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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either. 

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it. 

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does. 

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them. 

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger. 

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture. 

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face. 

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever. 

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his  tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise. 

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable. 

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it. 

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white. 

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible- 

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg. 

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up. 

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh. 

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.” 

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?” 

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“ 

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“ 

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?” 

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“ 

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood. 

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed. 

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.” 

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.” 

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion. 

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him. 

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go. 

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out. 

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[bubble-popping]

day 35 :D more dnb actor au that i rly gotta finish 😭

This was Dream's least favorite part of staying in a hotel. A portion of his entire wardrobe shrunken to a single closet and still he had no idea what to wear. He'd consider just throwing on some underwear if hotels, even the five-star high-end pseudo-palace ones, weren't notoriously disgusting. Who knows what the previous patrons did in that bed. No way in hell was any of it touching his bare skin. A knock at his door interrupted his thought process.

"Who is it?" He asked, loud enough to be heard through the wood.

"I request an audience with my humble servant, Hubert." Techno's voice responded. Dream sighed heavily, a mixture of fond and exasperated. Sometimes, he wondered why he ever loved that man. (Then the memories would flood in, and he recalled exactly why.)

Dream pulled on the first outfit he grabbed--a t-shirt and sweatpants apparently--and crossed the room to the entrance. He opened the door only to lean against the frame. "You'll have to forgive my unruly appearance, my Lord," he said in the accent of his character, dramatically gesturing to the towel around his shoulders catching the water from his hair. "I wasn't expecting company at such a late hour."

By the way Techno eyed him, something told him his costar didn't mind at all. "Banish the thought. I'm here to see you, not the clothes you wear."

The blond narrowed his gaze before it landed on the bottle of wine and accompanying glasses in Techno's hands. "Is that merlot?" He dropped the accent.

Techno did as well when he answered, "Indeed. It is still your favorite, right?"

A part of Dream kind of hated that Techno remembered. "C'mon in, Techno."

He did not have to be told twice.

Dream closed and locked the door behind him, raising a curious brow as Techno went to sit the wine glasses down on a nearby desk and unscrew the bottle.

"So, you wanna tell me why you're really here?" The freckled man questioned on his way to the cream suede loveseat.

"What, a guy can't visit his coworker after a long day?" Techno replied with an innocent tone, but Dream knew better.

"Oh, please. I'm not stupid, Techno."

"Could've fooled me." The pinkette shrugged as he joined the other man. If he hadn't been holding two glasses of Dream's favorite wine, that little comment absolutely would've earned him a kick to the shin.

"Smart enough to know you've got something on your mind," he said instead, accepting the glass offered to him and taking a sip. A familiar fruity taste slid over his tongue and down his throat, some delicious flavor combination of cherries and chocolate--too similar to that of Techno's lips on the nights of 'special occasions.'

"Never could hide that from you," Techno spoke with a grin around the rim of his glass.

"So?" Dream leaned against the back of the couch, head propped up by his knuckles.

The elder swirled his drink in slow circles, watching the wine slosh around. "That scene. The one we ended off on. What made you go in that direction?"

The blond blinked at him before shrugging. "It's just what the character wanted me to do. I've told you about that kind of thing."

"Right, right. Goin' off-script cuz 'the character told ya to.' I think that's what they say when people plead insanity too."

Dream scoffed. "Well, it's true."

"I believe it. Or, I would, if it was that simple. But, that wasn't just improv, Dream." When Techno glanced to him, Dream seemed more interested in his drink. "You and I both know that."

"It was just a scene, Techno. It doesn't mean anything," he said, cold and distant, like a switch had flipped.

[prismatica-the-strange]

Bite Me | God, I Love Party Girl Brains

Warnings: 18+, alcohol use, Blaine is nasty as usual, sexual tension, exhibitionism mention, smut, p in v, degradation, multiple creampies, kind of fluffy at the end

Synopsis: There's a mix-up in the Scratching Post kitchen and Cori and Blaine take advantage of it.

Word Count: 2.3k

Party Mix Playlist Link

"Don E!" Cori whines, bursting through the doors of the kitchen of The Scratching Post.

"Yeah, what's up C?" He asks, not looking up from the plates he's moving.

"I think there was a mix-up," She wraps her arm around her stomach, tossing her hair, "You said you gave me the creative writer, but I think I got party girl instead."

"No, nope," He shakes his head, "No way there was a mix-up."

He looks up to see her head tilted, annoyingly chewing gum with her mouth open.

"Though I have been wrong before."

"Something wrong?" Blaine asks, coming in the back.

His eyebrows raise when she sighs, "No. It's whatever."

"Okay..." He glances at Don E.

"I'm gonna go change," She says, tugging at her cargo pants, "I'm gonna send you an EDM playlist D, you should play it tonight. I wanna dance."

Blaine watches her walk out, specifically the sway of her hips and ass, before turning to Don E, looking for an explanation.

"We're gonna have to change the menu for tonight, some idiot switched the Writer and Party Girl brains."

Divider by Saradika

Link

"What happened to the playlist I sent you?" She pouts at Don E, tits threatening to spill out of her tight top when she leans over the bar.

"No way am I putting on that trash, sorry C."

"Can you at least get me a shot of Patron?"

"How about some Vodka?"

She stomps her foot and huffs as she stands up. She crosses her arms and turns to scan the crowd.

She makes her way through a group of people when she spots Blaine, latching onto his arm.

"Blaineyyyy," She whines, "Don E's being mean to me."

"I'm sorry, sugar, I'll take care of it once I'm done here," He kisses the top of her head and she looks absolutely crestfallen. She stays there, hanging off of him for another ten or so minutes before storming off.

She walks right behind the bar and picks up the sound system tablet.

"What are you doing?" Don E asks, reaching to take it from her.

"If you're both going to ignore me, then I'm putting something to dance to," She explains, pulling it away from him, "If you're serving Party Girl, you should have the right vibe anyways."

She taps play on her playlist and her face lights up, setting down the tablet and downing the drink he was about to serve.

He looks flabbergasted when she hands the empty glass back to him and walks out to the growing crowd on the dancefloor.

"Kesha? Really?" He calls after her and she flips him off.

Blaine is more confused than he should be when music starts blaring from the club's speakers, bass boosted so hard, the liquor on nearby tables is rippling in its glasses.

He looks over at the bar only to see Don E rolling his eyes and muttering to himself.

He can barely hear the possible 'investor' he's talking to over the noise.

His attention wanders, as do his eyes, flitting over the crowd until he sees her. She's jumping and moving to the music, lost in her own world, and his stare rakes down her body.

"That has got to be the shortest skirt she owns," He says absentmindedly, small smirk on his lips.

"I'm sorry, maybe we can finish this conversation later when it's not so loud," He says to the man standing across from him before heading to the bar.

"Cori said you were being mean to her," He chuckles.

"Yeah, I wouldn't play her shit music or start her on tequila."

"Looks like she found a workaround," Blaine laughs, pouring himself another drink.

"Dude, we've gotta get her on a new brain," Don E groans, "She wants to add a permanent DJ booth and was looking into getting an industrial fog machine and glow sticks in bulk."

"Ah, we'll just keep her from making any big purchases and it'll be fine."

"You sure about that?" Don E motions to the dance floor and he turns to see what he's talking about, sipping his drink.

Cori is rolling her body against some random guy in time with the music while he runs his hands across her curves, fingers dipping just below the waistband of her skirt. She seems blissfully ignorant of how she's being stared at by a handful of patrons.

The glass surprisingly doesn't crack when he slams it back on the counter. He shoves his way through the mass of writhing bodies until he's standing in front of her. He grabs her arm and tugs her away from her dance partner, his eyes red and face more pallid than usual.

After successfully scaring off the potential threat, he turns to her.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" He spits.

"Well, you weren't going to dance with me."

"Sweetheart, that wasn't dancing, that was him dry-humping you on the dancefloor."

He can't help but agree with Don E's idea of getting her off this brain when she rolls her eyes.

"Hey," He grips her chin, forcing her to look at him, "If you wanted someone to fuck you in front of all these people, you could have just asked."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm exactly how you like me," He growls, pushing his lips against hers.

She's into it, he can tell by the way she tugs him closer by the shirt and moans into his mouth.

"I get the feeling you find the idea appealing," He teases, making her whimper, "Aw, but someone wanted to dance."

She smirks, accepting his little challenge of who will break first. She turns and sways her hips to the music, pressing her ass against him, arms raising to trail her fingers down his cheek.

