Sam wasted no time in getting those big hands on his waist, pulling him in so they were flush against each other with their lips joined once more, Dean needing to tilt his head upward to meet for the kiss.

It was overwhelming, to feel the full press of Sam’s body against his. His keys fell noisily to the hardwood floor as he moved his hands up to settle against the broad chest before him, and he wondered briefly if Sam ordered his shirt a size too small because he liked to show off his physique or if he was just shit at getting his measurements right. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the material and it was suddenly too hot. He pushed his palms against firm muscle, putting a few inches of space between them.

“Whoa, easy, tiger,” Dean spoke with a breathy chuckle. His mind was foggy, either from the beer and whiskey from earlier that night or Sam’s dime store cologne warmed by body heat. Or both. Probably both. “Gimme a second to get my bearings.”

Dean parted from him and felt his lips tingling and kiss-swollen. He headed further into his apartment with his back to the taller male but he could still feel his eyes on him, intense and lingering. Tiger indeed, he felt like prey being stalked by a hungry predator. He kicked his shoes off at the end of the entry hall and glanced back towards Sam with the expectation for him to do the same before he entered the living room and took a seat on the couch. He could hear Sam give a long exhale through his nose, unable to tell if it was through disappointment or if he liked the cat and mouse game.

“You don’t strike me as a failure-to-follow-through kinda guy,” Sam commented as he took a seat on the couch next to Dean, much too close.

“You callin’ me a chicken?” Dean asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

“No,” Sam chuckled. “I’m just saying, after what we’ve been through, I don’t expect much of anything to scare you.”

“Well like I said, I never do this. It’s new territory for me and I don’t like to take uncalculated risks.” Dean shifted an inch or two over to give him more room to shrug off his suspenders, letting them sit loosely at his sides.

Sam relented in his straight forward approach as he reclined back against the couch, his large, tanned hands smoothing over the slacks that were a little too tight on him as well. It had to be a physique thing. It wasn’t like he couldn’t consider his muscle mass when shopping for clothes.

“Uncalculated risks,” Sam parroted as he gave a shake of his head. “I feel like you don’t know how to turn off the work persona. You don’t ever just follow your gut?”

Dean considered his words for a moment. The more he thought about it, the longer it didn’t make sense that his career goals were the only thing that he’d been worried about for the last couple of weeks. The only reprieve he had from the stress of a corporate job was the time they spent hunting down the old-timer rattling chains around the office.

“I used to. I think,” Dean responded distantly, unsure of his own words. “Maybe I don’t know how to relax. I get caught up in my head about everything that could go wrong so it’s best to just walk the straight and narrow, you know?”

“Okay, so don’t think,” Sam retorted and he was upright again, pressing against Dean’s side. Dean looked down at where their thighs were touching, letting his gaze move up until it fell upon Sam’s face. Close. Much too close. His heart skipped a beat. “Just feel,” Sam encouraged, and before Dean could protest, he felt the warmth of Sam’s palm against his cheek and the press of his lips against his own.

The loud buzzing in his mind quieted as he let his eyes fall shut and leaned into Sam’s form, deciding (against his better judgment) to follow his lead. His hand moved as he finally allowed himself to touch in return, settling on the side of Sam’s neck. He was warm – like he lived a degree or two hotter than everyone else, and he could feel the softness of those curls just under his ear. He pushed his fingers through them as he realized he had been wanting to do that for far too long.

Sam responded in kind with an inhale through his nose and breathed out a keen sound from the back of his throat. The kiss deepened quickly now that they had the space to lean into one another. Sam’s hand had moved down from his neck to the front of his shirt, working the buttons open so he had more access to Dean’s skin. Apparently it wasn’t quick enough for the younger male because a quick tug had buttons flying, and it was almost as offending as it was exciting, a rush of heat coursing through Dean’s form.

Shirts were discarded before Dean found himself leaning back against the couch, the heavy weight of Sam’s body a top of him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had made out like this, maybe when he was a teenager, but the details seemed a little blurred. But that could have been because Sam’s hand was now at his belt, working it open before he was pushing his hand inside eagerly. All it took was a brush of fingers against his straining arousal to earn a struggled sound from Dean’s throat before he moved a hand to grip at Sam’s wrist. He didn’t necessarily stop him from his endeavors, he just needed an anchor to keep him grounded.

“This okay?” Sam asked, breathy and too hot against his neck.

“Y-yeah,” Dean replied in equal breathiness, licking his lips quickly to moisten them. His heart was hammering a mile a minute in his chest, but the pressure against his length was too good to let any hesitation impede on the unfolding event taking place.

