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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Sweet Talk (Din Djarin x afab!Reader)

Summary: Din can’t hold back anymore, and decides to start flirting with you. Too bad he’s awful at it.

W/C: 3.5K

Warnings: lots of flirting, lots of innuendos, SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos), fingering, squirting, cream pie... language? yeah uh there’s a lot. Reader is afab but no pronouns or gendered pet names are used. lots of dirty talk.

A/N: AAAAAAAA this was a request for @notabotiswear!! I hope you guys all like it, this is my first Din smut and I was rlly nervous bc uh Din smut is obviously something big in this fandom and I wasn’t sure if I’d characterize it properly. but here we are!

You don’t know what Din looks like under his helmet, but you think he must be smirking. There’s no way the man wouldn’t be, not with the words he just said to you.

You’ve been travelling with Din and his little green son for a while now. You’d brought everything good to the beskar man’s life the moment you met. You made him eat more, drink more water. The presence of another human on the ship encouraged Din to bathe more and to keep the ship tidier. All in all, things had massively improved when you entered Din Djarin’s life.

One specific perk brought relief: you were extremely in touch with The Force. So was the tiny little green bean. From you, Din had finally learned his son’s name. He didn’t really like the way Grogu rolled off the tongue, however, so he generally stuck to calling him what he had before. Your ability to communicate with Grogu made things like bedtime and baths much easier, and everything went smoother.

Yes, you were a Force user. Ever since you were a child, you’d had a special sensitivity to that force that flowed all around you. Even though Din was not aware of The Force, nor was he able to use it or speak with it, the energy of The Force made the man practically glow. You understood why Grogu liked him so much. The man radiated it, warm energy that seemed unnatural for a bounty hunter. Once you got to know him, it all made sense. His aura was indescribable, really, but it was fitting. He was a good man at his core. He was kind and even funny sometimes.

Let’s return to the present: Din Djarin just pulled a cheesy pickup line on you, and it made you stare at him with an expression of sheer confusion, even though you could feel your cheeks warm from his words. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips.

He looks up at you and cocks his head to the side. “I said that I may not be able to feel the Force, but I wish I could feel you.”

Your mouth hangs open, trying to press down a giggle that rises in your throat. “Din, what the fuck?” You finally laugh, grinning. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. No wonder you’re single,” you shake your head. “Where is this coming from?”

Din’s last reserve has broken. He’s been planning this for days, planning the way he’d finally tell you everything he thinks. “Just… I wasn’t listening to you at all. Was looking at your face. You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks you, the black T-visor staring you down.

You frown as you see your own reflection in the shining beskar. “I wish I could say the same about you,” you tease and tap your fingers on the metal helmet he wears. “What do you look like under there? Can you tell me?”

“Why, so you can make fun of it?” Din rolls his eyes.

“No, so I can finally put a face to the man I think about at night,” you tease, leaning in closer. It’s instinctual, like you’re leaning in so he can kiss you. He obviously can’t, not with that damn helmet on his head that you know isn’t coming off any time soon.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh come on,” you smirk at him. “Two can play at that game, Din. What do you look like?” You ask, tracing your fingers across the indents of his helmet and down to his neck. “Can I see your skin?” You ask in a low, quiet voice.

Din nods. You pull the neck of his clothing down to reveal a patch of gorgeous, caramelly skin. “Oh,” you mumble before you can stop yourself. “I bet you have brown eyes, don’t you? With brown hair too, since your skin is this dark. Am I right?”

His breath is heavy now. “Yeah,” he rasps out through the modulator. You press a soft kiss to his skin, feeling how warm and soft it is.

A shiver runs through his body, making the skin prick up beneath your lips. “Oh. So you meant it when you were flirting,” you giggle, sitting back upright and looking at him. “Well, you’re gonna have to win me over the hard way, Mando. Flirting is how people usually do it, I’ve heard,” you tease and pat his helmet as you stand and make your way out of the cockpit.

His aura has changed. It radiates further, sucks in more energy and pushes more out, all at a quicker speed. If it had a color, it would be a deep pink. “You want me too, don’t you, cyare?” Din asks, voice low and husky.

“You’ll have to figure that out yourself, Din,” you laugh and make your way over to your little green child to wake him from his nap.

“Grogu,” you sing softly, and the little thing stirs beneath his absurd amount of blankets. Those big eyes blink open and he makes a little grunt of effort. “I know, baby boy. So sleepy,” you coo and lift him from his cradle. He cuddles into your chest contentedly. “Good morning, snugglebug,” you mumble and press a kiss to his head.

Your back is to the ladder, but you can hear Din climbing down. His feet hit the floor. “I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he tells you. His voice is even deeper, raspier than the modulator makes it sound. “That body… you don’t know what you’ve unleashed by saying tha-”

You turn, holding Grogu in your arms. Din’s demeanor shifts. “Oh. Uh, hi buddy. Can he understand me?” he asks. He knows sometimes the child can, but not always. Not when he uses different words.

You shake your head, reading the baby’s energy. He’s too sleepy to comprehend anything. “No, he can’t. But really, is that so?” You ask, popping a hip and resting a hand on it.

Din nods. “I’ve always loved the color of your eyes. Have I mentioned that?” You shake your head. “Really, they’re so beautiful.”

That makes you genuinely smile up at him. “Din,” you coo and place a hand on one of the indents of his helmet. “Is there a way you can remove the helmet and I can’t see it that’s legal with The Creed? Like, if my eyes were closed, could you do it?”

He nods. “Yes. As long as you don’t see my face.”

You smile a little. “Good to know,” you nod and walk away, the baby in your arms.

The day continues like that, the two of you trading compliments and pick up lines, shamelessly flirting around the Crest. You cook dinner and Din comments that it smells nearly as good as you. Din fixes something mechanical and you comment that those fingers would feel really good somewhere else.

There’s a palpable tension between the two of you for the rest of the night. You and Din dance around each other, sneaking touches of the other’s arm or hand or back. He compliments you and you flirt right back.

When Grogu finally yawns, it’s like the Maker themself sent it. Din hurriedly puts the baby to bed, and finds you in the cockpit after, sitting in his chair. The pilot’s chair. “Din,” you sing-song to grab his attention.

“What?”

You look at him with purpose for a second, then close your eyes. Sitting up a little. Referring to what you said earlier- Din can remove his helmet if you can’t see his face. He can kiss you. You can touch his face, feel him. “I promise they’ll stay closed,” you tell him.

You can hear him breathe through the modulator of his helmet for a moment, then there’s a soft sound of the helmet being removed. Finally, there’s a clank of the helmet being set on the floor. When it’s just your little family of three on the ship, Din omits the full beskar regalia. Nevertheless, you can hear the soft noise of his knees hitting the floor. In front of you. “Can I kiss you?” He asks.

His real voice is like a song. It’s nowhere near as low, though it’s still a bit deep, a bit raspy. It’s beautiful, so quintessentially Din, and you nod with a small smile. “That’s why they’re closed, stupid,” you tease.

One of Din’s calloused hands finds the side of your face. He pulls it down a little, for his kneeling height, and kisses you. Slowly. His lips are warm and soft, surprisingly soft, against your own. You break away from him for a second, your eyes still squeezed tightly shut as if you may accidentally open them. “Can I touch your head?” You ask.

In response, Din takes your hands and puts them on either side of his face. It allows you to feel the stubble beneath your fingertips, the warm skin. “You have a beard,” you giggle softly.

“All the better if my face is between your legs, right?” He chuckles. It’s just so fucking perfect and real, the way his laugh sounds without the helmet. As much as you’re enjoying the sound, the words that his voice formulates make you gasp a little and shudder. “You want that?” He asks you, lips finding your neck and kissing it slowly.

“Goddamn,” you mumble. “No, Din, I wanna fuck you tonight. Can we? Will you keep your helmet off if I promise not to look?” You ask, voice desperate. You clutch the back of his head, digging your fingers into the thick hair there- it’s wavy, you can tell. “Maker, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

Din makes a little noise of affirmation into your neck. “Yeah,” he nods. “Even better, just wait,” he says, pulling away and putting the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You do, seeing just your reflection in his helmet. “Where do you want me, baby?” You murmur to him, a hand on the side of his helmet.

Baby. No one has ever called Din that before. He’s heard it a million times, in crowded cantinas, between lovers. Between two people who cared for each other. You two cared for each other, he supposes. Obviously, or you wouldn’t be in this situation. The thought of the word makes Din pause for a moment.

“Hello? Din, what’s in there?” you tease and rap on the helmet with a fist.

You can’t see it but he’s absolutely beaming beneath his helmet, overjoyed. “Where do you want me? In the bunk? In the chair?”

You lean in and smirk, your eyes reflected in the black visor. “Where have you dreamed of having me most?” You whisper, and you swear you can see the beskar-clad man shudder.

“My bunk. Get undressed and lie down for me,” he tells you, already climbing down from the cockpit and motioning with his head for you to follow. You nod excitedly and climb down after him.

Din is looking for something, though you’re unsure of exactly what. You remove your top and pants, and start to move to remove your breastband before two large hands find your bare sides.

Din has returned, and he turns you around. He looks down at you with a long and thin strip of dark fabric in his hand, and you shudder. “Is that what I think it is?” You ask, hands finding the sides of his breastplate.

As you start unlatching his armor, Din nods. “You can undress me, then I’ll put it on and remove my helmet,” he tells you.

You smile a little as you start removing his beskar, tossing it to the side onto a discarded cape. It still makes a soft clunk, but it’s not enough to wake Grogu, thank the Maker. Once the metal is gone, your hands run over his flight suit, allowing you to feel the strong muscles beneath them.

“Din,” you murmur, unzipping the front. It exposes his bare chest, his tan skin with dark hair across it. He’s muscular, of course; as a bounty hunter must be. His arms are just as strong as you push the sleeves off of his shoulders, then push the waist down.

He doesn’t wear underwear. Of course he doesn’t, it would be impractical you suppose, but it exposes Din’s surprisingly large dick. You bite your lip as you look down at it, at how hard and needy it already is. You give it a slow stroke and Din groans. “Alright mesh’la. Let’s get that off of you,” he says and lifts your arms, pulling off the breastband.

After that, he shoves your underwear down and you step out of them, kicking them to the side. “Fuck,” he grunts at how beautiful you look, naked before him. Din pushes you back until your ass meets the end of his bunk and he lifts you to sit on the edge.

He spreads your legs and stands between them, his cock pressing against your dripping folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and it’s for me?” He chuckles with hardly any air in his lungs.

“Of course I am. So fucking sexy,” you murmur as you let your face fall forward into his chest, kissing at the skin and working a mark into his pec. You pull away and sit back, giving him a little room. “Okay, put it on me. Please. I just wanna kiss you,” you admit, closing your eyes preemptively.

He nods and wraps the cloth around your eyes, using his deft fingers to knot it behind your head. It’s snug, but not too tight. “You do this often?” You tease, resting your hands on his wrists.

He shakes his head. “Never have. Always kept the helmet on. You’re just…” he pauses as he removes his helmet, “something special,” he sighs, finally kissing you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him tight against you, wrapping your legs around his waist as well. “Din… should’ve said something sooner. Would’ve done anything for you,” you sigh as his lips find your jaw and then your neck, slowly tracing his tongue across your collarbone.

He makes a little grunt. “Sorry,” he chuckles. “Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles as he cups your face and kisses you again, his tongue running along the seam of your lips. “Can I do this, baby? Will you let me fuck you?”

The word again. Baby. It slipped from Din’s lips this time, before he could stop himself. He really really likes you, so much so that he can hardly contain it. He’s never been one for names in bed, degrading or praising, but he’s never going to stop calling you his, his baby.

You whine softly and break the kiss. “Please, Din. Fuck me, wreck me,” you nod before reaching out to where you find his face.

While you trace the stubble of his jaw, one of Din’s thick fingers slips into your folds. He shudders at how wet you are, tracing a finger up and down through the wet skin. “Mm, fuck,” he groans softly as the pad of his middle finger masterfully finds your clit. He rubs small circles into it, causing your head to fall forward into his shoulder.