He can't help but laugh, he's so whipped for her.

His hands hold her waist, taking a moment to find the beat and move with her.

He tries not to groan when she grinds back on him, already hard in his tight jeans, his grip bruising. She cocks her head aside when he starts sucking her neck.

She has to pry him off her to step away and peel her jacket off, revealing all the bare skin of her chest and shoulders he needs to get his mouth on.

He pulls her back in, thumbs rubbing her midriff, "You're so hot."

Her fingers trace his chin before she swivels her hips to the beat, reaching down to take one of his hands. He raises it to let her spin slowly, leading him back to the bar.

He presses her against the counter, the edge cutting into her stomach.

"What do you want?"

She pushes her ass against his hard-on and he chokes out, "Tequila! F-fuck..."

"So she just gets whatever she wants?" Don E complains.

"I always do," She grins, throwing back the shot, taping the rim to signal she wants another.

Don E looks back at Blaine who eagerly nods for him to do what she says.

"You know, if I had done something like this," He pours her another shot, "I wouldn't still be here."

"Fucking the owner has its perks," She winks at him and Blaine buries his face in her neck, nipping at her skin, "Speaking of which."

He starts pulling her away, towards the office.

"Please don't fuck on my desk," Don E calls after them, "Blaine? Cori? Please?"

(MDNI Banner by CafeKitsune)

She cuts him off by sliding the door shut behind them. Blaine ambushes her, hands sliding under her shirt, tongue shoving it's way past her lips.

She pulls away with a grin, "I win."

"Shut the fuck up," He chuckles. He grabs the back of her thighs and hoists her up.

She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him while he moves to set her on the desk.

"Oh please Mr. Club owner, I swear I thought I could pay for those drinks," She says with an exaggerated pout, "How can I ever make up for it?"

He laughs against her lips, tickled by her theatrics.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways, sweetheart," He starts bunching her skirt up around her waist, drooling at the sight of her black lace panties.

He presses two fingers against her slit through them, letting out a shaky breathe when he feels how wet she is.

He hooks them on his fingers and drags them down, tossing them over his shoulder.

"Now why don't you be a good girl and keep these pretty legs spread for me?"

She bites her bottom lip as she raises her legs, heels resting on the edge of the desk.

She watches him unbutton his jeans, pulling off her shirt. She can't stop herself from reaching between her legs to play with her clit as she watches him, muscles tensing at the feeling.

"Oh, honey," He groans, frozen with his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, eyes zeroed in on her cunt, "That's gotta be the hottest thing I've ever seen."

He shucks off his underwear and slowly starts fisting his cock, "You touchin' yourself cause of me, sweetness?"

"Uh-huh," She nods, "Blaine..."

He could almost cum from the way she sighs his name while sliding her fingers into her pussy.

He watches her for a minute, taking note of the way her eyebrows furrow when she can't reach the spot she needs.

"Your fingers too small?" He teases, pulling her hand away, "Need me to make you feel good?"

"Please," She whimpers at the feeling of him running his tip through her utterly soaked folds.

"Please what?"

"Please make me feel good, Blaine," She begs, "Need your cock-!"

She chokes on her words when he slams into her, the force making her feet slip so she has to wrap her legs around his waist.

"F-fuck! Blaine!" She holds onto his shoulders for dear life as he pistons in and out of her.

"This is what you wanted, right?" He growls against her ear, "Wanted to be fucked like a whore?"

"Yes! Yesyesyes!" She whines, "Wanna be a good whore for you baby!"

"Just for me?" His possessiveness taking over.

"Just for you," She confirms, pulling him to her lips.

She cries out when he grins and reaches down to rub her clit.

"Then be a good little whore for me and cum."

The laugh that leaves him is nothing less than sadistic as she jerks in his arms and screams out his name.

"Oh fuck baby," He chokes out, "Juuust like that. So tight sweetheart."

He doesn't slow down and her vision blurs.

"B-Blaine! Fuck!"

His abuse of her clit only worsens when he sees tears start to form.

"Aw poor p-poor thing," He forces out, "But this is what she wanted, yeah? Wanted to be fucked like a slut? Just couldn't keep her clothes on. Needed my dick inside her sooo bad."

"Blaine!" She sobs when her second orgasm wracks through her and he gasps.

"Baby- Cori- ah," He presses his forehead to hers, mouth hanging open. Her eyes roll back when she feels him spill into her, "Ah, Sweetheart, beautiful girl."

She slumps back onto the desk, pulling him with her. He rests his head on her chest and mutters soft praises as he kisses her skin.

"You're soft," He hums. He takes his time squeezing and groping her hips and thighs.

He straightens up and pulls out, making her shiver.

Propping herself up on her elbows and locking eyes with him while he pulls on his pants, she reaches down, collects the cum dripping out of her, and fucks it back inside her with her middle and ring finger.

"Don't do that," He breathes, pants hanging off his hips, dick already starting to harden again, "That's my job."

He yanks her off the desk before spinning her around and shoving her face down on it.

She claws at the wood, pornographic moan leaving her when he slams back into her.

"That's it, baby," He grins, "I know you love it when I'm rough with you."

She tries to give him a witty comeback, but it comes out as a garbled, rambling mess.

He's feral, not giving her time to breathe, making her gasp with each thrust.

"You wanted my cum, huh?" He asks and she nods dumbly, "Well, you're gonna get it, sweetheart. Load after load of it in this sweet, sweet pussy."

Her heartbeat is nearly up to 20 beats a minute by the time he's done with her. The desk is a mess. Not just strewn with papers and pens but with cum and sweat smeared and puddled on it.

"Blainey," Her voice is hoarse from screaming, certain the clubbers outside the door could hear them going at it like rabbits. She clings to his neck, nails scratching at his scalp.

He's lying on top of her, trying to catch his breath.

"Please don't ask for one more, baby," He pants, "Cause I'll be honest, I don't think I have it in me."

"'M tired."

"Yeah, me too."

He pushes himself up, leaning on his arms to look down at her.

She looks absolutely wrecked. Countless orgasms and her hair is everywhere, lipstick smeared, eyeshadow running down her cheeks.

"You're beautiful," He whispers, leaning down to kiss her, "Let's go home."

She nods, letting him pull her into a sitting position.

He throws his clothes back on and helps her pull on her panties.

She tries to stand, but her legs are jelly beneath her and she nearly falls.

"I gotcha, sugar," He hooks his arm under her legs and scoops her up.

She wraps one arm around his neck, resting the other on his chest.

"My Prince Charming," She sighs sleepily.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far," He grins, "But I appreciate the compliment."

[camp-sky-heaven-on-earth]

Welcome to Camp Sky

Camp Sky is Camp Half-Bloods brother camp for the Chinese Demigods.

We are located at Flower Fruit Mountain.

To get to Flower Fruit Mountain, you gotta travel to Luoyang City in China and Ring the shrine bell that is labeled "Heavens Gate" or "天门" and Sun Wukong will come pick you up. If all gods are busy a spirit will open a portal for you to enter the camp that way.

DO NOT RING IF YOU ARE NOT A DEMIGOD THE SPIRITS THAT GUARD THE SHRINE WILL DEVOUR YOU RIGHT ON THE SPOT.

Greek, Norse, or Japanese demigods has to ring the visitor bell (the tiny one next to the main 天门 bell)

We usually do not have quests -our brother camp usually takes care of those- But if so we send the oldest/strongest to accompany the chosen one for the quest.

This blog is run by @yue-the-moons-child/ @star-of-the-underworld

Now let us introduce the camp councelers! (if any photos changed from the last time you saw it, it was because the artist doesn't like reposts of their art)

Sun Wukong

arts in order by: @ shadow_painter and @ T0ffeeC0w on Twitter/X

Yoyoyo! I'm Sun Wukong, the monkey god of trickery, the activities director of Camp Sky, and the main rallyer of Chinese Demogods My partner in crime is Macaque, and my own children. Call on me for any help if I ain't busy

Why I'm here? I may have pissed off the Jade Emperor again and the Gold Star of Venus had to save my ass again and for my punishment, I had to help with Nezhas Camp. Bullshit if you ask me so I dragged my partner in crime with me.

Nezah

arts in order by: @ FedoraGato on Twitter/X and @ SweetDrxmz on Newgrounds

I am Nezha, God of victory, courage, success, and power, patron god of children and filial piety, and creator of Camp Sky. I oversee the camp and its residents. I ensure all are taken care of, claimed promptly, and safe from harm. If you need my assistance, you may find me in my temple or at the pond.