Sam took his word and curled his fingers around his cock, his palm dragging as best as it could behind the fabric of his slacks. With a twist of his wrist, he pulled Dean’s length from the confines before he gave him a full stroke, earning a moan from the elder’s parted lips.

He took a steadying breath as his eyelids fluttered some as Sam worked his cock to full hardness before he felt his mouth move from his neck, descending from his collar bone to his chest and further down. Dean moved his hand back into Sam’s hair, threading the thick strands through his fingers and giving a light tug. He received a moan from his actions and made a mental note to do that again a little later on if he could remember to do so with his pleasure-addled brain.

His breath caught in his throat and his muscles tensed the moment Sam’s lips wrapped around his aching dick, the wet heat sending a skittering of pleasure up his spine. He arched slightly, gripping the other’s hair a bit tighter before he vocalized his appreciation of the action.

“Sammy,” he moaned, temporarily forgetting that Sam didn’t appreciate the nickname, but it didn’t seem to bother him at that moment. He took Dean further into his mouth as he pressed his tongue along the underside of it and gave a suck as he pulled up, starting a slow and indulgent bobbing motion.

Dean couldn’t recall the last time he thought about sex, couldn’t recall the last girl he had hooked up with or even dated (if he even dated at all). But somehow this felt oddly familiar, and Sam seemed to know exactly what Dean liked with the way his tongue curled and pressed, applying just the right pressure with lips and giving his balls equal attention with rolls in his palm.

He chanced a glance downward, meeting hazel eyes with pupils blown wide before he noticed just how pink his lips were wrapped around his cock. Now that was a pretty picture. Dean could have sworn that he’d had this image burned into his mind from some time before. Maybe a dream? A fantasy he had quickly and embarrassedly dismissed?

He recalled when Sam divulged more details about his dreams he had been having, admitting that it was more than just ghosts that paid him a visit in his subconscious. That they were friends, no, that they were brothers . Maybe Sam was fearful in admitting he dreamt they were lovers because it would scare Dean, and that would have undoubtedly done so had he come clean straight away.

It would have sounded crazy then, but it did make a little sense now with the sudden flood of nostalgia that licked away any uncertainty Dean was holding onto about the entire situation. His mouth fell open, another soft utterance of Sammy falling from his lips.

Sam rewarded him with a drop of his head to take his cock deeper into his mouth, allowing it to press back against the soft palate of his throat. Dean broke their gaze as he tipped his head back and gave a long moan of pleasure, arching his hips up into the incredible wet heat of his throat. Sam gagged slightly, but was no less enthusiastic about his motions, lifting his head up before he started to bob again, each time letting Dean’s cock slip deeper until he had steadied his breathing through his nose.

Dean could hear every wet squelch of his dick pushing into the tightness of Sam’s throat with growing frequency. His face grew hot as he lifted his head again to watch with hungry eyes as his teeth dug into his bottom lip. His hips lifted in time with Sam’s avid pace, his fingers laying now at the nape of his neck to help guide him up and down as he fucked his mouth, his muscles tightening in his thighs and abdomen. He wasn’t going to last long, that much he knew, not with Sam’s throat swallowing around the head as his tongue pushed past his bottom lip to let the tip of it prod at his heavy balls on each descend.

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Dean exhaled. Sam pushed his shoulder against the inside of his knee to get his thighs to fall apart further, allowing more space for his big body to settle better as he hungrily slurped him down like he had been doing this for years. Dean could feel the warm heat pooling in his lower abdomen, like a coil steadily tightening and making his nerves feel pangs of electricity the closer it got to releasing. “Fuck, m’gonna.. S-sammy, gonna come..”

His warning didn’t seem to deter the younger man because Sam doubled down and took him entirely down his throat until his nose was pressed against the soft, short curls at his pubic bone. Dean went from teetering to full on free-falling into his orgasm with a sharp hiss and a cry of pleasure as his cock throbbed, pulsating hotly as he came in thick ropes down the other’s throat, and god bless Sam for resisting every urge to gag with the volume produced. He swallowed. Every. Last. Drop.

Sam pulled off with a wet slurp and Dean watched as he licked his lips. His cheeks were flushed and lips were glossy with saliva and the remnants of Dean’s release which he pressed against the underside of his steadily softening arousal as it laid against his belly. Dean briefly wondered how he tasted and if his clean-living diet had paid off in terms of palatability, but he didn’t ask. He loosened the hold he had on Sam’s hair and moved his hand to swipe his thumb over his bottom lip, holding his gaze even as his thumb was taking between still hungry lips and given a suckle.