“Please, please,” you whine, your walls clenching around nothing. “Fuck me already, baby,” you plead with Din, gripping his hips now.

“Relax, cyare,” he murmurs and kisses your neck. With the helmet on, he rarely gets to experience anything pleasurable with his mouth. Your skin is so soft and warm beneath his lips, his tongue, and he just has to bite at it. Din nibbles at your earlobe, feeling himself grow harder. “Let me take my time with you.”

“I’ve waited so long for you, Din. Please don’t make me wait,” you beg, slowly stroking his cock. A bead of precum forms on the tip and you swirl it around the head with the pad of your thumb.

Din can’t hold back anymore. He pushes your hand away and lines himself up to you with the free hand, two fingers circling your clit now. “You ready for me?” He groans.

“Yes, just fuck me,” you whimper and grab both sides of his head, pulling him to kiss you. It’s deep and hot and it grows sloppy as Din pushes into you, splitting you open on his deliciously thick cock. “Fuck,” you cry out at the sensation.

“You think you feel good?” He shivers and barely breathes out. “Feel so fuckin’ good around me, so hot and wet,” he shudders.

Din’s still standing, and he has more leverage as he thrusts all the way in, then pulls nearly all the way out. “Lay back,” he orders you, and you comply.

His second thrust is even deeper than the first as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to already hit the deep spot inside of you. You whine and he smirks. “There we go. Good job, baby, keep making those noises for me,” he insists as he starts thrusting in and out of you.

He’s fucking good at this. It’s no surprise really, the way he knows your body masterfully. It’s almost as if you’re using The Force to guide him, but he’s just that fucking skilled. His tip drags against that sweet spot against you with every thrust, and Din pulls your hips to his with one hard thrust.

It’s so hot, the sound of Din’s skin slapping into yours, the way the skin of his thigh drags against yours. “Fuck,” you cry out as he presses his fingers a little harder against your clit, making the circles he draws slower and more deliberate.

“Knew you’d sound so good,” he grunts. “Knew you’d love it when I’m fucking you. When I get to take you like this. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically. “I wish I could see you.”

“I know, cyare,” Din assures, even though his voice is breathless and strained. “Come on, baby, you feel so close, don’t you? I can feel it, the way your walls are getting tighter around me. You gonna be good and cum on me? I think you can.”

His words are just as arousing as his actions. “I will, please, I can feel it, just keep going and don’t stop,” you whimper. You take one of his hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

Din smiles at the gesture. It’s soft, intimate. He likes it as much as he loves the way you call him baby. “That’s my good baby,” he nods and pulls your hips a little off of the bunk, so that anything that spills from you will collect on the metal floor instead of the mattress.

It grows and grows in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel it. It’s coming and it’s coming hard. “Din, Din please,” you whine, one leg wrapping tight around his hip. “Fuck, I’m gonna,” your voice barely manages out before it washes over you, the feeling flowing through your body like a high in your veins. “Din,” you cry out as you cum, toes curling from the intensity. It spills from you, all over Din’s cock, dripping onto the floor.

“Oh, good job, cyare, fuckin’ Maker, you feel so good,” he groans. “I’m not gonna last much longer. Can I cum in you?” He asks, still checking up on you.

You nod. “Please, please baby,” you groan and squeeze the hand you’re holding tight. “Need to feel it.”

He nods too, though you can’t see it. “Okay, okay, I-“ a strangled cry comes from deep within his throat as he finally lets go, his cum pushing deep inside of you. “Fuck,” he murmurs, interjected by shouts of your name.

The both of you come down later, panting and covered in sweat. Din pulls out and a little bit of his cum drips from you, joining your own release on the floor. It’s so fucking hot that Din nearly cums again. “Stay right there,” he tells you, gently stroking your hip. “Don’t take the blindfold off.”

He comes back a few moments later with a damp rag, cleaning you up before cleaning up the mess the two of you made on the floor. He puts it with the laundry then climbs into the bed next to you, cuddling into your side. “Fuck, Din,” you giggle and press a kiss to whatever skin is in front of your face- his jaw. “You’re good at that.”

“Just felt so good,” he chuckles too. “You’re fantastic. I like it when you call me baby,” he admits.

You grin. “Then I’ll have to call you it all the time, baby,” you chuckle and kiss his lips softly. “Din?”

“Yes, ner k’arta?”

“Can we sleep like this?” You ask. “I promise I won’t look at your face or sneak anything, I mean it.”

Din chuckles quietly. “Of course we can. I trust you.”

You give a happy little noise and cuddle into his warm body, his strong arms surrounding you. “I like this. You’re so cuddly,” you admit with a small laugh.

“We can do this anytime you like,” he laughs too, kissing your forehead. “Whenever, wherever. If it’s with you, I’ll do anything.”

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pascalpanic

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lewis-winters · 2 years ago

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Day 6: Reflection

part of my OC-tober 2022! though Arthur Benjamin Foster is an oc created by my friend @hellofanidea! I hope I did him justice.

tw: some gender dysphoria, though this is more about gender euphoria and the second puberty trans folks go through when on HRT! with joe teaching arthur how to shave once his first beard starts showing up after a few months on testosterone. this takes place in the 1950s-ish, an era in trans history that's more commonly known as a time where HRT for trans folk was introduced to the medical community. from what I could find, it was more toward feminizing hormone therapy, but since testosterone was first isolated in 1935 and Michael Dillon is on record as the first trans man to receive an early version of testosterone therapy as early as 1939 (when testosterone was still very poorly misunderstood) from a Dr. George Foss, it's not a massive leap that Arthur could and would receive masculinizing hormone therapy in the 1950s.......... but also at the same time since when did I care about 100% historical accuracy? here, have some trans content. because I said so.

“Quit squirmin’.”

“Can’t,” Arthur grumbles, shifting from left to right, uncomfortable for more reasons than just the height of the chair keeping his toes a couple of inches off the ground. “’M sweaty.”

That’s an understatement—he’s drenched. And oily, too. He’s never had to take so many showers in one day before these couple of months, what with him being sticky and slick in numerous unsexy places he never knew a human being can be sticky and slick in. All of that, of course, compounded tenfold by the near unbearable itchiness of growing hair, um, everywhere; from his legs to his arms to his pits, the prickly masses of brownish red appearing seemingly overnight and doubling in number, turning him into one sweaty, and occasionally smelly, auburn furball of a man.

He's never been so happy to see his reflection in his life.

“Do we have to?” he asks Joe again, trying not to make his admiration for his new, patchy beard show as he checks it out in the mirror in front of him. “It could get real bushy soon, if we jus’ let it be.”

“If ya don’t shave it, it won’t grow in evenly,” Joe patiently says, not looking up from his prep. He’s got soap, a bottle of shaving cream, a towel soaking in a bowl of warm water, and a glass bottle of what Arthur had first thought was cologne, but now knows is something called after shave. Curiously, Arthur observes the way Joe puts the pieces together, trying to memorize them for when he later has to do this all by himself, a prospect that excites him a lot.

Once he’s ready, Joe turns to him, taking Arthur’s chin with his index finger and thumb to turn his face side to side for inspection. It shouldn’t take more than a minute, but his gaze lingers for longer, a softness in his eyes he does a very bad job at hiding behind faux-seriousness. Arthur fights not to blush under the scrutiny—he fails. Spectacularly. Because aside from just being constantly sweaty and hairy, he also runs so hot under the collar. All. The. Time. He should be more embarrassed by it, having the sex drive of a teenaged boy at nearly forty years of age, but Joe and George are enjoying it immensely, and aren’t afraid to let him know. As a result, he’s only marginally embarrassed.

“You’re very close,” Arthur croaks, newly deepening voice creaking over the last syllable in giggly nervousness.

Joe smirks. “And you’re very handsome.”

It’s so unfair.

Not that Arthur is actually complaining, letting Joe lather him up, clean his face, wipe him down, then wrap him up in a warm towel to stew for a couple of minutes, allowing himself to get lost in the heat for a little while before Joe unearths him from it and brandishes a new, shiny razor. Not the straight razor like he’s seen Natalie use on her own face—that’s for the closer shave she favors, where nearly no shadow or stubble is left behind. This one’s a simpler, metal razor with those double blades you can buy from your local mom-and-pop shop convenience store that, if used incorrectly, could leave you spiky like a porcupine at best, badly razor burned at worst. Joe holds it up for Arthur to take, watches him take it, hold it, considers it for a moment, then takes it back.

“Let me do this one for you,” Joe amends, using his knee to spread Arthur’s legs further so he can slot in closer, lifting his face once more to inspect it, then nodding toward their reflection, silently instructing Arthur to pay attention. “Watch— we go with the grain first, alright? So I don't accidentally cut you.”

Joe begins, swiping down Arthur’s cheeks a few times, murmuring instruction as he goes, twitching slightly to the right or left on occasion so Arthur can see him work in the mirror, before going back in to clean up his passes. As he goes further, he takes Arthur’s hand and lets him touch, to let him feel how the hair growth patterns change, or to let him feel what freshly shaved skin is supposed to feel like. All the while, he’s careful, the gentleness in which he maneuvers the blade over Arthur’s face in great juxtaposition to his broad frame, usually so big, now made small as he hunches over and cradles Arthur’s face in his big hands, and methodically rids him of shaving cream and hair.

He's so close, too. Hovering just an inch away from Arthur’s nose, a pleasant blur except for his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His delicate eye lashes fluttering distractedly over the gentle swell of an olive cheek. In times when they’re lulled into a silence, Joe getting lost in his work, inching in closer when a particularly confusing patch of hair requires him to turn the razor around for a more complicated pass. Arthur’s hands have found their way to Joe’s waist in the meantime. Partly to steady himself. Mostly in indulgence.

It takes at least thirty minutes, then another ten for a double check, before Joe declares himself done, taking a step back—though not by much—to admire his handiwork and show Arthur in the mirror. The man that stares back at them looks like a fresh boy, now. The roundness of his jaw more prominent without all the hair providing contour and shadow. Arthur can’t say he likes it, slightly less comfortable with his naked face than he used to be before, but at least now he can soothe himself with the knowledge that the hair will grow back. Possibly thicker, too. And he’ll be back in this spot in a few days’ time to once again shave his beard.

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale of giddy excitement. He gets to shave his beard.

He has a beard.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, grinning and accompanying it with a quick kiss that Joe tips his head to receive. Arthur meant it to be chaste, just a little peck, but Joe cups his face in his hands again, when he tries to pull away, and brings him back close for a harder, more thorough kiss. Not leading anywhere. Just reassuring. Like an extra squeeze in an already cozy embrace.

When they part, Joe smiles. Then pecks him one last time. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Arthur blinks. “What? Why?”

The answer is aftershave.

George coincidentally comes home just as Joe playfully slaps some on to Arthur’s freshly shaved cheeks, and laughs himself almost to tears in the bathroom doorway, as Arthur curses up a storm.

#stella's oc-tober 2022 #joe toye #arthur benjamin foster #george luz #luzfostoye #why yes this IS trans; gay; and polyamorous why do you ask #people like us #bob ocs #ab foster #estrella_marie

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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Helping Hands

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After a bad case Spencer needs help shaving after getting injured, he gets help from the least likely person to help in his life.

A/N: Day two of my 750 follower celebration is here! This was totally supposed to be a blurb and ended up being so much long lol. Thank you @imagining-in-the-margins for this idea and letting me write it! And thanks to @spencers-dria for helping me out as always! This fic wasn’t originally going to be Gender Neutral I just ended up writing it that way on accident which is cool, I want my blog to be as inclusive as possible! I’ve had someone check it over for pronoun mistakes but please let me know if you spot any! This is also my first time writing in second person for Spencer!

Warnings: 18+, Enemies to lovers, Knife kink (use of a straight razor), Dry fucking, Humiliation, ONE slight nick to the skin- there’s just a very small bit of blood

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.68k

Your friendship with Spencer was shaky at best, the truth was you two were barely able to work together without biting each other’s heads off. It’s not that you wanted to butt heads with him almost every day, but when he picked apart everything you said constantly you always felt the need to bite back.