Why did I make this camp? I was tired of seeing Demigod kids being deserted and left by my fellow immortals, so I created this camp as their heaven on earth.

Macaque

arts in order by: @ StariiKat and @ shadow_painting on Twitter/X

I am Macaque, the nearly omniscient being that can hear all. I can hear the past and future do not play with me here. I am Sun Wukongs partner in crime that he dragged along to help with HIS punishment. Should honestly get him back for that. I am in the shadows too so eyes and ears are everywhere. I am the monitor and punisher of the camp, but for the little kids, I do shadow puppetry for them.

Why am I here? Sun Wukong did something stupid. Aren't I dead? Readers of the original Journey To The West books may remember that Sun killed me for impersonating him, but he dragged me out of the underworld to help him in his consequnce. Honestly, before then he popped by in hell to talk after he chilled the fuck out about that incident and we've been buddies ever since.

If you wanna be part of Yue's adventures you can submit your OCs to @yue-the-moons-child or straight to this blog!

Before you do, we have ground rules and a template

No opness, unless it's Sun Wukong kid you can put a smidge of opness but not too much-

No romance with any of the gods please they will remain platonic-

demon ocs are accepted :D

just have fun :D

Name: Height: Godly parent: Claimed or unclaimed: Powers: Preferred weapon Personality: Physical description: (Optional) Background lore and plans for lore: (Optional) Picture of your oc:

This blog is a product of My fanfic/Expansion of the Riordanverse: Yues' Legends of the Stars

This camp and Most of its characters are my product and any impersonation of me, any planarization or modification of my work or characters are strictly prohibited.

Some OCs in the works are submitted to me to use or I have been given permission to use them in my work.

[luckyashes-art]

Do you have any OCs other than your Splatoon ones? I'd love to learn about them!

WAAA ‼️‼️ I do actually !! Though I have . quite a lot of them 💀💀

Other than Splatoon OCs I got uhh-- primarily D&D OCs/Characters, Homestuck OCs, and a few actual original characters JDHSFSD some of which I've doodled and posted about before !

I'll stick a few of em down in the read more so the post isn't immediately unbearably long 🗣️‼️

Hmm let's start off with some original characters

Evix (they/them) is one that I've actually been working a lot more on lately !! They're kinda like an undead creature and live on essentially a post-apocalyptic Earth centuries later (might make a whole separate post on all that eventually because they're a part of an original species I wanna make)

Uhh then some original humans (w/ powers ofc) would include Anthony (he/him, one of my oldest OCs creation wise, in short a traumatized young adult with horrible anxiety and is struggling to get thru life 🗣️), Raymond and his niece Raven ( he/him & she/her, victims of loss of a brother and father (respectively), and they live in a world where ppl have elemental-based abilities !), and uhh Kacey (they/she/he, specifically with a c-- they're a cyborg (lost an arm) with no recollection of who they were (calls themself Kacey because of initials "K.C" branded on their robo arm (it stands for their actual name, Katya Cameron)))💥

[unfortunately not gonna doodle any of my other OCs so Evix can have special treatment LMAO]

Next up we got uhh some D&D characters !! [Who actually I have Hero Forge figures of so I'll add those]

Starting off with the first legit D&D character I've made, Glow of the Sun (aka "Sun" - she/her) 😼 Tabaxi Druid (Circle of the Shepard)!! After escaping the massacre of her tribe in the forest, Sun was taken in and mentored by a human druid named Sage (they/them)

Another one I got would be Gale (he/they), who's more-so inspired by my first attempt at a D&D character (who then got scrapped). But basically he's an Air Genasi Warlock (Pact of the Tome) that was raised only by his father until he managed to contact his mother (who was a djinn (an air genie) !! so yea, his patron's his mom LMAO [His Hero Forge is outdated so please keep that in mind ☹️ ]

Lets see ermm I also got !! A Dragonborn Artificer (Battle Smith) named Kai (real name Kazys) Tempest (she/her). Paralyzed from the waist down upon . hatching? She was left to be raised by her mother, which left the little dragonborn spiteful to show that she isn't useless. So she learned and became someone who creates things like prosthetics and kinds of aids to help others who may need it :D

I'll then drop off a last D&D character for now (cuz I rlly do have a lot), but this one's a personal favorite !! Meet Bone (she/he/they/it [does not care]), my funny lil Goblin Barbarian (Path of the Beast) !! Abandoned by her tribe and miraculously raised by a pack of wolves, this feral lil goblin spends her days living a free and wild life while causing problems for adventurers and the like who cross her path :3

Anddd onto the final stretch, we got some Homestuck OCs !! [Which btw I have models made by Xamag's Fantroll Creator (which I also edited a lil) so ermm]

Starting off with my personal fav, here's Arvenii Traket (she/her, Sign: Gemun, Derse + Breath). Goldblood with telekinetic psiionics, this smart(-ish) lil gamer is a hot-headed, anti-social introvert that enjoys things like cosplaying and programming 💥💥

Obviously then gotta follow up with her moirail, Teikai Dregut (he/him, Sign: Lenius, Prospit + Hope) !? A very idiotic yet excitable Oliveblood that loves to run, talk, play tricks, and hang out with his bestie (they tend to take care of each other otherwise they'd constantly not do things like eat or shower 💀)

What else uuuhhhh . How 'bout I drop Raiiko Ekneer (she/her, Sign: Scoriborn, Derse + Rage) !? A laidback, prideful brute of a Ceruleanbloodthat enjoys FLARPing and taking people's treasure/valuables 💥💥 Fun fact tho !! She used to FLARP with Teikai back in the day (he doesn't play anymore). Anyway she doesn't really have many braincells yet she managed to score a kismesis and moirail LMAO

And then I think I'll drop off her kismesis cuz ngl I rlly wanted to show them together 😩but meet Valeri Krovet (she/her, Sign: Sagigo, Prospit + Space) !! This Indigoblood is yet another blue business woman who specializes and takes pride in creating custom weapons of high quality. Can be a little snappy, mainly due to agitation of being on high alert 24/7 (had a gnarly, violent experience when she was younger), but yea :3

What if I was also silly tho and dropped the rest of my main HS OCs' lil models (i would talk abt all of them in more detail but thats A LOT of text ,) 🥴🥴

I do also wanna mention that I have. Ancestors and Dancestors for these guys as well . AS WELL AS OCS THAT ARENT APART OF THE MAIN 12-- Thats a whole other thing tho

BUT YEAH THAT'S JUST. SOME OF WHAT I GOT-- TY ANON FOR THE ASK-

This took so long to type LMAO but I enjoyed it !!

[adleryoung]

We stood there for a few moments simply soaking in the ambience. Percysthorpe looked a lot different in person than it did from my scrying tower! I also had to bear in mind that I had last seen it approximately 200 years ago, and the lowfolk world changed faster than Faerie did.

After a while, the witches began to shuffle impatiently, and Rebecca asked: “Um, So, My Lord, what next?”

“We’ve been thtanding here for quite thome time,” Basil pointed out.

“People are starting to stare,” Fiona declared nervously.

“Probably because SOME of us are wearing cheap All Hallow's Eve costumes,” Harriet remarked drily.

“HEY!” Fiona exclaimed.

“Take that back!” Basil demanded.

“Girls, please," Rebecca sighed. "No fighting! Behave!”

"Now now," Burnside interjected. “Let the gals express they feelins. Taint healthy to keep it bottled up. Get it all outten yo system! Any yall wanna borry a knife?”

“You’re not helping!” Rebecca retorted.

“Hush!" I exclaimed. "All of you! I know there's a Gate to Persoc Tor here, but I don’t know where it is or what it looks like. Burnside, the Duchess used to have her operations here. Do you have any idea were the Gate is?”

"Nope. Never had no business in Persoc, so the Gateway never come up."

“We should split up!” I proposed excitedly, seeing a chance to get away from these bickering femmes for a while and also speed up the search. “Burnside and Rebecca, you should take the students and ask around about any old ruins or landmarks. That should lead us in the right direction. Pretend you're a group of tourists seeing the sights. Meanwhile, I’ll be conducting research of my own. Let’s all meet back here in two hours.”

"Nothin' doin," Burnside snapped. "As a duly designated Imperial Bodyguard, I gotta stay by yo side so as to guard yo Imperial Body."

"All right," I shrugged. "Burnside, come with me. Rebecca, take charge of the student group. Be back here in front of the train depot in two hours."