Dean’s eyes must have glinted because Sam moved to crawl up Dean’s form and locked lips with him again, giving him a taste of his own seed with a push of his tongue into his mouth. Sam groaned and he gave him one in return before he felt a push of the other’s hard-on against his thigh as his bottom lip was sipped on, making him feel another little dizzy spell.

“Do you have lube?” Sam asked, voice too husky for Dean to not get a chill down his spine.

“Wh-?” Dean mumbled incoherently before the question registered and he let his head fall back with a groan. “Shit. No,” he grieved. He didn’t think that far ahead and never assumed they would actually get to this point. The shift in focus gave him a moment to collect himself as he suddenly became all too aware that he was half-dressed and half-hard. His eyes scanned the room for a moment, too embarrassed to look at Sam in his lack of preparation before they caught sight of a container of coconut oil on the counter. Cue dramatic zoom in.

Dean nudged his head towards the kitchen with his eyebrows raised and uttered, “Think that’ll work?”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” Sam asked as he glanced towards the suggested substitute.

“Tell me about it,” Dean replied before he felt Sam press another kiss to his lips, wanting to chase after them before he had gotten up and off of him to go and retrieve the oil.

Dean watched as he headed into the kitchen, giving a small tilt of his head as his eyes traced the muscular form of his back. He wondered briefly what the other’s exercise regime was, if he was all protein or maybe he just hit the genetic lottery. Perhaps he could ask him for some tips. This would technically count as exercise, right?

He gave a shake of his head to break his train of thought, clearing his throat as Sam returned to him. Now he had the opportunity to admire from the front; hard muscle, taut skin, not a lot of hair so he was pretty well groomed. And the tent he was sporting in his pants? Apparently Sam Wesson was proportionate - big all over.

Dean glanced back up Sam’s body before he moved to stand, curling his fingers in the other’s waistband before he worked his slacks open as he held his gaze. The tension and the buzz of electricity between them was palpable. Sam’s eyes were intense, a thin ring of hazel around blown pupils held Dean’s and he couldn’t look away, even as his hand slipped inside to wrap his fingers around the younger’s arousal. Hot. Thick. Impressive.

The sound that left Sam’s lips was low and breathy as he eased his hips forward as soon as Dean gave him slow and firm strokes. It felt blood-hot against his palm, his own cock responding by filling out to full hardness again.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” Dean asked with a half-smug smile.

“Oh, look who’s no longer nervous. Thought you ‘never did this’,” Sam teased in response and Dean gave a scoff. “But maybe I have been. Seems like you have too.”

“Your mouth was pretty convincing,” Dean chided as he gave a twist of his wrist and ran his palm over the head of Sam’s cock which earned him a more drawn out moan from the taller.

It was getting easier to buy into the fantasy that Sam had pitched with the way his body was responding to everything. Not once did work cross his mind, no portfolio, no number crunching, just the body heat that radiated off the younger male and all the skin that was begging to be touched and explored. From the first caress of lips, Dean had found himself wanting more despite his hesitations, and now there was no going back.

“Yeah? It can be convincing in other ways too,” Sam retorted and leaned in to let his lips caress the shell of Dean’s ear. His voice dropped lower, whispered words like silk against the flesh. “Can’t stop thinking of you bending me over your desk and fucking me raw. Cornering me in the elevator, shoving me in a stall in the bathroom.. Your hands all over me any chance you can get,” he purred before he felt Sam nip at his earlobe with the slightest touch of tongue. Dean’s skin tightened with searing arousal as his eyes fell closed and he exhaled a shaky breath before he squeezed Sam’s length. He was so far passed convinced that he may as well have been hypnotized.

“God, Sammy,” Dean breathed before he turned his head for another heated lip-lock. He heard the thud of the coconut oil container hitting the couch before Sam’s hands were pushing down his pants the rest of the way and he returned the favor so they could step out of their clothes and strip down completely.

It was Dean’s turn to pin Sam underneath him after he pushed him to the couch. There was an exchange of heated breaths and moans between the entangling of tongues as their hips met, grinding against each other as Dean slotted himself against the other. One of Sam’s hands sat on the side of Dean’s neck with his fingers at the short bristles of hair while the other traversed down his side, his long and deft digits tracing the bump of ribs.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time a set of hands had felt this good on his body, and the push and pull of tongues with mingled sounds of pleasure was stroking his libido in all the right ways. He had to pull himself from the indulgence of it at all to remember that there was a task at hand, and he blindly reached for the container of coconut oil to unscrew the lid. Reluctantly, he pulled back from Sam’s mouth and dug his fingers into the solidified oil, feeling it heat up instantly at his touch.