Emily just had to put you as roommates for this case so you guys could ‘work out your issues.’ Of course the case then ended up becoming one of your longest cases all year. The tension between you and Spencer ran high throughout the entire case, the petty arguments grew in rate as the team got less and less sleep each day. The case combined with the sleeping arrangements was definitely making you feel miserable.

Unfortunately these hellish two weeks didn’t even end with a completely good outcome. We had caught the unsub, but not before one of your own had ended up injured. Spencer had been securing the perimeter around the suspect’s house when the suspect (who ended up being the unsub) attacked him. Luckily, you hadn’t been that far away from him and were able to help him apprehend the man. You may butt heads with him almost every working day, but he was still a part of your team. You would never want him to be seriously hurt or worse. His knuckles ended up getting bruised and bloodied from his unexpected scuffle with the unsub today although he insisted he was fine.

The sight you were looking at now directly contradicted his words. His fingers were shaking badly as he tried to move his straight razor along his jaw that was coated in shaving cream. When he let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t get the right angle you decided to try and lend a helping hand. He seemed to get even angrier when you walked into the hotel’s bathroom, this wasn’t new however, he always seemed to get more agitated when he sensed your presence.

“Let me help you.” You snapped while reaching forward to grab the razor, your movements were in stark contrast to your words, only doing that softly as to not cut the both of you.

“Why do you want to help me?” He snapped back with just as much bite in his tone and jerked his hand away so you could not reach the razor.

“Does it matter? You need help and I’m offering to help. So sit down and let me help.” The real reason that you wanted to help didn’t have to be known by Spencer, he didn’t have to know that you felt guilty. His injuries were from no fault of your own however, you could not help a little bit of guilt pool in the bottom of your stomach. You may not like him very much, but again you did not want to see him hurt.

He finally acquiesced to your request sitting down on the edge of the tub that just had enough of a ledge so he could sit rather comfortably. You reached out and gestured towards the razor letting out a little sigh of relief when he handed it to you, glad that he was finally letting you help.

The handle of the razor was simple in design with no ornaments adorning it and it was made of a dark wood, perhaps mahogany. The simple design of the handle and blade did not mean that it was inexpensive, the weight in your hand alone was a testament of how finely made it probably was. You suspected it might have been one of the only things Spencer splurged his money on.

Soaping up his cheeks again, you then straddled his thighs so you could get as close as possible to him. He squeaked a little in surprise at your sudden willingness to be close to him. In all honesty, you didn’t really want to be that close to him, but you had promised to help him, this just was the only way you could get the correct angles.

Besides the initial squeak the fell from his lips Spencer had become strangely quiet as you got to work shaving off his stubble.

His silence was then replaced by something else, the inability to sit still. Each time you started to scrap the razor against his jaw his hips shuffled under you, making it extremely difficult to get a close enough shave.

“Stop squirming.” He of course felt the need to again not listen to you and he continued to squirm underneath you. You ran your fingers through his hair then tugging on the stands to crane his neck backwards so you could get full access to the underside of his jaw. He defiantly squirmed again, causing you to falter with the razor again, this time accidentally nicking the underside of his jaw.

Instead of hissing and pulling away from you would expect; Spencer threw you for a loop when he let out a loud moan while jutting his hips up into your own. A look of mortification came over Spencer’s face at his actions, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but with your body straddling him he couldn’t quite escape your grasp so easily.

You weren’t going to lie, Spencer was an attractive man, your favorite part of his looks being his fluffy locks and the scruff he left behind after shaving. You weren’t going to pass up the opportunity of having an attractive man underneath you and begging. Experimentally you reached up with your free hand to brush up against the small nick that had only let out just a little drop of blood. Pushing down slightly on it you then rolled your hips to grind against his hardening cock in his slacks. His response to your actions pleased you, his slacks becoming more strained and another moan left his lips, this one much more high pitched.

“Are you ok with this? I won’t be gentle.”

“Yes, please do whatever you want.” You were pleasantly surprised how quickly a plea fell from his lips. It was going to be so easy to ruin him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. You may infuriate me, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable.” He nodded quickly in understanding before tentatively moving his hands to rest on your hips lightly to make sure you were ok with his touch and so that his hands didn’t suffer from any unnecessary pain.

You were right, it was extremely easy to ruin him. It only took a few short minutes of grinding your hips into his own before you could tell he was getting a little close to his release.

“Is this all it takes for you to get off? That’s a little pathetic.” The humiliating words only made Spencer’s moans louder though at this point they had devolved into high pitched pitiful whimpers. You were glad he was keen on the idea of some light humiliation and decided to continue with some more harsh words, “I haven’t even gotten a chance to use it anywhere near any more exciting places yet. You’re so needy, Spencer.” The evil smirk that made its way onto your face at the thought of getting to use the razor in more, exhilarating places, made Spencer visibly gulp hard.

You shifted a little forward which brought more pleasure to you, enough to push you to teeter on the edge. As you felt your release begin to wash over you surged forward to mark up Spencer’s neck with a hickey to go along with the other slight mark you had left. The rocking of your hips sped up as you worked yourself through your blissful release. Spencer may have been one of the most infuriating people you knew, but you couldn’t deny that even with a few swirls of your hips together he gave you a stronger orgasm then most men ever had. After a few gasps of your breath into his neck after your release you began to focus on his own. You could just leave him hanging and force him to take a cold shower to alleviate the straining in his pants, though you couldn’t deny how good he had been for you.

“Beg me. Beg me to let you finish.” Carding your fingers through his hair once more you yanked hard so you could get to catch a glimpse of his gorgeous neck again. You brought the razor up to rest at the underside of his jaw close to the previous cut you had accidentally given him.

“Please!” Even though his begging was only one word, you were satisfied with how desperate he sounded for you. You had completely ruined him without even taking off a single article of clothing.

“Cum for me Spencer.” As soon as the words of permission fell from your lips, his hips started to meet yours with more vigor. His groans came impossibly louder as he neared his finish, so you surged forward to capture his lips with your own for the first time. Immediately you slipped your tongue into the cavern of his mouth, swallowing all of the noises that tried to escape. He rocked his hips forward once, twice, three times before feeling the front of his slacks dampen with his own release.

When you had both calmed down and slightly processed what you had both indulged in you separated from him to help clean up the nick on his jaw and to grab him a pair of sweatpants to change into. You returned to help him finish shaving making sure to leave the little bit of scruff you liked. As you finished he moved to rub slight circles into your hip, you didn’t let him do it for very long until you made sure that it wasn’t hurting his hands too much. You were both extremely content with your current position. Maybe he wasn’t as infuriating as you once thought. In any case you had enjoyed lending him your helping hands, maybe you could help him again if he was willing.

——

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definitelynotkatesblog · 4 years ago

Text

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

#crimnal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch fluff #hotch x y/n #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

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pendragonfics · 4 years ago

Text

Patch

Paring: Leonard McCoy/Reader

Tags: no gender for reader, no name for reader, no pronouns for reader, post Star Trek Beyond, protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, fights, missions, angst and hurt/comfort, resolution, fluff, medical, injury recovery

Summary: Reader and Leonard have an argument over Reader's attendance on an away mission. But when Reader returns injured, will all be resolved?

Word Count: 1,566

Current Date: 2021-01-19

According to the statistics, it was improbable that your return to the USS Enterprise would be on a hover stretcher. There was a truth to it, and it showed in the data. Sometimes, casual dating was a fun exercise in romantic growth with others. However, when casually dating Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, CMO of the ship and resident grump, it wasn’t easy. You were a hands-on learner! A xeno-geographer worked better in the field.

Despite your inclinations, the data showed a different story. Crew admitted to Medbay worked largely in security and on away teams. An overwhelming percentage of those wore a red uniform. The statistics reduced for casualties for sciences blue, and lesser so with gold. The statistics had abated your worries. But despite the numbers, Leonard was not having it. It had been a passing conversation over replicator coffee. Five minutes before departing for the alpha shift, he had downed his black, no sugar and no cream, and gave you a most definite no you had ever heard.

“I won’t condone it,” he said, gathering his holo-pad. “Look - I’m not calling you a bad officer! You’re damn fine at your job.”

“Is that why you’re acting my father instead of partner?” You retorted hotly. Something about his obstinance reacted unfavourably with you, “You’re not my keeper.”

He blinked, and slowly, placed his mug upon the table. “My apologies, Darlin’,” He said, in a low voice. “…that I am not.”

It was then he walked away. The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of preparations, and without a moment to think of Leonard, it quickly became pushed to the back of your mind.

The away mission was simple. The people were a previously uncontacted civilisation on the northern hemisphere of a Federation planet. The southern populace had been contacted some years ago. However, the mission was to observe and document its cultural landmarks and social evolution.

Come the arrival, however, your nerves got the better of you.

You felt like your head was getting the better of you. All the unspoken words you wished you had said to Leonard at the forefront, not your job. While the rest of the team made their way to the outskirts of the citadel, you fell behind.

Had that been your first fight as a couple? What if you never saw each other again? What if that was the last thing you ever said to him?

That was how you did not see the trap in time. Up you went, the rope snagged around your leg, hoisting yourself into the air. The crackle of your comms buzzed, but it fell out, and no communication was received. The other members of the party turned at the commotion, coming to help you.

"I said to look out for that," a security officer muttered, lowering you from the uncomfortable hoist. "Now we sprung the trap, the people are sure to know we are here."

"Are you hurt?" one of the others asked.

Before you could find the words, however, you heard it. The distinctive twang! of a string-based weapon. Despite your vast knowledge of the weaponry used in evolving alien civilisations, that alone did not save you. Because as soon as you heard the release, the projectile was coming for you. And as fast as you were, there was no way to dodge it.

You blinked.

A flash of blinding pain erupted from your shoulder as an arrow-like object embedded itself within your flesh. The words were lost in your throat, but holding them in, a reactionary gurgle of agony escaped.

The security officer shouted something into his comms. The away team scrambled. Someone pulled you from the path, but not before the twang! and release of more projectiles was heard again.

You hadn't been shot before, but now you had. The voices around you seemed to fade out of volume, though they were nearby. Your head swam with confusion and fear. All of those aside, it was the sensation of beaming on board that brought you back to lucidity.

All you could think of was not on the primitive projectile jutting from your shoulder. Not the hazy fog that filled your thoughts, like a slow poison. It was with your boyfriend.

"Get them to Medbay! We need help!" someone called for help.

Despite the lucidity, you felt a prisoner in your body as they helped you onto a stretcher. Carried toward the Medbay, you tried to parse your thoughts into a coherence, but it was no use. The faces of those around you were blurry, some doubling. Their voices faded in and out, and slowly, you felt less and less control of your limbs.

Upon arrival into the Medbay, the white light overwhelmed you. If you weren't already having trouble comprehending the world around you, the commotion in the Medbay brought vertigo-like nausea to you. Despite your understanding of your surroundings being hard to pay attention to, you knew the blurry silhouette at the end of the stretcher. The appearance of the CMO was something that would've been comforting to some. Despite having little control over your body, you try to move from his sight, lamely shifting away to evade his gaze.

“What are you waiting for, divine intervention?" his voice cut in. "I need a bed for the patient, stat.”

You tried to roll the stretcher once more, but your already turning stomach turned some more at the movement. Your shoulder burst into another wave of pain. A gentle touch upon your collar stopped your movement. You didn't need to open your eyes to know whose hand it was. You were well versed with those hands. You knew the good and kind work those hands performed, the love and tenderness behind his touch. But you also knew what those hands had done in the seconds before you parted.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they weren't for the pain. No. The fading rush of adrenaline somewhat helped with that. The tears were for a different pain.

"It'll be okay Darlin', you'll be okay." He says, voice low, hurridly. You felt his hand upon your cheek, cupping it. "You have to be."