As Burnside and I strolled down the street, I wondered if that bookstore the shoe-obsessed weirdo robbed was still there. In all probability, it was long gone. It was odd how quickly the lowfolk world changed. Owter was right; the Lowfolk were advancing faster than the elves. They had gone from ant-carts and rushlights to steam-powered trains and gas-powered streetlamps after only 200 years. I used to think lowfolk lived tragically short lives, but maybe that just meant they found fulfillment at a faster rate. Maybe their short lives compelled them to adapt and improve in a hurry so they would see some results before they died. Maybe having a shorter life made time that much more precious. There was a lesson to be learned here! Perhaps… Perhaps the elven perception of lowfolk was misguided. Maybe it was wrong to write them off the way we-

“Oh, there it is!” I exclaimed as I recognized a section of the street in front of me.

The enigmatic name on the window started to make sense after we went inside (though if I were in charge I would have called it "The Flagon on the Flyleaf." Burnside's suggestion "Books -n- Brew" was not bad either). The bookstore seemed to have expanded and changed its business model and become a Reading Pub. Patrons were encouraged to enjoy a pint while they read their newly-purchased books. Thinking that I might be able to find some books about local history and folklore that could point me towards the Gate, I began to peruse the shelves. I wouldn’t mind a drink too, while I was here.

It didn't take long to find, to my disappointment, that most of the reading material here consisted of penny dreadfuls and lurid stories of the “steamy” variety. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. An establishment that encouraged its patrons to get drunk while reading probably wouldn’t have anything educational. Oh well. After telling Burnside to put Sid the Slasher and The Highwayman of the North Country back where she found them, I headed to the bar to get a drink.

In the pub area, I beheld a collection of all different sorts of people guzzling ale while trying to focus long enough to decipher a sentence or two in their acquired literature. Truly, inebriation and cheap fiction had the power to bring lowfolk from all walks of life together. My eye was drawn to a surly-looking hound sitting alone at a table in the center of the room. He kept glancing around, as if expecting someone, and had a large pin on his shirt that bore a slogan I could not quite make out. Surely this person would be a fount of information! I bought a pint of stout and sat down at the same table.

“So… This is an interesting place,” I began, deciding to ease into my line of questioning slowly, so as to avoid raising any suspicion.

“M’yeah…” the hound replied.

“Do you come here often?”

“M’yeah…”

“Nice weather today.”

“M’yeah…”

“So…" I hazarded, after a surreptitious peek at the badge on his lapel. "Tell me about … FNIA Fanfic?”

“Oh!" the hound exclaimed, suddenly perking up. "You mean the latest masterwork of fiction by the renowned author and artist Tegerio W. Tegerius? It’s a bold new re-imagining of a re-imagining of classic well-known characters! A young, innocent femme in a skimpy costume must navigate a hazardous new work environment filled with dangerous but alluring automatons in skimpy costumes! Her curious nature leads her down a path of dark mystery, skimpy costumes, and intrigue! It has everything you could want! Action! Mystery! Romance! Skimpy costumes! Living, Talking Machines! Plus lovingly crafted scenes of gratuitous and fatal mechanical venery! It’s an ingeniously crafted story that will revolutionize the entire genre of fiction! Ongoing now with daily updates! And it’s available exclusively here at the Texty Tumbler! Beat the rush! Read FNIA Fanfic today!”

I stared in bewilderment as the suddenly ebullient hound slid a card across the table towards me, while saying something I didn't quite catch, that sounded like "Here, you are Earl."

“Did someone pay you to say all that?” I asked, after looking at the card and seeing that it bore a strange cipher: https://sprocketholevandal.tumblr.com/tagged/fnia/chrono

“M’yeah…” he grumbled, slouching back into his former surly attitude.

“Okay," I stalled. I hadn't introduced myself when I sat down. Was this coded message meant for someone named Earl, who this fellow mistakenly believed I was? Or was pretending to be Earl the key to admittance to some secret club, a sinister society of anonymous Earls, all of whom were enjoyers of skimpy costumes and dangerous venery with machines? I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. "Can you tell me if there's an ancient circle of standing stones somewhere in this town?"

"M'yeah…" he replied. "You wanna see the Old Stones, go left out the door, turn right at the second crossing, up the hill, through the alley and it's in a little green behind the magistrate's house. Lot of strange folk come lookin' for the Old Stones lately. Dressed kinda strangely yourself. You some kind of fancy lad?"

"I'd best be on my way," I declared abruptly, getting up and striding toward the door. "Thank you for the directions!"

"M'yeah…"

[dantinmikannes]

“As if the night had said to me, ‘You are the night and the night alone understands you and enfolds you in its arms’ One with the shadows. Without nightmare. An inexplicable peace.” 

 @nnamier @embersign

[tinyboxxtink]

"Spring Break '86" *Chapter 12*

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

I know guys, I know.

But to be fair, I gotta keep this lasting until NEXT weekend!

Speaking of...

SO, funny story:

I'm gonna be at a convention in Austin from Thursday-Sunday next week. [31ist-4th[

I can probably fit in watching all of Part 2-- the last time this happened, we did end up watching the whole thing on down times.

But damn am I gonna have to literally stay off EVERYTHING until that happens. I won't be able to handle it if Eddie dies.

But um, anyway-- i'm going to do my best to finish up before then. And get through Part 2 as fast as possible.

Also-- not to be that girl, but: the reblogs and comments make me wanna write more and sooner. 😅😜

Okay, here we go!

-----

Looking at Vecna for the first time in person, you quickly lost all your sass and strength against him. You buried your head in Eddie’s chest. 

“I don’t wanna do this,” you whimpered.

“Aww” Vecna mocked you. “Big bad Y/N can’t take it in person?” 

“Shut up,” Eddie growled, pulling you closer. 

“Yeah, you can’t have her,” Robin snapped.

“Oh, I don’t need her,” Vecna chuckled. “I’ve got all you cretins to choose from now,”

“What?” You suddenly snapped to attention, looking at your friends with fear. “No, no you don’t want them Vecna, fuck with me,”

“Me me me, it’s all about me,” Vecna mocked you. 

“Alright, fine,” he cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, looking down at all of you. “You want me to ‘fuck with you’, Y/N? How’s this?”

He waved his hands and suddenly all four of your friends were in his power. Their eyelids convulsing, their bodies stiff. 

“NO!!!!” You screamed, running to Eddie first. This was horrifying, you hated that Eddie saw someone like this. Saw you like this. 

You then went down the line, checking everyone. They were all the same-- un-moving, eye blinking, statues. 

“Shit shit shit,” you muttered to yourself, hearing Vecna’s laugh in the background. 

“See where your selfishness gets you, Y/N?. Now all of your friends are suffering because of you,”

“I said take ME, jackass!” you screamed, now returning to Eddie’s side.

“Ah but see,” Vecna lowered himself down to you. “The more guilt and fear I build in you, the more delicious it will be when I wipe your brain. Your pain neurons are like crack,” 

While you argued with Vecna, your four friends were trapped in their own hell.

Robin was in the video store, being heckled by patrons who somehow knew she was gay. They were spitting on her, calling her slurs. Her mother was there, saying how she raised her better than that. 

Steve was caught in the video store as well, but he was being bombarded from former classmates telling him he’d never amount to anything. Saying that he peaked in high school, and he’d never go anywhere. Nancy was at the forefront of them, saying how much of a loser he was and how she couldn’t believe she had dated him. 

Nancy was stuck in the newsroom with everyone not listening to her as editor. Telling her she was worthless, she couldn’t even keep a boyfriend. Then Jonathan appeared, telling her how much he hated her, that he never loved her.

But Eddie’s, Eddie’s was the worst of them all. 

--------

He started out in his garage, his buddies from High School, playing D&D. He knew immediately where he was, when he was. 

It was the day you had come over to tell him you loved him. 

He immediately whipped his head around to see the door open, a young you standing in front of him. 

“Y/N,” He went to hug you, but you yelled at him before he could move. 

“FINE, YOU WANNA BE A DRUGGIE AND A LOSER, FUCK YOU TOO!!!” 

“What?” he shook his head, still trying to walk to you. “No, no! I love you, Y/N,” 

“Y-You do?” “you” asked him tearfully. 

“Yes!” He smiled and kept going towards you, but the door SLAMMED in front of him before he could reach you. 

“EDDIE!!!” He could hear you screaming through the door. He ran to it and began pounding on it. 

“Y/N!” He screamed. “Y/N I’M COMING!!!” 

“EDDIE!!!!” Your voice echoed through the door. “HE’S COMING!!!!” 