“Gonna be hard to cook with this stuff after this,” Dean murmured, a half-slung smirk on his lips that earned a breathless laugh from the younger beneath him. He watched as Sam spread his thighs wider, one long leg going up along the back of the couch while he pulled the other up and towards his chest. Flexible. Nice.

With a decent amount of oil coating his fingers and his palms, Dean shifted to smear his digits against Sam’s eagerly awaiting hole. The slightest touch against the sensitive flesh had Sam tipping his head back and releasing a soft groan. Apparently he was sensitive too, which was something to be tucked away and bookmarked. He went to work slipping a digit inside of him, the oil granting him enough slickness to work it in and out easily. Sam was pressing back into the sensation as if he was riding it, encouraging more with a nod of his head.

Dean added a second finger before the appeal of Sam’s exposed neck called out to him, causing him to lean forward to attach his mouth to the stretch of flesh, layering it with heated kisses and scrapes of teeth.

“Feel good? Like you imagined?” Dean asked, unable to help himself.

“Fuck yeah,” Sam breathed, squeezing his hole around Dean’s fingers as a hand came to wrap around his cock, giving it short jerks as he was worked open. “Thicker than I anticipated.”

“That’s not the only thing you’re gonna be saying that about,” Dean replied with a grin, giving a scissor of his fingers before he pressed deeper, soon adding a third. “Did.. you dream about this too?” He asked as the thought crossed his mind.

“Nngh,” Sam groaned, releasing the hold on his length to press his hand against the flat of Dean’s back, having to lick his lips to wet them. “Not like with the ghosts. Those kinda came in flashes. This? Yeah, more recently,” Sam replied. “Spent a hell of a lot of time daydreaming about it too.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Dean asked, all ego and teasing now, a far stretch from where he was down in the car with Sam’s hand on his thigh and his lips at his neck.

“Shut up,” Sam retorted with a grin only to be met by another hungry kiss as Dean withdrew his fingers and slicked up his cock.

He held the base of his arousal as the other hand came up to find placement under the bend of Sam’s knee, keeping him spread and open as he aligned himself to his stretched entrance, giving a push inside and being welcomed by tight, wet heat. He groaned into Sam’s mouth, shifting his hips forward until he bottomed out, feeling every twitch and squeeze of his walls around his length, sheathing him perfectly.

He remained there for a few long moments, savoring the sensation of being intimate with someone again, locked into place like he had belonged there the whole time. Their lips parted even as they exchanged heated breaths, vision slightly out of focus as they tried to hold each other’s gazes.

“You okay?” Dean asked breathlessly.

“Yeah. Yeah.. you?” Sam asked in return before he swallowed, squeezing around Dean enough to earn a low keen from the back of his throat.

“Yeah..” he replied, dropping his head for a moment against his shoulder before he shifted to lift his torso some, smoothing his hands down Sam’s muscular chest, giving a roll of his hips forward to grind before he pulled back and pushed in, starting a slow rhythm, watching as the younger’s face contorted in pleasure. He was enraptured. Ensnared. Entangled.

His mind clicked, seemingly fading into a memory. He had seen this before, heard those sounds before, like some erotic deja vu that made his pulse quicken. Sammy felt familiar on his lips, as if it had permanent residence there, meant to be whispered, meant to be moaned.

Sam’s expression wavered slightly, like he was suddenly under a microscope, the pulling together of his eyebrows melding from concentrated pleasure to a curiosity.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Sam asked breathlessly, and Dean gave a small shake of his head to pull himself from his reverie.

“Nothing, sorry, you just.. you feel so good,” Dean managed as he gave a small flash of teeth in a smile and Sam rolled his eyes away from his gaze in a semi sheepish manner.

“Yeah? Well, don’t drag it out, Romeo, you’re not gonna break me.”

“Oh, well if you want me to fuck you, why don’t you ask nicely?” Dean retorted with a grin and a heavy grind forward that earned a slight raise of Sam’s hips and a groan that was far too tantalizing. His hand came up to curl his fingers against the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him down to press their lips together in a hungry kiss with a muffled sound of need against his mouth.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispered, giving a pull of Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean immediately withdrew his hips back before he started a faster and rougher rhythm, much to Sam’s delight as he writhed and countered the elder’s movements. Every drag of Dean’s cock within the other’s tight and hungry hole was stoking smoldering embers into full fledged flames. The sensations of Sam’s hands on him, pulling him close, touching possessively made him feel alive in a way that felt like a distant memory.