Soon after that, all the noises of the Medbay blended into one. A prick of a Hypospray led to a loss of sensation in your arm. Then torso. And slowly after that, a loss of awareness. But as your eyes fluttered to a close, some part of you fighting the anaesthesia, you caught sight of him. He stood at the end of the cot, a chart in hand, speaking with a nurse.

As the world faded from view, you felt his name on your lips.

---

When you next opened your eyes, there was no denying the throbbing pain. Slowly beneath the bedsheets, you tested the muscles in your body, moving them slightly. Your fingers moved on command, toes too. As you shifted your arm, you realised that the projectile you had taken a hit with had been removed. Glancing up, everything in sight was as it should be, no doubled vision. The screen beside you that housed your vitals seemed to wake up with you. It hummed a similar tone to that of your heart; a soft ba-dum, ba-dum.

It wasn't long before a nurse arrived. But as quick as they came, another person appeared. But he was no nurse.

Leonard looked as tired as they came. His bags under the eyes were dark, his skin sallow, his dark hazel eyes somewhat vacant. You had no idea how long you had been under; it could only have been one day, right? But Leonard looked haggard. The previously sexy stubble of five o'clock shadow looked dishevelled, unkempt.

"I didn't mean what I said," you blurt, trying and failing to sit up. Silently, Leonard came to your side, helping you do so. The bed, adjusting into a seating position, whirred to life. "I was just frustrated. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied softly. "But there was truth to your words."

You watch as he takes a seat at the bedside, his hands lingering at the edge, not moving to hold yours. "You're nothing like my father, Len." You reassured him.

"I know." He says. "...but I was being your keeper. You're a free spirit; you deserve to be unfettered. Free to do what you want - free to do what your job needs."

"I'm not a pigeon that flew inside a public building, Leonard," you hum. "I'm a person."

He wipes a hand over his face. "A hell of a person, at that." He says, quietly. "In truth...you reminded me of her. My ex-wife. Elinor. She was always stubborn, that's why we got hitched, and why we fell apart. But with you..." You reach for his hand, interlacing his fingers with your own. "Darlin', you can handle yourself. You're a tough cookie. But with you – this is your life. You work as a xeno-geographer," He sighs, "Who am I to stop you?"

"Leonard..." you squeeze his hand.

"It was wrong of me to try to stop you. And even though you did get hurt, it took all I could to keep it together, treating you."

"Thanks for trusting me," you whisper, squeezing his hand once more. "I promise next time I'll be even more careful."

He smiles. "And even if you get hurt again, I'll patch you up."

#Leonard McCoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x oc #Bones #bones mccoy #bones x reader #bones mccoy x reader #Star Trek 2009 #star trek fanfic #star trek alternate original series #star trek x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

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princesscandijane · 4 years ago

Text

Males Reasons to Shave with some tips

A quick guide for those wanting to shave, but cannot seem to find the reasons to. As well as some tips on how to shave.

Groin

As a favor for someone going down on you. Think about how much you enjoy pulling pubes out of your teeth. I shave my groin every morning, as part of my morning routine. Takes me no less time to shave my face if you do it daily, and I could probably go every other day without notice.

Shaving Groin

From various blogs and articles

Trim—Bust out your trimmer and prep the area by trimming off a good chunk of the bush before you dive in with a razor. This helps ensure that you have total visibility and don’t miss any important areas. Take your time, trimming in small sections starting at the bottom and working your way up to the stomach.

Shave—Generously apply shave cream that you can see through, creating a layer of cream about a millimeter thick on top of the areas where you want to shave. Holding the skin taut with one hand and taking it extra-slow with the other, lightly shave IN THE DIRECTION that the hair grows. Avoid using too much pressure. Rinse the razor with every pass and, when completely done shaving, rinse the body with warm water.

Use a new/sharp razor– DON’T use a dull blade or disposable razor.

Shave Your Balls—The golden rule of ball-shaving is to always hold the skin taut so there are no wrinkles or curves that could catch skin or cause cuts.

Rinse with Cool Water—Make sure you give your junk a good rinse in cool water after you’re done shaving to soothe the skin and close the pores. This will also help prevent any ingrown hairs or irritation.

Asshole

Dingleberries. If you have ever had to wipe away a dingleberry, that should inspire you to at least trim around the asshole. Full shave can be difficult, but again, how attractive do you find a hairy ass? So consider trimming. I don’t shave completely because I’m worried about nicking something, so I wear a butt plug and shave around it.

Guide to Asshole shaving

https://www.reddit.com/r/NoStupidQuestions/comments/27dh1x/how_do_i_shave_my_asshole/

Use a moustache/nose hair trimmer to trim off all the excess hair until it's short enough to feel like 2 day old stubble, and then apply good hair conditioner or shaving gel and exfoliate using a loofah or washcloth. The idea is to get all the hair up and on end and stimulate the skin while opening the pores; this avoids ingrown hair and razor burn, which you do not want on your butthole.

Now wash your butthole. Intensely. You do not want to leave any stone unturned, so to speak. Shove your soapy finger up there and really get your sphincters squeaky clean. Don't hurt yourself, just make sure you don't have any icky fecal matter or tiny sharp hair nuggets trapped in the mysterious crevices of your anal caverns.

Use a BRAND NEW 4-blade disposable razor/razor blade cartridge. Don't use a dull blade or you will regret it. Shave with the grain, first, not against it. Rinse after each and every stroke of the blade against your skin. Re-apply conditioner/gel and shave again, this time against the grain and again be sure to rinse after every stroke. Rinse completely and then give it a quick wash with some plain antibacterial soap (kills bacteria on the open skin so should avoid irritation from fecal matter etc that you may have missed during your butthole cleansing).

Now comes the rough part - preventative care. Grab a bottle of witch hazel and spritz it on a washcloth, and pat the fuck out of your butthole with that shit. IT WILL BURN LIKE HELL FOR A SECOND IF YOU DO IT RIGHT. It is not the end of the world. Your butthole is not on fire and you will live to poo another day. After witch hazel-ing the hell out of your ass, lay tummy-down on your bed or on a towel on the floor and either:

When your butthole has been sufficiently aired out and dried, apply non-scented women's roll-on deodorant. This sounds stupid and weird but trust me, it helps. Dove no-scent is the best I've found. This will avoid chafing while walking, irritation as the hair grows back, general stink, and will provide you with some cushioning.

Chest, Back, Arms, Armpits

Do you think any of them are naturally smooth? Once a week I take a nice hot bath, relax with a bowl and shave everything below my neck. Takes me an hour at most.

I think we can acknowledge that a smooth body is sexy regardless of gender. How weird would it be for there to be hair

Vs. how is this for hair?

Once a week shaving. The more often you keep up with it the easier it is and the less time it takes.

Shaving Chest Tips

various blogs

Before beginning to shave, be sure to trim any long chest hairs to make the process easier.

Apply plenty of shaving gel over your chest and any other areas that you intend to shave.

Begin shaving, using short, gentle, and slow strokes for a clean shave without any nicks or cuts.

After each stroke, rinse the blade to avoid getting it clogged and causing a messy shave.

Once you’ve completed shaving and removed all unwanted hair, rinse your chest thoroughly and apply an aftershave product, such as the one that you use for your face.

Remember to also exfoliate the area twice a week with a quality body scrub to reduce the risk of ingrown hairs.

As the nipple is really sensitive and may not want to risk a nik, I recommend using a tweezer. Before you tweeze, take a hot shower—the heat will open up hair follicles, so it’s easier to grab the root—and pat the skin around your nipples dry. Pull each strand quickly and firmly in the direction your hair grows.

Shaving Armpit

from Men’s Health

Trim Your Armpit Hair First

If you’ve never shaved your underarms before, chances are you’ll need to trim those patches down for the easiest and most comfortable shave . It’ll make less of a mess in the shower as well (because nothing is worse than a clogged drain full of man-hair).

Exfoliate Your Under Arms Before Shaving

Sure, you don’t have to exfoliate, but you should to avoid pesky, painful ingrown hairs. A loofah or exfoliating body scrub will do the trick to remove dead skin cells and bacteria (along with any deodorant gunk) to help you achieve the smoothest shave without razor burn.

Shave Your Armpits Wet in the Shower

You can cut it dry, but Whitely recommends to do it in the shower. Hot water softens the hair and reduces the risk of pulled hair or nicks, he says. Shave towards the end of your time in the shower and use shaving gel for added moisture to prevent irritation.

Shave Slow and With a Good Razor

It's not a race, folks. To avoid razor burn and skin irritation, take it slow with your razor blade to make sure you get the closest shave. Unlike the hair on your face, underarm hair grows in all different directions, so make sure to shave sideways, as well top-to-bottom. Toss your old dull razor, and opt for one with a sharp blade and a pivoting head to move with the curves of your armpits for a more effective, easier shave.

Legs

First shaved legs feel amazing. Everyone deserves to know the feeling of freshly shaved legs. Second how are hairy legs, feet, and toes sexy?

Quick guide to shaving legs

Taken from Glamor and Cosmopolitan

1. Trim

If it's the first time you're removing your leg hair, you might want to carefully trim the area with an electric razor. This will stop your razor clogging up, causing you to miss patches of hair.

2. Soak your skin before shaving

“Hydrating the hairs makes them up to 60 per cent easier to cut”, says Dr Anita Sturnham, Venus Ambassador. “Soak your skin for two to three minutes before shaving.”

Use warm water when you're bent over the bathtub in the middle of winter with goose bumps on your legs, it's tempting to have the shower on boiling hot. But hot water is not your friend when it comes to shaving because it closes your pores. Warm water opens your pores, allowing your hairs to soften (making the whole shaving process a lot smoother).

3. Do not lather your legs with shampoo

Dr Sturnham says using shampoo or body wash as shave prep can, “increase your risk of redness and irritation, and blunt your razor blades.”

4. Don't go ham on the shaving cream

You really only need a thin layer of shaving cream to do the job. Too much will clog up your blades, slowing down your shaving time and making it impossible to see where you already shaved. Of course you don't really need to buy shaving cream in the first place, hair conditioner works just as well (if not better).

5. Always shave against the direction hair growth

To get your closest shave possible, shave against the direction of your hair growth. For the legs, start at the ankle and work your way up towards the knee.If you’re using a good blade, this won’t cause any irritation and will cut the hair right at the root for a longer-lasting shave.

6. Don't apply too much pressure to your razor

Your razor shouldn’t make a dent in your skin in order to work.“ The razor should glide across the skin, not drag”, says Adam Boulding, Venus Scientific Communications. “Remember to use a light touch, exerting as little pressure as possible.”If you need to press your razor firmly to work, it can be a sign your blades need changing.

7. Short strokes

If you're shaving from your ankle to your knee in one long stroke, you are guaranteed to have missed hairs. It's just impossible for your razor to keep contact with every single hair for that long. That's why you need to shave with short strokes. Short strokes = less missed hairs.

8. Change your razor blades regularly

A blunt blade not only increases friction against the skin, but also the likelihood of missed hairs. There are many factors that can impact blade life, including your hair type, how much of your body you’re shaving and how you store your razor. Roughly every ten shaves. If you shave daily then about every 1-2 weeks, if you shave 2-3 times a day then every 3-4 weeks. You should also change your blades whenever you start to feel tugging or pulling during your shave.

9. Don't use razors with less than four blades

The number of blades you use is actually super important. The less blades you have, the higher the chance of cuts and nicks.

“A razor with more blades means that the pressure is distributed across more evenly”, says Boulding. “Therefore less pressure is applied to any one spot of skin during the shave, reducing the probability of cuts.”

10. Use a manoeuvrable razor head

The second thing to look for in terms of razor quality is the manoeuvrability of the razor head. When it comes to the backs of knees and areas like ankles, where the bone is close to the skin surface, you need a razor that moves with the curves of your skin to glide over trickier areas. A stagnant blade will only increase the chance of missed hairs or cuts.

11. Always bend a knee

Knees are notoriously the most tricky spot to shave. The solution? Sarah says to slightly bend the knee.

“This will pull the skin tight before shaving, as folded skin is difficult to shave.”