“NO NO NO!!!” He knocked his body against the door, trying to break it down. 

“EDDIE!!!” You screamed one last time, Eddie finally kicking the door off the hinges. But he was met with an empty hallway. 

He was in his old house. The house he lived in with his mom, and his dad before the piece of shit took off on him. He looked around warily, the colors of the house looking faded and the furniture broken. His anxiousness was beginning to soar, remembering all the bad memories here. 

“EDDIE, CLEAN YOUR ROOM OR YOUR GIRLFRIEND GETS IT!” 

Suddenly his mom’s voice was booming behind him. He turned around to see his mom, holding a knife to your throat. 

“...M-Mom?” he gulped, totally shocked to see her standing in front of him. 

“First you killed me, now you’re going to let HER die too!!!!” his mother cackled.

“EDDIE!!! HELP!!!” You screamed at him. 

“Y/N!!” He went to charge his mother, but she faded away before his eyes, taking you with her. 

“Wait,” Eddie shook his head, starting to become lucid. “Wait, this isn’t real,” 

“EDDIE!!!!” He now flipped around to see you being held by Vecna. 

“This not ‘real’ enough for you, Eddie?” Venca laughed, running his fingers across your face.

“Eddie…” ‘you’ whimpered, Vecna’s claws digging into the side of your shoulder.

“NO!! STOP!!!” he begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Oh fine,” Vecna acted as if he was going to toss you down, but he grabbed your head and ripped it off, dropping your body to the floor. 

“OH MY GOD!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!” Eddie screamed in agony, falling to his knees. 

----------

Upside Down

Eddie’s body began to rise as his horror fantasy was climaxing, ready to claim his life.

“NO!!!” You screamed blood murder as the others slowly began to rise as well. 

This was hell. It was literal hell. This wasn’t a joke, this wasn’t Jason the douche wielding a gun like a jackass. There wouldn’t be a way out of this, you were about to see the love of your life ripped apart in front of you. 

You HAD to do something, you couldn’t let him die because of you. Not again. You searched around you, looking for anything. Anything you could throw, distract him. Hurt him. You saw a large stick, grabbed it and chunked it at Vecna with all the might you could. 

You saw it sail through the air, smacking him right in the face. WIth a loud roar, he shook his head and body from the hit. You saw all four bodies drop instantly, and you didn’t hesitate to run up to Eddie.

“We HAVE to get out of here, Eddie,” you shook him as he came to, sitting up and rubbing his head. When he saw you and your head fully intact, he grabbed you and pulled you as close into him as possible, beginning to sob. He didn’t care who saw him, you were alive. 

“Eddie, baby…” you tried calming him down, not liking how the tables had turned. You didn’t know if this was exactly what you looked like when you thought he had died, TWICE, but you didn’t like it. 

“Baby we have to go…please,” you tried pulling him to his feet but he clung to you like a child. You looked over at Nancy, Robin, and Steve all slowly getting to their feet. 

“Y-You were…” he blubbered, slowly standing up but not letting go of you. “Your head was…” 

“Oh, baby,” you looked into his eyes. His beautiful chestnut eyes were filled with tears, he was shaking. 

He’d never looked that scared in his life; not in front of you, anyway. You let him pull you into him once more, letting him cry on the top of your head.  While comforting him, you saw Vecna coming to his senses, setting his sights on the five of you. 

“Shit,” you muffled into his hair, pulling him back slightly. “Baby, we need to go,” 

All four of them looked where you were looking and began to run, no questions asked. 

You ran and ran as fast as you could, holding tight to Eddie’s hand. You were not going to lose him, you weren’t. You weren’t even sure what you were running to, you just knew you had to get as far away from Vecna as possible. 

“I can’t-- run--- anymore--” You felt your legs turning to fire, you couldn’t breathe. Eddie’s hold on your hand grew tighter at your words. 

“You HAVE to, Y/N,” He told you, using all of his strength to pull you forward and lift you into the air. 

He was now carrying you, while running himself. He was exhausted already, but his fear for your life gave him adrenaline like a mom lifting a car off her child. He finally noticed an empty building, to which he yelled back to the other three: 

“Over here!!!!” he gestured with his head towards the building. They all nodded and followed him, not stopping until they were safely inside. 

You all just sat there, inside the Upside Down version of a Mickey D’s. The golden arches on the wall mocked you all. After a few minutes of heavy breathing, trying to catch your breaths,  you began to cry.

“We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?” you cried, pulling your knees into your chest. Eddie pulled you closer to him, still breathing hard. 

“N-No,” he panted. “We’re not. We’re NOT going to die, here, do you hear me Y/N?” 

You looked up from your knees into his eyes. “Y-Yeah,” 

“We’re not going to die here, because I still have to marry you, and we have to have kids with bad ass Hellfire jackets. And i’ll teach them all D&D, and we’ll have our own campaigns, it’ll be great,” 

“Oh God,” you laughed weakly. “Is that supposed to be helping? Because our kids are not playing--”

“Oh they most certainly ARE, Princess,” he smiled.

“Yeah?” you laid against the cash register counter and rubbed his hand with your thumb. “How many?” 

“W-What?” he suddenly realized you were surrounded by other people, listening to him be all ‘mushy gushy’. “I-I don’t know babe, I haven’t--”

“Bullshit you haven’t thought about this!” you shoved him playfully. “Come on baby, please? Give me something to live for?” 

“Oh thanks a LOT,” Eddie shoved you back. “I’m not enough to live for?” 

“Can I tell you what I imagined then?” you asked sweetly, causing his jaw to drop.

“Y-You thought about it?” he asked.

“Eddie I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade,” You blushed. “I’ve planned our lives out together in so many different ways I lost count,”

“R-Really?” Eddie asked again, disbelieving his ears. There was no way his dream girl had been planning their lives together. No way. 

“Eddie,” You looked at him seriously. “Come on. It was…you,” you put your hand to his face and leaned in close. “It was always you,” 

“Oh my God I swear to God I’m about ready to go take my chances with Vecna,” Steve made gaging noises at the two of you. 

“Oh shut up Harrington,” you flipped him off. “Like you haven’t planned out you and Nancy Drew’s life,” 

Nancy, Robin and Steve all looked at you with shock and awe, while Eddie laughed in amusement at the comment. 

“Excuse you!” Nancy cried, Steve looking at you with the same sentiment.

“Look Steve,” you put a hand on his knee. “Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the blood loss talking, but-- I think now’s the time to start tying up loose ends,” 

“Blood loss--?” Eddie’s ears perked up, he began to search your body for wounds. 

“Y/N I just don’t--” Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Jonathan and I are breaking up,” Nancy suddenly announced, making the three of them look in shock, while you laughed. 

“TOLD you!” you cackled.

“What do you mean you ‘broke up’?” Steve asked Nancy.

“I mean not technically,” she made a face.

“What does that mean?!” crossed his arms.

“It’s complicated, I don’t know--” she threw her hands up in distress. “Can we just--?” she motioned away from the group.

They both stepped off to the side to have their own conversation, just as Eddie touched your lower back.

“SSSSsssrttt!!!” You hissed as he touched the gash wound. “Fuck me Eddie, that hurts!”

“Yeah? Does it?” Eddie asked you in an angry voice. “So why didn’t you speak up about this before?!”

“Um GEE,” You mocked him. “Maybe it was because I was watching the love of my life floating in the GODDAMN AIR!!!” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake--” Eddie groaned while taking off his jacket and tying it around your waist tightly, hoping to stop the bleeding. 

“God,” you shook your head with a sad laugh once more. “Look at us. One of us is really going to die, aren’t they?”

“STOP saying that,” Eddie growled.

“Look where we’re sitting, Eddie!” you gestured around. “If you’re not at the brink of death, then I am! We just keep trading! Because we’re idiots!” 

“Hey!” Eddie snapped. “For the record, that last time wasn’t my fault,”

“And this one wasn’t mine!” you gestured to your wound.

“Bullshit,” Eddie scoffed. “I know one of those beasty mother fuckers took a chunk out of your back!” 

“Look just--” You started to tear up. “Just go, okay? Go to your trailer, find the other portal, and get out of here, okay?”

“Okay you must be loopy because you know there’s no way in hell that’s ever happening,” Eddie laughed. 

“What are you gonna do Eds, huh?” You sadly smiled at him. “You gonna carry me the whole way?” 

“YES!” He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes that’s EXACTLY what I’m going to--”

“We went the wrong way,” you laughed and cried harder. 

“What?” he asked.