“Dean,” his name spilled from Sam’s lips, an echo in his head. Hearing it in this circumstance was driving him wild and his breathing picked up as his skin tightened again.

“Still think of me as a big brother now?” Dean asked before he could even actually process the question he was asking.

“Oh, fuck,” Sam breathed and Dean felt him clamp hard around him, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine as his cock pulsated in the tight grip of Sam’s insides. Did that turn him on? Did it turn him on?

“Yeah?” Dean asked, getting so caught up in the other’s pleasure and enthusiasm that he couldn’t help but to jump on board. It should have raised a red flag, should have grossed him out, but slipping into that new taboo dynamic was far too easy. “You get off on thinking about getting fucked by your big brother?”

“ God, Dean,” Sam whined, face flush with what Dean could only assume was a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. So he clocked him on having some kind of incest kink, that wasn’t the weirdest thing he had ever heard of. Was he really justifying this? It was just a fantasy, it wasn’t something he actually condoned or anything. It was just a little fun, after all, no need to have a morality crisis over it.

“Say it, Sammy, c’mon,” Dean coaxed, his hips continuing their rough treatment, fucking Sam into the couch before he felt him reach between them and start to jerk himself off in time with his thrusts. It sounded slick, like he was leaking all over his hand, and fuck if that didn’t spurn on Dean’s efforts.

“Yes, fuck,” Sam moaned, his eyebrows pulling together again as his hips stuttered when his muscles clenched tightly. “Dreamt we were brothers, dreamt of you fucking me,” he panted, groaning again. “Shit, I’m close..”

Dean shifted his hold on Sam’s leg, guiding the one that was draped against the couch up so he could maneuver behind him instead, laying them both on their sides as he fucked him in the new position, curling his arm under the bend of his knee to keep him open and spread. His chest was pressed to Sam’s back, touched with a light sheen of sweat, and Dean pressed his face into the side of his neck, dragging his tongue along the flesh under his ear.

“Do it,” Dean breathed, nipping his earlobe before he shifted his free hand up enough to curl his fingers in Sam’s hair, giving it a tug at the base of his skull which earned a higher pitched moan from the younger man. “Come on your big brother’s cock,” he encouraged, and as if on command, Sam gave another one of those lifted, pleasured sounds, his hand working faster before he came in a series of little tremors, his hole clenching impossibly tight in a fluttering around Dean’s cock as he grunted and groaned.

Dean could see the spurts of his release making a mess on his abdomen and reaching up to his chest, and knowing that he was able to get Sam off under the precedent of being his older brother only pushed him towards his second orgasm faster than he anticipated. With another pump or two, Dean made sure he was buried to the hilt before he came with a grunt of his own, feeling his cock pulse as it spilled another hot load into Sam’s willing body.

They laid together afterward, Sam panting softly before Dean had released his leg and allowed it to fall so they could both enjoy the boneless experience of post-coiltal bliss, pressed against each other as they caught their breath and regained better composure.

Dean curled his arm around Sam’s large torso, his palm laying against his sternum with his face still against the side of his neck, letting the weight of the situation settle over him. Strangely, there was no remorse, no regret, no embarrassment. It felt familiar and comfortable.

“So brothers, huh?” Dean asked with a slight chuckle as he felt Sam wince slightly.

“God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?” He asked with a chuckle of his own.

“Seemed to get you going pretty good there,” he teased before Sam shifted slightly to be able to face him better, his cheeks tinged slightly in pink. Could have been from their exertions, could have been from mild embarrassment.

“You’re one to talk. Don’t think I didn’t feel you get harder as soon as you called yourself ‘big brother’.” Sam retorted before Dean slid his hand up towards Sam’s neck, fingers fitting under his ear before he leaned in to press their lips together in an indulgent kiss.

“Makes sense,” he murmured against the other’s mouth, noses bumping together lightly. “You give off ‘bratty little brother’ vibes. Someone’s gotta put you in your place.”

“That’s a stretch considering you were scared to get a beer with me in the first place.”

“Shut up,” Dean replied with a grin against Sam’s mouth, pressing for another kiss that turned into a lazy make out session. Work would definitely be interesting the following day.

↳ can be found on ao3 here. comments and kudos appreciated! ↳ part 1 on tumblr here.

#wincest #swesson #wincest fic rec #swesson fic #company ink rewrite #chapter 2

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