Try propping your leg up on the side of the bath.

12. Don't forget your aftercare

If you suffer from red bumps after shaving, rinsing properly is a must post-shave. If you can bare cold water, this is even better to ensure the pores are closed.

Sarah also recommends leaving the skin to rest for at least 30 minutes before applying lotions or moisturisers, to avoid inflammation.

“If you must moisturise immediately following shaving, select a cream formula rather than a lotion, and avoid exfoliating moisturisers that may contain alpha hydroxy acids,” she adds. If not, it will sting!

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writtenfan · 4 years ago

Text

Party Consequences...Aftermath of Another Gabriel Party.

Part 1: “Hangover Morning”

SpnLucifer x FemReader

Warning: Sexual Themes, Swears, Drugs mentioned, Tortured Lego Pieces and Poor Villa “Re-decorating”

You squint hard enough to start seeing those swirling red, green, and blue shapes in your eyes.

This only made the sweating and lightheadedness worse.Your face is planted on the hardwood floor, you press your lips against some thin fabric and partially open one eye. A faint light from the unknown source, causing you to smoosh your forehead against the fabric. But you glimpsed a series of white bedsheets under you.

You feel uncomfortable and sore.

You hear some shuffling and moaning behind you and feel the bedsheets move as something drags across the floor, stopping at your side. You let out an annoyed groan as the sheets pull underneath your stomach.A hand falls against your back and lays there. Tapping their fingers like they were playing the piano.You flip your head to your side and leisurely open your eyes to see the back of matted blonde hair and the neck rolls of the back of their neck. His arm twisted in the most uncomfortable position ever. You feel his legs plop down onto yours, and he grunts into the thin sheeted floor..

Lucifer.

The light screams at you. Not literally, but it feels like it.

You feel his arm and hand on your back as he comfortingly continues to play piano on your backside. Gradually his hand goes limp, holds, and squeezes any fat he can, gently. You do this to him often, and this gesture makes you smile. Something heavy falls on top of you and squishes his hand against your back.This thing is a whole person, and they lay sprawled out on you, stomach first, their mouth drooling onto your neck.You let out a loud raspy cry as you feel the spit running down the side of your neck. The body was flung from you back.

You hear the loud thud and a pained husky whine as something shatters.

Lucifer sets his hand back down on your back and pats it weakly. Still not moving the rest of his body.

You squirm at the drool running down your neck and decide to get up. You press your hands against the floor as if doing a push-up and only buckle and try to stay up using your elbows. “What the fuck...t...a what?” You stop yourself from puking as you say this by taking a deep breath.

You attempt to widen your squinting eyes as you feel Lucifer's hand fall to the ground beside you. You sit on your butt and press your back against the couch. Rubbing the back of your neck against the cushion to get rid of the spit. You're in a big room, a fancy beige and cream room with plants, black marble tables, Brown hardwood floors. Black couches and chairs and a lot of glass, some with colorful water running down it. Big windows. Big windows, letting light in. Bad light, your eyes hate it.

You turn your head away from the windows on your right. To the left, there was a person, wild brown hair. With their green shirt ripped and pulled down, showing off their bare shoulders. They had on dark blue jeans and no shoes, no socks, and sleeping under a round wood table with long metal legs. You felt intense love for this table, but why? But you recognize the ass that is stuck up in a face-to-the-floor fetal position.

Gabriel.

You look up at the ceiling as you sigh. Someone...someone made multiple scribbly glittery terrible devil taps on the ceiling, multiple ones in fact. One of them completely useless because each sigil was a drawing of a dick.

You push yourself up onto the now-empty couch. There was a bottle shoved into one of the cushions, and a ripped up box of...condoms. Wow, there were blown up condoms, like balloons on the other side of the couch, just sitting there. One had a lego guy inside it, headless. This makes you worried.

From this new height, you watch the motionless bodies around you. Lucifer, sliding his hand to his side, not moving any other part of his body besides that arm. Gabriel. Still face down ass up.

You turn your body slowly and look over the couch. Next to a smashed vase, and on their side, long hair completely covers their face.

Baraquel.

The angel that you met a month ago. At one of Gabriel's other parties. They have a female body. But they don't like being confined to gender labels. They are quite the fun angel, awesome butch vibes.

You look hesitantly towards the window. Someone was clutching their knees and smooshing a condom balloon between their legs. While also resting their forehead against it. They have the smoothest bald head, and the sun made it shine like a halo. They're wearing black yoga pants and a crop top. You look up at the demon trap on the ceiling. You look back down. Oh crap.

Lamech.

She was tapped in the Devil trap. Not the dick one, of course. But a rather pink... bloody.... glittery one nonetheless. You blink, look down at your feet and look up at the ceiling again, then glance back at Lamech. The demon. Looked at you with full-on black eyes. You jumped back and press a hand to your chest, and let out a loud whine. You curse at them weakly as a grin popped on her face. She raises her head and leans back against the window.“Let me out...and I promise I won't beat up Gabriel while he's out cold.” She moves her head as far as the circle would allow her and looks at Gabriel's body with a smile and flickers her eyes back to their human browns.

You groan and turn your head as you hear Lucifer actually move his other hand while out a guttural growling moan. Hot.

“You say you don't understand that, but you rub your eyes and crawl across the couch towards her. When you reach the other arm of the couch you move yourself hands first towards the ground and end up smashing your face softly into the floor as you climb off of it and continue towards her. Once you get to her, you sit criss-cross applesauce and lookup realizing how high the ceiling was from the safe and secure ground. You reach your hands up the ceiling. You tell them you can't stand up or you'll vomit. Lamech lays their head back onto the condom balloon, defeated. You apologize and tell them you'll get them out as you turn your body and scoot over to Lucifer, the bottom of shoes in front of you.

You feel so sick.

You call out to Lucfier in a painedwhine as you start to crawl on your hands and knees over to his body.

Your eyes trail up his wrinkled dark blue jeans and up to his wrinkled, what you assumed, sweat-stained white buttoned shirt. You admire his popped up collar, the spiked wild hair, and the stubble on the side of his face, traveling up his jaw, across his chin, and under his lips. His sunken eyes closed in a sweet calmness.

Once you got your hands next to his shoulders and your face on the same height level as his. You lower yourself on top of his back and push your hands under his body. You give him a tight hug with your legs and hands as you rub the side of your face against his shoulders and backside.

You call him Luci and let the I linger in the air as you rest your chin on his back and look at his face.

His closed eyes twitch, and his whole body moves as he takes in a shuddery breath through his nose. He scrunches up his face and flutters his eyes open, automatically locking his eyes with yours with raised eyebrows. His neck rolls move with his face as he starts to flip over on his back.

You rise on your knees and lower yourself back down on his hips once he turns around. Your knees hug his sides as you place your hands on his lower stomach, playing around with his shirt that was crumpled up.

His hands slide to your calves and rub them gently as he closes his eyes and leans close to your ear.

“You're giving me a hard-on.” He whispers in a giggling croak as he lays his head back down .

You glance underneath you for a second and laugh as you press the side of his face against the floor and sigh for him to stop.

“Hey, you stoooop...” He fusses in a muffled snicker as you take your hand off his face, and he turns back to you. He opens those eyelids to show you some very sleepy and attractive blue pupils. He slides his hands up your calves to the side of your thighs.

You tell him to heal you, or you are going to die as you lower yourself on his stomach, sliding yourself up to his body so that your face is back to the same level as his. You support yourself on your elbows and play with his hair.

His smile makes his cheeks move up, and his wrinkles more prominent. You kiss the lines on his forehead, and you feel his hands move from your thighs to your waist and up your back.

“Okayyy…” He sucks in his lower lip, nodding at your request, and lets his lip pop back out as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. You feel a warm sensation on your back and lay down on his collarbone as this feeling travels throughout your body. It feels so good as it traveled to your head. You feel your senses coming back to you. The need to puke disappears, the headache was gone. The feeling stops, and you stay lying down on his chest.

“Now me…” He says matter of factly, poking at his chest.

You rise back on your knees and press your hands on his chest cracking up as you pretend to heal him.

He starts shaking and convulsing, and you snap open your eyes and ruffle his hair angrily telling him that it wasn't funny with a laugh as you rise to your feet. Looking down at him as he holds both of your ankles with a mischievous smile.

You hear something move in front of you. Gabriel lays down flat on his stomach and lets out a soft groan.

“You guys are disgusting… the least you could do is share some of that love with me (y/n) I’m feelin’ lonely ova' here.”

He grunts as he slides himself backward using his hands and sat up, spinning himself around to face you. His eyes droopy, and unable to look clearly at your face and holds up his arms to you and flexes his hands, gesturing for a hug.

You feel Lucifer's grip tighten around your ankles, and you look down at him he's pouting.

“Get your own girlfriend Gabriel.” He whines, his voice gentle and playful, a false sense of comfort.

WHAM

You snap your head to the couch as a hand slams into it and ahead along with an entire body pulls itself onto its feet. Glaring at Lucifer angrily.

“That's what I’m trying to do.” Gabriel says softly, not looking down at his brother, keeping his eyes locked on you, still gesturing for you to help him up.

“Keep trying and I won’t try... not to impale you.” He had a smile on his face, looking up at you with blissful eyes as he talked to his brother. Not good.

You tell them both to stop as Lucifer lets you shake yourself from his grip. You step over his head.

SMACK

He smacks your rear with such swiftness you accidentally kick the side of his head.

“OWwwww Owwwieee owwwieeee…” He whimpers as he shakes his head back and forth and rubs his eyes. You look down at him and turn around and squat next to his face. You start fussing at him and call him stupid while you laugh.

“I’m not stupid...” he says softly with a smirk and a false hurt tone.

“He deserved that.” Baraquel hissed as they glanced over at Gabriel and started shuffling to them. “You didn’t have to toss me into a fucking vase Lucifer.” They grumbled as they lifted Gabriel up on his feet and patted his back.

“Well, I thought angels could fly….am I right? Isn’t that your fault for not sticking the landing? ”

He laughs as he stops rubbing his eyes and looks up at you, putting back on his pouting face. “Kiss my boo-boo.” He sniffles.

“There was no room besides we don’t always land on our feet like cats.” Baraquel mutters.

Lucifer mocks them by talking with his hand and mouth. “Shaadduuup...” he groans. You smack his hand and looks at you hurt.

You keep staring at his face and can't help but lean forward and kiss his temple. You feel the hairs from his chin against your neck as his lips press against your larynx. He then gently trails his teeth against your skin as if biting an apple, but not biting down.

You jerk back and tell him to stop being nasty as you roll your eyes smirking, getting back on your feet.You turn to face Gabriel as he pretends to throw up and then holds his stomach. Before sprinting to the actual bathroom around the corner and actually hurling into the toilet.

“GUYS, LET ME OUT!” Everyone snaps their heads to the sound, well except for Gabriel. You notice Lucifer wincing in pain at the sudden increase in volume.“Aye, no shouting. Please.” Lucifer cries as he starts to pick himself up into a sitting position. Smacking his lips and looking at his shirt and pants.You turn back to him. You start to ask him to help them out when he flicks his hand as if it was nothing and scratches the bridge of his nose, looking at a few legos pieces on the floor.

The trap disappears, and Lamech stands up and brushes off herself while stretching her legs. “Thank you, my king.” She says in a surprisingly formal tone.Lucifer scrunches his face and nods waving in the air. “Yeah yeah. Don’t mention it…” he grumbles as he cracked his knuckles. He looks up at you and smiles, adorably. Ugh.

She takes a step out of her overnight prison and doesn't wait to dart towards the bathroom, taking a sharp turn and grabbing a beer can off the round table. You see her vault the thing at high speed into the bathroom and then a loud shriek from Gabriel.

“Attacked I’m being attacked! Curb your Demon Luci!” The shower curtain falls, and Lamech walks back into view a content look on his face as she dusted off her hands.

“Nice throw~,” Lucifer says as he gets up on his feet and stands up to his full height, trying to crack his back. While also (towering over you/standing close beside you). He swings his arms back and forth and claps softly with every swing.