“To the trailer park,” you gestured outside. “When we started running, we ran in the opposite direction,” 

“Shit…” Eddie whispered as he looked out the window, realizing you were right. His trailer was on the opposite side of town. 

“Now we have to make it twice as far,” you sadly laughed. “Which means we’ll DEFINITELY die, which means--”

“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP!!!!!!!” Eddie suddenly bellowed, making everyone wince. 

“Eddie, I--”

“No,” he told you sternly, getting inches away from your face. “No ‘Eddie’. No tearful goodbyes, no romancing some kind of fake life with fake kids, no more accepting that we are going to just sit here, and die. NO MORE, do you hear me Henderson?” 

“....Okay,” you nodded quietly.

“We all have to stay optimistic,” Robin piped up, feeling like the fifth wheel. 

“What?”

“Vecna preys on the vulnerable and desperate, right?” SHe pointed out. “So we have to stay positive!” 

“She’s right,” you agreed, to which Robin smiled. 

“So let’s focus on staying together,” Steve suggested, now returning to the group holding Nancy’s hand. 

“Good talk, I assume,” you wiggled your eyebrows weakly with a small smile, making Nancy blush. 

“Oh good,” Robin rolled her eyes. “Now I really am the fifth wheel,”

“Hey, Buckley,” Eddie hit her softly. “What did you just say?!”

“Yeah, I know,” she put her hands on her head and began pacing. “I just…I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” 

“Hey,” you waved at her, getting her attention. 

“You shouldn’t focus on that. Focus on this: you’ve got four people here who know who you are. ALL of you. And we all accept and love you for who you are. Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded with a small smile, looking around at the group. It was true, she had never had this many people she could be fully herself with. 

“I guess that is something,” she shrugged with a smile.

“Okay then!” Eddie clapped his hands together, getting a fake enthusiastic tone. “We better get going, gang!”

“Please, don’t,” You groaned. “That is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard,” 

“Oh shut your hole, Henderson,” Eddie scoffed as he picked you up and let you lean on him while you all walked. “I used to be a pretty happy kid, if you remember,” 

“Happy kid?” Steve laughed loudly. “Yeah, no. I don’t buy that,”

“He was, believe it or not,” You defended him, making Eddie stick his tongue out in triumph. 

In fact, you could recall the day he stopped being a ‘happy kid’.

------

Four Years Ago, Hawkins HIgh

You saw Eddie coming down the hall and braced for a dirty comment, but were met with silence. In fact, he didn’t look at all like he was in the jovial mood. His bag was clutched closely to his bod, his head looked down at the floor. His hair was covering his face, but you could have sworn you heard muffled sobbing sounds when he walked past you. 

“I um,” you looked at your fellow cheermates. “I forgot something in my locker, I’ll be right back,” 

You walked down the hall to follow Eddie before waiting for a response. He was moving fast, but you kept up with him. You both sped walked across campus, until he finally stopped dead in his tracks in the parking lot behind the school. 

“WHY are you following me, Henderson?” He asked you very loudly and angrily, without so much as a turn of the head your way. 

“Because--” you stepped closer now that he had stopped walking, but you could tell he was visibly shaking so you made small movements. 

“I’ve never seen you like this, Eddie,”

“Oh what do you know, huh?!” he spun around to face you, his face visibly tormented. Tears were rolling down his cheeks replacing dry ones, his eyes were red from even more crying. 

“Oh, Eddie--” you started to go hug him, but his hands were up instantly, blocking you from any of his personal space.

“UH UH, NO,” He spat. “No ‘Eddie’...” he mocked your voice, trying to stop crying. 

“NO. You-- you don’t get to sit there and make fun of me with your little fucking sheeples everyday, and then all of a sudden you wanna hug it out just because my--” He stopped and threw a hand over his mouth as if to keep from his words from spilling out. 

“Your what?” You searched his face, trying to figure out what he was saying. It was so much easier when you were kids, when you were so in sync. You knew everything he was thinking, sometimes before he did. But now, his face was completely foreign to you. 

“Nothing, just--” He started to turn back around and walk to his car, but you were done with games. 

You walked right in front of him, stopping his path.

“Eddie Munson you tell me what’s wrong with you right now or I’ll--”

“Or you’ll what, Princess?” he barked, towering over you. “What the fuck are you gonna do to me? Ignore me? Make fun of me? Pretend we were never friends? OH WAIT--” 

“Oh come on Eddie now is not the time to act like a child--” You rolled your eyes and began to chastise him when he yelled over you.

“Yeah well maybe it is because I just lost my MOM, Y/N!” 

“....W-What?” 

“Y-You wanna know what’s ‘wrong’ with me? Why I’m ‘upset’?” He began to cry again, but stopped himself. He wasn’t giving you the satisfaction. 

“Because I just killed the one person who gave a shit about me,” 

“What?” you blinked repeatedly, trying to process what he said. “That can’t be-- you wouldn’t--”

“She went into the hospital for ‘stress’, and then she never came out,” Eddie elaborated. “You tell me what she had to be that stressed about, that it would literally kill her,” 

“I-i don’t know!” you cried, trying to think of things. “Bills, money, mortgage, a million other things other than--”

“ME,” He pointed to himself, now getting in your face. “ME. She was stressed about ME. And it KILLED HER,”

“No,” you shook your head. He just shook his head with a sad laugh and started walking away from you in response, but you chased after him. 

“No that is NOT TRUE, Eddie!” you grabbed his hands and made him look at you. 

“Look you and your mom may not have had the-- best relationship,” 

You thought about how different his mom sounded the last time you had seen her. So-- downtrodden, about her own son. Maybe Eddie had a point. Not like you’d ever say that out loud. 

“But she loved you,” you finally added with a small smile. 

“Yeah, I know,” he ripped his hands from yours and continued to walk. “She was the last person left,” 

Your heart broke at those words. You wanted to run after him and tell him he was wrong; that you did love him and you were sorry things had gotten so fucked up, and that you wanted to be there for him now that he didn’t have anyone--

But you didn’t. 

----------

“Y/N? Y/N? Y/N!” Eddie’s voice drew you back to the present day. 

You shook your head and remembered all your surroundings. Eddie had laid you down on a bench when you had nodded off, thinking the worst.

“W-What?” You blinked rapidly, trying to orient yourself. You sat up and looked around, as Eddie’s arms went around you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed into your hair. “Stop doing that to me,” 

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Scaring the shit out of me, that’s what!” he exclaimed.

“She’s lost way too much blood,” Nancy shook her head at the current situation. “We need to get her to a hospital or--” 

“DON’T, Even say it. Don’t even THINK IT, Wheeler,” he warned her. 

“Well!” She threw her hands up, gesturing at you. “Someone has to think logically here! Not just sobbing at her bedside every time she passes out!” 

“You little--” Eddie started to lunge at her.

“AY HEY HEY HEY!” Steve body checked Eddie real quick. “Simmer down there, buddy,” 

“She’s right,” Robin sided with Nancy, drawing more disapproval noises from Eddie. 

“Look, I get that all of you are-- ‘scholarly’,” he air quoted. 

“Scholarly?” Steve raised an eyebrow, glancing at Robin. “We work at a fucking video store, dude,”

“Look whatever, man,” Eddie shook his head, cradling you in his arms. “I just know that I can’t lose her, and I don’t want any science telling me otherwise,”

“...We could get her to a hospital,” Robin suggested.

“What?” Nancy half laughed at the idea. “How?” 

“It’s still Hawkins, right?” Steve pointed to the right. “The hospital should be a block that way,” 

“Oh and what are you gonna do Steve, ask a demo-dog to operate on her?” Nancy snarked.

“NANCY,” Steve yelled in frustration. “They’ll at least have supplies to-- stitch her up,” 

“He’s right,” Robin agreed.

“Oh my god,” Nancy laughed to herself as they changed their route. “If you say so,” 

Eddie hung back as he carried you, catching Steve before he got to the girls. “Hey man,” he nodded at him. “Thank you, really,” 

“No problem, my dude,” Steve gave him a genuine smile. “If it was Nancy, i’d be the same way,” 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded with a small laugh. He knew Steve was telling the truth, he looked at Nancy the way he had wanted you to look at him for years. And now you did. And you would. Forever. He just knew it. 

“Eddie,” you murmured weakly in his arms. 

“Yeah baby?” he cooed.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized.

“For what now?” He softly chuckled.

“Your mom,” you played with his ring on your finger.

“My mom?” his nose scrunched. “What are you--” 

“I should have gone after you that day,” you interrupted. 