“Alright, I’m happy for now.” Lamech yawns. Baraquel smirks at Lamech but sneers once they looked at them.

“You ask the group what happened last night as you rubbed your eyes. Then you wonder how they even managed to get drunk. You gesture across the room as Gabriel walks back and rubs the bottom of his shirt against his face. Showing everything underneath. You squint and look away, knowing that if Lucifer caught your eyes glancing, for even a second. He would become very hostile towards everyone in the room, except you, to make himself feel better. Not exactly healthy, but hey, you were getting there. You feel his eyes against the eye back and top of your head.

“I spiked the drink with a little magic hocus-pocus for us celestials~” He chucks as he drops his shirt and smooths back his hair. Walking close to Baraquel and putting an arm over their shoulder. “ But I hardly remember a thing... and I’m loving it.” He talks to Baraquel, and they roll their eyes.

Lamech walks away from Gabriel and sat on top of the table Gabriel was previously resting under. They glance at Lucifer and then averted their gaze. Looking nervous and embarrassed as he catches them looking from the corner of his eye.

“I remember a bit of the last hour before it reached 2:00am.” She pointed to Gabriel

“You finished your last devil trap after reversing your own gravity and then told me to...look behind me..and tripped me Into where I was stuck for the night.” She grumbled. She pointed to Baraquel, "I vaguely rememberLucifer trying to make you mad, but you wouldn't budge because you knew he would smite you." You felt Lucifer nod as he rubs his chin against the top of your head.

“I really wish you would’ve lost your coool... Bar-be-cue…” Baraquel glared at Lucifer and then at Gabriel, who was now slumped on their shoulder trying to stay standing.

“Whatever, Hakuna Matata!” Shouts Gabriel as he snapped his finger and was suddenly all cleaned up, hair sorted, clothes ironed, and shoes on. “If more of tonight was meant to be remembered, it will come to us later on. Now. Who wants to go swiiiming?!” He sang as clicks his heels, and another dress change and this time. A...a Speedo.

Everyone glances away, and Lucifer covers your eyes pressing his big ol’ hands against your face. “Ok, Nobody wants to see your worm down there.” He groans.

“Wow, and I thought I was small.” Lamech chuckled to themself. Gabriel scowled at them and then at Lucifer.

“Hey. This “worm” gets a lot of early birds, guys.”

“Why are you even judging his vessel. It shouldn’t matter, it doesn’t reflect his true self.” Baraquel huffs.

“There are no birds that would peck at that scrawny thing.” Lucifer scoffs.

“Damn you angel's are always so lame. First, with the whole eating God's dick and doesn't show true self shit, boring high ground shit."

“Yeah? I can tell ya! I have a lot down in my bang book, and what about you huh? Your just jealous that I have game, experience! And guess what, I have a feeling you make (y/n) cry with tha-“

“-what’s with you demons and your hot ass breath, and the lust for Lucifers abusiveness?! Baraquel's voice covers Gabriels as they point angrily at Lamech.

“Ugh, alright. Just because I haven’t been practically living in the red light district doesn’t mean I’m rusty.” He puffs out his chest. “And trust me (y/n) is more than satisfied...Unless you want me to get into the details~”

The corners of his mouth rises as he squints at his brother.

“LALALALA NO!! No!! I never had an older brother, I cant hear youuu!” Gabriel shouts as he covers his ears and moves away from him towards the glass dining table. Lucifer follows him with an impish smile on his face. “Sometimes, we get freaky and whip out the-“

You slide down and sit on the floor pressing your head against your knees. You don’t hear what he says, but he lets out a high-pitched laugh as Gabriel slams his hand on a chair, breaking it.

Everyone continues to bicker and shout at each other. Lucifer actually stepping into Gabriel’s face after he made a what you can guess was a rude comment to Lucifer, and the two start puffing out their “feathers”.

Baraquel ended up giving Lamech the cold shoulder and moving as far as they could from the Archangels as possible, Lamech follows still not done with them yet.

You stand up and grab your swimming clothes casually hanging on a plant and walk out the door.

#supernatural lucifer #lucifer supernatural #spn lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #spn lucifer #lucifer spn #supernatural lucifer x reader #Party Consequences #archangel Lucifer

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delldarling · 4 years ago

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offering | warren

This was April’s story of the month over on Patreon! April was.. a very hard month for me, which makes me extra fond of Warren and his gentle nature. Enjoy!

male vampire x gender/body neutral reader 6.8k words lemon | biting, orgasm due to biting, pot usage (on Warren's part!), inebriated feeling due to bite (on readers part)

You’ve been walking long enough, up hill no less, that your limbs have become languid and too-warm. You’re not quite out of breath, though you are breathing deep, enjoying the scent of fresh greenery spilling down the hills and over the edges of the cracked road. The grass and fast cooling air still carries that sweet tinge of early Spring - but it’s starting to get dark. The sun has just set, and the sky is cast green-grey ahead of you, all the way down to the horizon behind the treeline. If you turn around, you know it’ll fade into dark blue somewhere above your head, scattered over with salty looking stars. You pause, taking a moment to follow the arch of them over your shoulder, half feeling like you should brush the crumbs of them away, or remind the deity that spilled them to take a pinch of them back, for luck.

You wrinkle your nose, sparing the sky a smile, and then continue on your way. If you want to reach the edge of the little canyon before full dark, you’re going to have to hurry.

So far, the road ahead of you has been empty, as it’s only the middle of Spring. Most people don’t come to visit the canyon - the Chasm, it’s called affectionately, though everyone can see all the way down to the bottom - not until the height of summer. They haul trailers or tents along with them, ice chests filled to the brim with beer and bottled liquor. You’ve heard nothing but cricket song and the fast fading conversation of birds nesting for the evening, so you’d assumed that the rest of the road, and the Chasm itself, would house no one but you for a few hours.

There’s a beat up truck just over the crest of the hill you’re on though, half parked over the edge of the embankment. It’s a pale blue, or it used to be. It’s faded and patched in places, scuffed gray and silver on the doors and the back fender. The cream camper shell on the back is old too, the windows in it all spray painted black from the inside and taped heavily with duct tape - probably to try and keep them airtight.

Music sounds like it’s drifting towards you from the cab - or maybe someone is playing it on a boombox inside the camper, nevertheless, the closer you get, the more you think you recognize the song.

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised by their presence. It is the perfect spot to drop the tailgate or roll down the window and peek out at the stars. Especially if you’re avoiding a crowd. Maybe they’d expected one, had somehow mistaken the day and parked early in their usual spot, just to be safe. It’s close enough to the Chasm that it makes sense, and it’s far enough away from the main parking area that they wouldn’t be caught in the rush of traffic when everyone tries to leave at once.

They’re listening to Dolly Parton’s Jolene, you realize. Not a cover version though, it’s the original, a bit fast paced, full of the frantic energy of a woman pacing back and forth, pleading hurriedly with Jolene to stay away from her lover. As you approach, you cross to the other side of the road. No need to intrude on them if they’re not alone, and you don’t want to risk being hit by a suddenly opening door. It’s then that you see their window is rolled down though, feet hanging out the metal frame, wearing a pair of black, worn down men’s ankle boots. Smoke billows out the window as you get closer, heavy and mildly skunky, and you expect you’ll be able to pass by them without a word. They’ve probably been smoking for a while, way out in the middle of nowhere.

You kick at a small pebble, smiling and shaking your head as you start to pass, and then jump when the man bolts into a sitting position. The guitar in the song seems to speed, like the tape is running a bit too fast, and that’s when you see his face. His pupils are blown wide in pale brown eyes, his face is a milky white, save for twin splotches of the faintest pink on his cheeks. His lips are dry and bitten. He has stubble, too-thick on his chin and upper lip, like he typically lets it grow, and what looks like small sideburns under his ragged mop of wavy brown hair. The cherry of the blunt in his hand is still bright, still in the process of paling- and then he’s choking, coughing up a storm as small puffs of smoke drift out of the window, immediately caught and carried away by the soft breeze.

You wait for him to stop coughing, because it only seems polite, though you don’t move from your spot on the other side of the road. He flaps his hand at you, as if he’s asking for you to wait, and that’s when you notice that he’s missing the tip of his right ring finger, rounded smooth just above the first knuckle.

“Hi?” You offer, when he turns to scrounge in his cab, bent awkwardly at the waist as he hurriedly sucks at the remnants of a drink in a fast food paper cup. “You all right over there?”

He scrambles to pull his legs back in through the window, looking harried as he sets his blunt and drink down. He brushes awkwardly at his shirt and coat, like there might be lingering crumbs hiding on the lapels. “Yes,” he says quietly, roughly, still adjusting his jacket, “yes, m’alright!” He says a bit louder, and then crosses his arms, leaning his elbows on the window frame and then his chin on his forearms. His grin is lopsided and strange-looking and- he is most definitely high. “And you?” He asks, blinking repeatedly to focus better upon your face. He rubs his chin against his forearm, a bit of hair sticking to his lower lip, but doesn’t seem to care that you’ve watched him make a fool of himself.

“I’m well, thanks,” you tell him, trying not to smile too widely. He seems to be trying to match it, slight dimples appearing in the middle of each cheek, gaze still slightly unfocused. “Visiting the Chasm?” You ask, continuing on in the vein of manners. You don’t mention the smoke. Some people are terribly quick to offer a puff, which is kind, but you don’t know the guy and.. You blink. There seems to be something off about his teeth - or maybe it’s just the way he’s leaning on his arms?

“It’s tradition,” he confesses, and then tilts his head, pursing his lips as if he’s realized he just forgot something. There’s a mild bit of guilt written in the curl of his mouth. “Coming out here, I mean. I do it every Spring, if I can manage it. It’s what- what I’ve always done.”

“It is lovely this time of year,” you agree, licking your lower lip before you turn your eyes to the cracked road still stretching out ahead of you. There’s still another 15 minutes or so until you reach the Chasm proper, but you can chat for just a bit longer before you should leave.

“Isn’t it just? The stars,” he says with a soft sigh, his teeth catching your eye again. Something about the tone, the longing in his words makes you shiver. “You a local?” The man asks, blowing awkwardly at the hair stuck to his lip. He gives up after two tries, brushing it away with the edge of his thumb and then shrugging when he notices you watching. He doesn’t even attempt to act contrite - apparently, he doesn’t mind looking a bit silly.

“It’s a favorite haunt,” you say in answer, tipping your head towards the road. “I used to spend a lot of time here during the summer, though I doubt I’ll get the chance this year. Was trying to catch a glimpse now, to make up for it.”

He leans forward a little farther, glancing up and down the empty road. “Bit of a walk for just a glimpse,” he teases and then his eyebrows raise. Dolly Parton’s Jolene comes to a close as he opens up his passenger door with a creak. The hinges sound like they desperately need oil and both of you cringe in tandem when the noise finally ceases. He clears his throat as he gets out of the truck cab, bowing awkwardly, like he's trying to be charming while he nearly tangles himself up in his jacket. He smiles brightly once more. “Perhaps you’d like a ride?” He asks smoothly, and then his smile falters when he sees the way you’re staring at his mouth.

“Are- are you wearing Halloween fangs?” You can’t help but ask, taking a few steps closer to examine them. They're pearly white and even, and they look way more natural than the caps you've seen sold on Halloween. Then he closes his mouth, lips pressed tight together to hide them from view and hums.

For a moment, he rocks back and forth on the heels of his boots, wrapping his hands around the edges of his jacket, torn with indecision.

“That wasn’t long at all, was it?” He sighs, following it with a drafty sounding laugh, not quite meeting your eyes. You’re fairly sure he’s talking to himself, rather than you. After another huff of a breath he straightens up, grinning widely again, displaying his sharp edged canines. “Didn’t even get the chance to introduce myself before you found out I was a vampire! I’ve always been rotten at it though. ‘M Warren." He crosses the road until there's only a few feet between you, offering his hand like he fully believes you'll shake it.

All you can do is stare.