“Oh,” Eddie looked down, knowing exactly what you meant. “It’s-- it’s fine,” 

“It’s not,” you insisted.

“Well, it’s in the past now,” He smiled at you.

“Yeah,” You put a hand to his face. “I still wanted to say it. Just in case--”

“NO,” He shook you gently in his arms. “You stop it right now. I’ll forgive you for leaving me alone after my mom died, but I will not forgiving you for leaving me alone forever,”

“Okay okay,” you laughed, lifting yourself to press your lips against his.

Yo u just walked in silence after that, both praying you’d make it in time.

-----------

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

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[cake-writes]

Earn It

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: filthy smut, ANAL (yes reader is 100% that bitch), kinda-sorta dubcon due to alcohol, praise kink, pain kink (yes reader is also 100% that bitch), safe word mention (not used), subtle D/s undertones, begging, degradation, count down, squirting, 18+

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: so you can blame my darlings @mandalorianspace​ and @buckybarnesplumwhore​​ for this one. THANKS A LOT. 💀 also I could not be fucked with the ending so lmao sorry but the smut is just more important here, okay???

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

You’re on your hands and knees in front of your boyfriend of two years, side of your face pressed into the sheets – and although you can’t see him, you can hear the roughness in his voice, feel his callused fingertips dig into the flesh of your ass as he spreads your cheeks apart. 

Despite how long you’ve been together, though, it’s unfamiliar.

“Bucky,” you gasp as his vibranium thumb smooths over your puckered hole. “Please fuck my ass, please—”

The tip of his thumb slides in, and you shiver.

“You’re so tight, honey,” Bucky warns, voice low, bordering on dangerous. “Sure you can handle it?”

You take his warning as a challenge, of course you do, but you don’t miss the slight note of concern in his tone. You’ve done anal before, just not with him because you’ve always been so intimidated by how thick he is. Even told him that once a long time ago. Funny story, that. 

Right now, however, you’re high on endorphins and drunk on too many shots of tequila to care.

“Yeah,” you respond breathily. “I need it. Baby, please.”

You’re eager, so much that you barely notice when he replaces his thumb with a finger until it sinks further inside than the former could ever reach. Just one finger leaves you gasping, never mind two as he stretches you open even more.

“Bucky,” you whine, wiggling your hips, impatient and needy. Two fingers isn’t nearly enough preparation considering how long it’s been since you had it last, but you want him. You want him so fucking badly, and he’s taking too long.

As if on cue, a third finger presses inside and you hiss at the burn. It’s a reminder that you shouldn’t rush, but you want it. You need it.

“Fuck me,” you plead, reaching back to spread your cheeks apart so he doesn’t have to. “If it won’t fit, then make it fit. I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

Bucky stops, three fingers buried knuckle-deep in your ass, to stare at you – not that you even notice, because you’re already so fucking gone for it. You do hear a hint of surprise in his voice when he asks after a too-long pause, slowly, teasingly pulling his fingers out, “What’s our safe word?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve done a scene, and you breathe, “Peaches.”

“Good girl.”

After a playful smack to your ass, Bucky releases you to retrieve the bottle of lube from your nightstand. You pull your head up off the sheets to peer back at him, heartbeat pounding in your ears as he pops open the bottle. 

There’s something about the way his skin seems to glow in the warm lamplight, or maybe it’s the way his hair falls so perfectly into that pretty face of his; or how, when his eyes meet yours, dark and teasing, you feel yourself get even wetter at his approach.

Anticipation.

The lube is cold and wet as it drips down the crack of your ass and onto the bed. Some small part of you is thankful that he had the foresight to lay down a towel, but the thought is quickly forgotten when he holds the tip of his cock against your hole. 

You think you’re ready. You’re beyond ready. 

It's slick, ridiculously so, the way the head pops in without a hitch – but it’s a beautiful stretch, one that stings just enough to make your legs quake. You bite down on your lower lip because it feels good, too. Too good. Too right.

A whimper escapes your throat when Bucky presses in further, because that’s when it starts to hurt a little bit more – but you don’t use your safe word, because maybe you want it to hurt. Or maybe you just want him balls-deep inside you so badly that you don’t care. Or maybe that’s the tequila talking. 

You assume he’s about halfway in when he withdraws almost all of the way to spread the slickness further. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I—”

Your affirmation is promptly cut off with a moan when he slides back inside, a little further than before, but that’s where he seems to get stuck. Not in the literal sense of the word, but your channel just can’t seem to take any more of him no matter how gently he tries to ease inside. You’re just too tight.

“Hurry, baby,” you whine. “Please.”

You’re already being stretched to the limit, and it burns in the best of ways, but you want him inside. You need it.

The warmth of his palm on your ass cheek is a balm as Bucky mutters to himself, “Make it fit, huh.”

And that’s when you know you’ve made a mistake, because he lets go of your hair to grab your hips – but before you can stammer out your concerns, he slams all the way inside, punching the breath from your lungs. You swear you actually see stars because it hurts, fuck, it hurts, but hell if you don’t love it all the same. You swear aloud, too; a string of filthy curses escapes your lips as your back arches, hands balling in the sheets below.

With Bucky so fully seated inside of your ass, you quickly realize that he couldn’t have been anywhere close to halfway before. He’s just too big, too thick, you’re not ready—

But no safe word. Not yet. It hurts too good.

His body cages yours in from behind, but all you can focus on is the searing stretch of his cock deep inside of you. He’s pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder and whispering sweet nothings against your skin, perhaps meant to be a distraction, and it helps a little.

“Fuck me,” you rasp. Your pussy is drenched and he hasn’t even started moving yet. “Baby, please, I can’t—”

You can’t even think, let alone form a coherent sentence, but he understands just fine. His withdrawal is almost as bad as the entry – but that perfect pain twists and warps into some semblance of pleasure within your masochistic brain as he starts a slow, gentle rhythm, one that has your eyes rolling back.

“Look at you, honey,” Bucky whispers, one hand smoothing down your back, cool vibranium meant to soothe, “Taking every fucking inch.” His praise has your core clenching around nothing, but it makes your ass tighten up, too, makes him groan out, “Good girl. God, you’re so good for me.”

“Y–Yeah,” is all you can manage to respond with, because your mind is blissfully blank. 

There’s another pause as Bucky adds a little more lube, and then he’s pulling your arms back, dropping your face back onto the sheets – but that’s fine by you because you’re practically drooling anyway, and when he picks up the pace, you actually do drool. He stops being gentle because he knows you can take it, knows you’ll use your safe word if you have to, and the feeling of him pounding your poor abused ass into oblivion only sends you higher.

Mindless babbles and pleas leave your mouth on an endless loop; you don’t know what you’re even saying anymore, other than yes, yes, yes. Your knees slide further apart from his onslaught, which changes the angle just enough for him to slam into your sweet spot.

“I’m— Bucky, I’m gonna—”

You’re teetering on the edge, ready to implode, ready for him to put you out of your misery.

“Not yet,” he orders. “Wait for me.”

The sheer command in his voice makes you clench up again, because it’s near-impossible to stave off the inevitable. The pain’s given way to pure, unbridled pleasure at this point, and it teases your undoing, makes you so fucking desperate to come that tears start rolling down your cheeks. It’s adrenaline. It’s delirium. Your voice goes hoarse begging him to fill you up, to give it to you, to let you come, please, baby, please—

“Oh, honey,” Bucky coos, tone patronizing, smoothing your hair from your face. “You wanna come so bad, don’t you?”

“Please let me come,” you beg, not even caring anymore what a state you must look: face hot, flushed, tears staining your cheeks, saliva smeared down your chin and on the sheets. “Please, please, please—”

Each ‘please’ is punctuated with another slam of his hips until two of his fingers are in your mouth, digging into your cheek, stifling any further pleas; not that you don’t continue to try. Muffled, incomprehensible moans are all that come out.

“Too bad. You’ve gotta earn it.”

That’s when he finally lets go and buries his hand in your hair instead, to push and pull you as he pleases, use you however he likes.

“So fucking desperate—” Bucky slaps your ass hard with his vibranium hand and you jerk in surprise – not that you mind, because it feels so fucking good. “Had to shove it in ‘cause you’re such a needy little slut, isn’t that right, honey? So now you’re gonna take it, just like you asked for.”

As if it’s not hard enough to hold back, now he wants to talk to you like that?

“Bucky, please—” You’re sobbing with desperation as he pulls your hair back by the roots. “Please, I can’t, I can’t—”

You’re like a broken record, but you’re pretty sure it’s your brain that’s broken because you just can’t comprehend anything anymore. You feel like you’re floating, almost, ready to combust but you’re just not allowed to, yet.