"You're a vampire," you say, testing the words out, wondering if you've brought this strangeness on yourself. You were only trying to be polite, and now-

"Mhmm," Warren agrees, wiggling his fingers, like he thinks the reminder will tantalize you into shaking his hand. "You're at little risk from me," he adds, hand dipping, but not dropping completely. "We're not exactly like the stories," he shares in a low voice, like it’s a secret. Like there might even be a chance of someone lurking about to hear him say it.

Your heart jumps into an unsteady gallop of rhythm, and you can't deny that you're nervous now. Vampire! This guy is either fucking with you, or he's.. Maybe he's been doing harder drugs than just the pot.

"I see," you say, not seeing at all. You bite your lower lip and try not to worry at the tender flesh. Warren wrinkles his nose, like he can scent the lie, and then he jumps when you shake his hand. You're doing it to be obstinate, really. To gauge his temperature and then maybe you'll be on your way. But his hand is terribly cold. Much colder than it should be, unless he's been sitting in front of his air conditioner, running it at full blast, or he has some kind of blood circulation problem. Though- though you’re not entirely sure an air conditioner could make someone feel so strange.

Your eyes dart to the truck, half expecting to hear the thrum of the air conditioning under the still-playing tape, but- no. It isn't on. The key is in the ignition, keeping the music going, but otherwise the truck is off. His skin is cold, he’s wearing- He has fangs? And he’s out in the middle of nowhere smoking who knows what.

You drop his hand, trying not to let the strain show in your smile. “So if vampires aren’t exactly like the stories, what are you like? No.. drinking blood or turning into bats?”

Warren laughs. “No bats for me! Screechy little suckers-” Warren clamps his mouth shut, nose wrinkling, lips trembling and then forcibly clears his throat. “Pardon the pun,” he chokes out, trying to hold back another round of laughter. “Blood drinking is true-” he starts, but the laughter fades as soon as he notices the wariness in your eyes, in the way you hold yourself. Shoulders back, hands starting to fidget. “We don’t need it,” he says, tone gentle, raising his hands to either side. It’s a clear gesture of harmlessness, and truth be told, you don’t have any reason to.. disbelieve him.

“Let me guess,” you say, forcing yourself to laugh, “you drink animal blood?” This is fine. Really. He’s being conscious of personal space and sure, maybe he’s.. He’s weird, but Warren is keeping back and isn’t pressing you to believe him or insisting on giving you that ride.

Warren grimaces. “Noo,” he murmurs, drawing out the word, staring down at the ground like he’s- like he’s disappointed, or maybe ashamed would be a better descriptor. The negative feeling seems to be directed at himself. “Humans are all we can drink. Like I said though, we don’t need it. We’ll live just fine without it.” He’s rubbing awkwardly at his arm, still staring at the ground, like he’s afraid to meet your eyes now.

“Vampires.. Can live without blood?” You ask, eyebrows raising. You should probably just walk away. It’s not like he’s trying to keep you here any longer, and you’re fairly sure he wouldn’t lift a hand to stop you if you did. And then, then there are the things he’s claiming. “Alright. Listen, the cell service might not be the best out here, but should I, uh, call someone, or-?” You take your eyes off of him, just for a second, to fish about in your pocket for your phone. When you glance back up he seems momentarily frozen, expression vacant.

Warren’s shoulders slump, but he finally lifts his gaze away from the road, flashing you a smile that’s awkward at best as he shakes his head. “No need,” he tells you. “Anyway, the Chasm! Can still offer you a lift, if you’d like, but if not, be careful on the edge, yeah?” He turns away, footsteps slow.

You don’t believe him and.. And that fact alone seems to have hurt his feelings. You can see that he regrets that he said it, even though he’s still not attempting to dispute it. It’s just- he’s high as a kite, thinking he’s a vampire of all things. Or maybe he made a stupid decision and got some kind of mod done to his teeth and he’s embarrassed about it. Your brain seizes onto that thought with all the metaphorical strength it can. People are weird, and things like that are totally within the realm of possibility, aren’t they?

“You know what?” You call out before he can reach his truck. “Yeah, I will take that ride.” You smile brightly when he glances at you over his shoulder, confusion written clearly in the arch of his eyebrow. If he’s manipulating you in any way? You can just push him over the chasm edge and call the cops. There’s a shelf that won’t let him fall too far and... your smile turns a little wry. And if he is a vampire of any kind - and you can barely believe you spare that a second of thought - he’ll be absolutely fine.

“Of.. Of course,” Warren says, still sporting wide eyes and a concerned arch to his brow. He bobs his head, decision made, before waving you closer, leaving the rickety passenger door to you as he circles the truck cab. The driver’s side door is just as creaky as the other, though this time he tries to dampen his wincing with a very put upon smile. As soon as you’re both inside, buckling up the ancient seatbelts, Warren is fiddling about with the radio dials. He’s still sporting a tape player, but the surrounding machinery has been upgraded and all it takes is a quick twist before the tape is rewinding. Your attention turns to the floorboards, which are… Mostly clean. There’s a small, rickety looking cup holder coming out from underneath the front seat, housing the paper cup he’d been drinking out of. Part of you is highly tempted to tease him, to ask if the cup is full of blood, as it does house something dark - but… You’ve no desire to be cruel.

His blunt, just barely leaking any smoke now, is laying carefully in the ashtray, filling the cab with the heavy scent of pot. He doesn’t seem to notice though. Or it might just be that he’s trying to stay focused, to keep from making you uncomfortable. He still hasn’t denied that he’s a vampire though, hasn’t interrupted the quiet to tell you that he was joking.

“You said that visiting the Chasm is tradition?” You ask as he starts up the truck. Unlike the doors, there’s only a very small splutter before it shifts smoothly into gear, rumbling under your feet. The tape clicks and starts playing, Susie Q filling the small space, a fine layer of static mulling some of the words. It’s a mixtape then and- Your eyes trace his profile, the way he nervously licks at his lips, eyes focused on the rearview mirror as he backs up off of the embankment. His teeth catch your eye again when he opens his mouth to speak, but now that you know they’re there, you doubt you’ll be able to look away. Give him a pair of bell bottoms and he’d look like he was from the 70s. Maybe a little more trimmed up though, his sideburns aren’t quite that prominent.

“Yeah,” Warren agrees, a bit of brightness filling his eyes back up. “Every spring, me, Maria Hargrove, and at least two of her brothers - usually Daniel and-” His gaze darts to you and then his mouth snaps shut for a few seconds. He looks startled, like he hadn’t really considered sharing the information in the first place. “We- we used to come out here and smoke. Listen to some music for a bit.”

“Maria and Daniel are.. busy?” You ask, though you have the feeling that you probably shouldn’t. That’s pretty much prying, and you’ve done your best to sidestep any truly personal questions he’s asked you. “Sorry, that’s none of my-”

“S’ok,” he tells you, shrugging one shoulder. “Uh, no, not busy. They’ve.. They’ve been gone for a while. Accident,” he confesses, hand flexing on the steering wheel, drawing your attention to the tip of his missing finger. You open your mouth to apologize, but he makes a strange little hum of a noise and it takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to harmonize with Susie Q before he starts quietly singing along. For as lovely as his speaking voice is, his singing voice is rough from disuse. It’s not bad - not at all, but his tone sounds a little off. You willingly let him change the subject with his little sing-along, knowing it’s all to avoid an uncomfortable conversation about loss. Maybe Maria and Daniel have something to do with his claims of vampirism. He clears his throat after a moment, the truck still trundling down the road. The Chasm is almost within sight though, road turning from cracked asphalt to gravel and dirt, widening out as the trees start to thin. He grins, dimples appearing. “A singer I am not,” he tells you. “Luckily, the Chasm is in view and you won’t have to suffer much longer.”

“I wasn’t suffering,” you insist, clutching at the door handle when the truck comes to a noisy stop. “Your breaks sound like they are though. Do you usually work on it, or-”

“I should,” he mumbles. “I have the time, don’t I?” Warren puts it in park and then reaches out for the blunt still sitting in the ashtray. “Ah, did you want some?” He offers it to you with his right hand, patting at the pockets on his left for a lighter.

As harmless as he still seems, you’re not sure what all he’s been smoking still. You decline, though he doesn’t take offense, staying buckled up in the cab to smoke as you get out of it.

“You can sit on the hood if you want,” Warren chokes out before you can step away, eyes blinking rapidly to keep from breathing out before he’s ready. Part of you thinks you should decline, that you should go park yourself on the Chasm edge and lay back to watch the stars, but- he’s not bad company. Warren just has issues, and the soft music still coming from his truck is a nice accompaniment to the wheeling stars overhead.

“If you don’t mind the company?” You ask, pausing with your feet just outside the door. He bobs his head and gives you a thumbs up, so you close the passenger door before you clamber up onto the hood. It’s warm under your hands, but warmer under your thighs and as soon as you’re comfortable, leaning gently back against the cool windshield, Warren is getting out of his truck to join you. He stays on the opposite side, not wanting to encroach on your personal space still, and finally breathes out, watching the wisps of smoke vanish on the breeze. You can’t quite keep your mouth shut, it seems. “So humans are all you can drink. But you don’t need it?”

Warren’s fingers spasm where they’re resting on his middle and his eyes dart to your face. With the fast fading sunset, his eyes are dark now, the pale brown of them only a memory. He looks terribly surprised by your question and stares for a few more moments until he seems sure you meant to ask. “It.. it erases the pain,” he finally says, hand stealing up to brush over his chest. If it wouldn’t cross a line, you’d be tempted to reach over and feel for a heart beat, just because he seems so damnably sure about all of this.

“...human pain?” You ask, confused by the statement.

“Ah, n- sort of? Taking blood from a human shouldn’t hurt. If you do it right, it should feel good,” he says, and his eyes drift to your wrist and then dart away. “Or at least, uh, numbing? I- I’ve only been on the receiving end of teeth the once, so.. Pain! We were, uh, talking about it erasing pain.” His fingers dig into his shirt, though his eyes stay on the stars overhead.

“We- vampires,” he corrects, absently, “are frozen. We’re cold, our bodies- it’s all dry, aching muscles and a vast emptiness in our chest. With fresh blood? We can feel again. More than pain,” he adds on. “It’s thawing, like a hot drink after your bones are aching from the cold.”

“And if you can’t get any?” What he says is fairly mesmerizing. You’ve never heard a take on vampires that sounds quite like this, at least, not that you can recall. Whatever Warren’s issues are, he can sure spin a story.

“If I can’t get any, if it isn’t being given willingly, then I smoke. I can eat food, but that’s like- like eating oyster crackers to stave off the hunger pangs while you wait. It doesn’t really fill me up.” He sighs, breathing out the tension that’s been sitting heavy on his shoulders since you rejected his claims earlier. “Drugs are the easiest choice, really. Killing is- is much harder than many imagine it to be, even if you have the strength to do so. It’s such a ripoff, isn’t it?” He asks, though not like he actually thinks you’ll have a solid answer. ”Stay pretty, supposedly, give what humans you trust pleasure with the bite, but-” He grunts, shoulders slumping. “It’s all worse than dry mouth,” he tells you with a sigh.

You just barely keep from scoffing. Dry mouth? That’s what he’s comparing vampirism to? “And the stories of vampires that most people grow up on?”

Warren glances at you, frowning, like he wishes you hadn’t asked. “If you’re emotionally strung out about it, you won’t get far. Not everyone has the same kind of physical pain tolerance either, and depending on how they try and manage it?” He grimaces.

You hope you’ll live to regret this. You suck in a breath, trying to keep your expression serious, but open and then you sit up to offer him your wrist. “If you’re hungry,” you start, getting ready to offer in words as well. Warren bolts upright though, hair a mess around his startled face.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says sharply, looking a little frightened at your potential suggestion. “And I’m not- I’ve been smoking. I’m not a danger to you, or- or anyone else.”

“Did I say that?” You ask, because he seems to be gearing up for a long explanation about how he doesn’t need it all over again. “I won’t press if you really don’t want it, but you said it eases pain, and if you’re in pain and you’re actually a vampire then- well, it’s supposed to feel good on both sides, or numbing, if you do it correctly, right?” Your offer isn’t completely altruistic. If he’s just high, you’re fairly certain he’s going to back off, or maybe bite you for a handful of seconds without breaking the skin. If he’s a vampire? Well, then he was telling the truth this entire time and you’ve.. Kind of been pushy about this. Truth be told, you’re not entirely certain what you’re going to do if he is telling the truth, but you do want to know.

Cautiously, like you’re made of fragile glass, Warren takes your hand in both of his. Even now, his hands are still that strange, overwhelming cold. His hand starts to shake when his thumb traces over the fine veins at your wrist. “If you don’t like it,” he starts, licking at his dry lips, “tell me. I’ll stop. I don’t want- I’ve never been in the business of scaring people.” That, at least, feels absolutely certain.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, unwilling to look away, even though he’s obviously nervous. He opens his mouth, lifting your wrist and then takes a deep breath, like he can taste you before his lips have even brushed your skin. And then his teeth graze over your pulse.

You’d thought his hands were cold, but that is as nothing compared to the crackle of ice that seems to zip down your wrist. You can see that his lips are pressed over whatever small wound he might have made, slightly rough from dryness, but then you blink, and you feel almost as inebriated as you’ve imagined he must be. The cold fades, and then your ears and extremities all grow warm, a soft, fuzzy feeling traveling from your wrist, out to your fingers and up to your elbow. It isn’t sexual - not now, though you’ve no doubt it could be, but a giddy pleasure leaves you light headed and smiling. You feel like you could lounge out here the rest of the night and never grow cold. Warren sucks then, lighting every synapse in your brain on fire, tracing whatever wound he made with his tongue and then he pulls away. You have to bite your lower lip to keep from asking him to keep going.

Even in the dim light of the stars, you can see that he’s changed. He still has messy hair and a goofy smile, but his cheeks are flushed healthily and his lips are no longer dry. Even the tip of his nose is a fair bit darker and when his thumb rubs against your wrist, he now feels… Almost warm. Not normal, not really, but that biting cold is gone from his fingertips.

“That- that couldn’t have been much?” You mutter, shaking your head to try and throw off the fog in the back of your brain. You feel good, but you’re not sure you can stand up, not just yet, and you know that realization should be a little worrying.

“No,” Warren says and he looks offended. He lets go of your wrist, placing both hands in his lap, dragging his hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve never been bitten before! I’d already sprung the knowledge that vampires exist on you a bit early, I wouldn’t-”

You can’t help it, you start laughing. Partly because of the buoyant feeling floating through your system, but mostly because Warren had been telling the truth, in all things. He definitely wasn’t in the business of scaring people, and he’s a vampire. “Vampires are real,” you breathe out, flopping back against the windshield a little hard. It doesn’t crack, but the sudden motion is startling enough to make you wheeze. Warren immediately reaches out, but then freezes, hands hovering over your shoulders before he decides to keep his touch to himself. “Is Keanu Reeves a vampire?” You demand, laughing again when Warren stares at you blankly and then sighs.

“Why would I know?” He asks, mirroring the way you’re laying back. “I’m from the middle of nowhere - I don’t exactly have any claim to fame.”

“So vampires don’t all know each other?”

Warren looks terribly disappointed in this line of questioning, so you leave off with a shake of your head, still smiling. The light headed feeling is fading away though, relief settling into your bones. You just happened to meet a vampire with chronic pain on a backwoods road at sunset and he’s ridiculous and.. Kind of sweet.

“I’ve missed coming out here,” you say, willing to change the subject. You nod your head towards the chasm, towards the space on either side that’s usually filled with cars. “It’s always such a nice spot.”

Warren hums again, tapping his fingers against his knees. “It is. Coming back here, even after- The Chasm has always held good memories for me.”

It takes everything you have not to blurt out Maria and Daniel? when he says that, still teetering on the edge of bite inebriation. You must make some kind of motion though, because Warren turns to you, smiling, teeth catching what faint light there is and drawing your eye.

“Time always kind of.. Presses in on me. This is one of the few spaces that the pressure of it, the layers of memories, are all good ones. With Maria, Daniel and Christopher. With Kara a few years after this happened. With- with you, now,” he teases, very, very gently elbowing you in the side.

“Have you been flirting?” You ask suddenly, thinking back over the goofy looking smile he’d first given you, the awkward little bow when he’d gotten out of his truck. You close your mouth as soon as you say it, heat crawling up your throat - though this time it isn’t accompanied by the floaty feeling he’d given you with the bite. This time it’s all embarrassment.

Warren clears his throat, and that silly-looking, dimpled smile he’d first given you returns. “Not very well, apparently,” he says. “I blurted out my deepest, darkest secret moments after we met, didn’t I?”

“It’s a wonder you’ve escaped the media,” you tease, settling back to watch the stars. Slowly, the hours start to slip by. You half expect this all to be some kind of fever dream, to have walked through an area with leaking gas and to wake up in the morning having hallucinated the whole thing. You lift your wrist more than once to glance at the spot where puncture marks should be - but there are only the faintest pin pricks, hardly visible in the low light, barely tender to the touch and all throughout the evening, quiet music plays from the truck cab. Popular tunes from the 70’s, Warren tells you when you ask and then pops up, concern in his eyes.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sitting up and groaning. Your legs and lower back are sore - laying on the hood of a truck isn’t exactly the nicest place to sit, and now that you don’t have the leftover buzz from his bite, you’ve grown cold.

“Leave the radio playing too long and the battery will go dead,” he murmurs, jumping off the hood and darting into the cab to turn the key in the ignition. The trucks rumbles back to life and you just barely catch sight of Warren’s guilty smile through the windshield before he’s backing out of his truck and stretching. “I, uh, don’t mind the company, of course, but I can stay out here all night without any issues. Do you need a ride back to town, or were you planning on, uh-” Warren glances over you and your obviously empty hands.

“It was kind of a spur of the moment thing,” you confide, shrugging when he raises an eyebrow. "I'm not in any hurry to leave though, unless you're looking to be alone for a while. I have intruded a fair bit already."

Warren shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the hood. “If you want to stay, I- well, I’d welcome it,” he tells you honestly, earnestly, and if you were just a bit closer you would have reached over to tug on one of the long locks of his wavy hair.

“Still hungry?” You tease, hesitant to push, but wanting the subject to remain open. You won’t press for details about his lost loved ones if he doesn’t want to share in the first place, and you’re kind of ashamed you had, but- it’s kind of hard to ignore the knowledge he’s shared with you, and you'd rather it remain on the lighter hearted side.

If he had the blood volume to blush again, you're fairly sure he would have. Warren laughs awkwardly, not quite looking you in the eye and scrubs his hand through his hair.

"I- we're always hungry," he says, a little too fast. "Or, mostly, we are, and if- I'm not saying I need anything- But if you’re truly offering-"

"If you are, I'm not opposed," you explain, a little flustered yourself. You have to force yourself not to fidget or let another awkward smile take over, to keep looking at his eyes, rather than his mouth.

Warren is back on the truck hood in barely a blink, hardly making a whisper of a noise, kneeling in his previous spot. For the first time, your heart truly speeds up in surprise. You hadn’t even seen him move. Reflexively, unwillingly, you flinch and then he’s pulling his hand away.

“No, wait, I wasn’t-” You snag his hand, but only because he lets you. After that little display, you know that he can move faster than the eye can see and your words trail away like smoke. The tension in Warren’s shoulders slowly eases, another one of those silly little smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I very much doubt I could turn down such a lovely offer and not regret it,” he confesses, sitting carefully next to you, kneecaps brushing against your thighs. He’s moving slow now, still a little embarrassed by his eagerness. His hand isn’t quite warm any longer, but it’s still not as chilled as it was a few hours ago, the rounded knuckle of his pointer finger trailing over your left hand. Like earlier, Warren wraps his fingers around your wrist, delicate with his touch, but pauses just before he touches his lips to your skin. You lift your eyes from his mouth, startled again to find him so close even though he hasn’t moved from where he’d settled next to you. His eyes look black now, with such little light in the sky. If he tilted his head back, you’re fairly sure they could clearly reflect the stars overhead, and his mouth- “Are you.. Only offering your wrist?” He asks quietly, voice such a soft whisper that his words are nearly carried away by the breeze. You’re fairly sure they only make sense because you’d been staring.

You haven’t known him for more than an evening, but you get it now. All the widespread stories of vampires, soothed only fractionally by blood, strung out on their emotions and aching with pain. It’s no wonder that those are the ones most people remember, that people laugh them off when reading horror novels or watching movies in the theatre. You hear hints of the softer side of things, of seduction, but half of those stories still end in bloodshed. Vampires like Warren though? Soft eyed and awkward, trying to flirt for their dinner and then move on through life, quietly hiding their aches and pains? You think of the people you’ve known for years, the ones that always have the best stories, that yammer because they’ve been smoking too much… You wonder how many of them have been turned. You kiss him, then. It almost starts because of that thread of guilt wrapped twice over around your thoughts. Because you’d doubted him, even though he hadn’t given you a reason to. Warren’s fingers curl gently around the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over the pulse in your throat, lips opening so his tongue can trace your mouth. He hums again, that lilting noise he’d made earlier, like he’s attempting to tune himself to the soft sigh you breathe out against him. He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t tear his mouth from yours to rush things along, he just keeps kissing you, his long hair brushing against your cheeks as he tilts back your head, inching closer. His fangs brush against your lower lip and that zip of chill rockets through your mouth, across the tip of your tongue and down until you feel like you’ve broken out in goosebumps. Warren tilts his head and what little blood there might have been on your lip is gone. Warmth spreads, leaving you light headed and tingling and leaning in- and only then does Warren take his mouth from yours. He trails soft kisses along your jaw and up to your earlobe, barely brushing it with his normal teeth and then moves back down. By the time Warren bites you, sharp fangs pressing right over the pulsing artery in your neck, you’ve all but draped yourself over him.

His right hand, still curled around the back of your neck, adjusts so he won’t strain you and then his left hand is trailing over your chest. He doesn’t dip under clothing or fondle roughly, he’s slow, as steady as the intoxicating pull of his mouth over your pulse. Every touch though, every stroke of fingers or caress through your shirt, brings that feeling of euphoria higher. You’re not sure you’re ever going to laugh over the thought of seductive vampires again, not after knowing what it feels like to have them bite you. Not after knowing what it sounds like when he moans against your skin. For just a moment, that sharp edged feeling returns, and the smallest thread of pleasure-pain has you tensing, thighs starting to shake. Warren’s left hand strokes over your thigh and then all he does is squeeze your knee.

The orgasm is near blinding, spiraling through you for far longer than you’ve ever held one on the edge and even after Warren pulls his teeth away, after his mouth is nothing more than lips, soft and warm against your skin, you’re not quite sure that you’re coming down from it. You realize, after a moment, that you’re starting to wheeze, because everything feels ridiculously, wonderfully good but-

“How do people walk after that?” You gasp, blinking rapidly as Warren laughs against your shoulder.

“Practice,” he murmurs, and his cheeks have heat now too. You press one of your palms to his chest, smiling when you feel an achingly slow beat against your skin.

“I would think practice might kill people first. Are you- are you sure it isn’t hard for-”

Warren presses a soft kiss to your jaw, leaning back so he can look you in the face. “If a vampire ever claimed that they’d lost their humanity, it’s very likely that they didn’t have it in the first place.” It’s the only time he’s ever sounded serious, sure of his words. Not nervous or-

“Well,” you tell him, clearing your throat and trying to straighten your shoulders. “I would like to put in another round of practice sometime then.”

Warren looks- soft eyed and kind of dopey, smiling at you, but the nerves are back as well. “Not just biting, I hope?”

Your eyes dart down to his lap and you can’t help but grin. “If you’re truly offering, I might be convinced.”

#exophilia #vampire boyfriend #monster boyfriend #male vampire x reader #d.darling writes

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