“I’m gonna count down,” Bucky tells you, voice strained, and you know then that he must be close. “Three.”

Vibranium fingertips dig into your hipbone, hard enough to leave bruises, and he uses the tighter grip to pull you back harder onto his cock.

“Two.”

Sloppy wet sounds echo through the room as he slams into you with a more frenzied, albeit uneven pace.

“One.”

And then he angles his hips just so, aiming for your sweet spot once again which he successfully hits, over and over and over until finally, finally—

“Let go. Let me feel you.”

In an instant, your body tenses up like a live wire as you reach your peak with a strangled cry, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids in what’s probably one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had. He’s never made you hold out for so long, never made you beg this much before, but it’s certainly done something for you if the sudden gush of wetness between your legs is any indication.

“Christ, sweetheart—”

Bucky shoves in as far as he can go, and you feel a sudden burst of warmth deep inside as he fills up your ass just like you begged for. Aftershocks have your body spasming as his cock pulses inside of you, once, twice, three times, four—

And then his grip goes lax, on both your hair and your hip, and your scalp aches painfully but not nearly as much as your backside. It stings and burns as he slowly pulls out, gently massaging your lower back as he does: another welcome distraction.

The head of his dick slips out with a distinct pop, and you whimper. If it’s because of the loss or because of the pain, you’re not sure but either way you’re definitely going to feel it in the morning.

Pulling some wet wipes from your bedside table, Bucky attempts to carefully clean you up, but you’re already so sore so you take it from him and do it yourself.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, continuing to rub your back. “Did I hurt you? Was it too much?”

You give him a dopey smile. “Yeah. But it was worth it.”

Bucky snorts. “Sometimes I think you like the pain a little too much.”

Then he presses a kiss to your forehead, to which you let out a sleepy hum of approval. You love his aftercare, you really do, but today a cuddle is more than enough. The two of you lay together on the bed as he strokes your hair, and when you fall asleep, Bucky thinks to himself, well, you definitely earned it.

[sabaku-no-rozu]

Not me listening to Centerfold the whole time writing this story

—

“I Lost a Bet…”

THIRTEEN PAGES, 5764 WORDS. I may have gotten carried away with this one.

Sometimes you gotta write what you wanna read.

Pairing: F!Gaara x Rozu. F/F, F/M

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only.

Warnings: Chicks with d!cks and dudes with a v@g. Wicked raunchy. Read at your own risk.

Summary: Gaara loses a bet and has to use Sexy Jutsu. He overdoes it and gets stuck as a woman. Rozu has an idea.

Story starts below the cut.

—

“I’m sorry, you what?” Questioned a frazzled Rozu after she shook her head in disbelief of what she just heard.

Her husband, Gaara, had apparently lost a bet. Naruto had come to stay for the weekend on a rare vacation away from work. He had convinced Gaara to go along with him, citing that he still hadn’t had that drink together they promised so many years ago. Gaara, in a rare lapse of judgement, agreed to party with his close friend for that weekend. Gaara wasn’t a big partier, not in the least, and he generally avoided drinking alcohol as he never saw the appeal of it. The man was unsurprisingly very reserved. However, the Friday night Naruto and Gaara had gone out together for a few drinks, that very night itself had taken an unlikely turn of events.

“The bars c-*hic*-closing soon, Gaara. Come on, one more shot before we go!” Begged Naruto, sliding Gaara a shot glass of a dark, strong smelling liquid. The red headed nin looked at Naruto darkly, commenting on how red his face was from being so intoxicated, seemingly unaware that his own face almost matched his hair.

“No way, I’ve already had w-way too much,” Gaara replied with a drag in his tone. Naruto had convinced Gaara at the beginning of the night to imbibe in something other than Cabernet, with which Gaara had felt relaxed enough to trust Naruto on his liquor choices. Soon enough, Gaara had been passed shot after shot by the vivacious blond man.

When that club cut them off, Naruto led the way to a few more throughout the night. Gaara even had a recommendation for a comfortable hole in the wall ramen joint that served excellent sake and beer.

Now, it was almost 3am and the bar the two of them were at was going to close soon. Naruto snickered in response to Gaara’s protesting and waved a hand. “Didja forget, Panda?” He coped, using his friendly nickname for Gaara, “I’ve had twenty four drinks. You’ve only had twenty three.”

Gaara winced at him as if to analyze his words. “Twenty four?” He repeated. Naruto threw his arms back and got into a relaxed posture, a shit eating grin on his face.

“That’s right, y’know. If you wanna beat me in our drinking contest, you gotta take twenty five drinks.” Naruto continued. “You’re only two shots away from beating me, Panda. You remember what happens to the loser?”

Gaara blinked at Naruto owlishly. His vision was a little blurred, he could have sworn he was seeing shadow clones. He glanced down at the shot by his fingers, then back up at Naruto, his expression pensive. “Why don’t you kindly remind me, Naruto?”

Naruto leaned forward suddenly with a loud slap of his hand to the bar table. “The loser has to spend a whole day in Sexy Jutsu!” He said a little too loudly. Gaara put his hands up defensively, feeling the gaze of the other nosy bar patrons. Naruto nudged Gaara’s shot closer to him with a grin. “Come on, you don’t wanna be a loser now do ya?” He said in a sing-song voice.

In any normal circumstance, this kind of game would be foolish to Gaara. He wouldn’t even dream of accepting such a ridiculous agreement had he been sober. However, he was very much not sober.

He was very much not a loser either.

Gaara steeled his nerves and quickly slammed the shot of liquor. He nearly coughed as the liquid burned its way down his throat, then spread heat through his chest. He knew he needed one more to win, and he also knew that Naruto was screwing with him, but he was too drunk and feeling too petty to care. He was gonna beat Naruto at this stupid game, damnit.

When Gaara went to reach for his last shot, Naruto snatched it away at just the last moment, then guzzled it down.

‘Well, shit.’ Gaara thought, but he really should have seen this coming. Naruto laughed wildly at the dumb founded expression in Gaara’s face and pointed at him childishly.

“I totally got you, Panda!” Naruto bellowed between breaths. He was right though, he did indeed get Gaara. He was probably one of the only people to get the notoriously reserved Kazekage to do anything even remotely like this, and he totally abused his power to do so. Gaara frowned in embarrassment, thinking about how he was going to pull this off. He had only ever seen Naruto in Sexy Jutsu a few times, so he knew the technique needed to execute it. But…

He’d never thought about actually using it himself.

There’s a first for everything, he supposed. After that, the rest of the night was a drunken blur up until right this moment. 

“I… I’m sorry,” came the soft, raspy voice from the young woman standing in front of Rozu. If it wasn’t bizarre enough that Gaara had been out so late with Naruto, it was this beautiful redheaded woman that Naruto just showed up with at almost 4am, claiming her to be her very own husband.

The both of them were pretty trashed when they arrived early that morning. Rozu was furious thinking that Naruto was barging in with a woman who wasn’t his wife for a one night stand. Fury turned to shock turned to confusion upon hearing that the mystery woman was actually Gaara in a transformation. At that point, Rozu gave up and went back to bed, wanting to resolve it in the morning.

At the present moment, the three of them were seated in the living room. Naruto, in his pajamas, leaned on the couch holding an ice pack to his head and a clear, fizzing cup of liquid in his other hand. To his left was Rozu, the Kakzekages wife. She was visibly tired, not having slept well after last night’s rude awakening. Her black robe was pulled tightly around her as the cold of mild anxiety crept into her skin. 

Sitting directly across from her was a slender, frankly large breasted woman with beautiful, thickly lined seafoam eyes and lusciously soft looking skin. Her tied up crimson hair fell in thick curls around her frame and long down her back.

Kanji for “love” adorned the space on her forehead above her left eye.

“Gaara,” Rozu sighed, letting out a long breath she had been holding. Her gaze softened. “First of all, are you okay? You don’t normally drink that much. Was anything bothering you?”

Gaara looked down at the floor in embarrassment. He would rather say that he was trying to drown a demon than admit he was trying to out drink his friend. He had gone along with the bet, and unfortunately lost. “N-no.” Gaara replied. “I just made a mistake.”

Rozu looked at Gaara with an empathetic expression. “Okay, I just had to ask, no judgment my love.” She said, then her expression quickly changed to one of mild anger when she looked over at Naruto. The blonde visibly jumped as if he felt her glare like a gut punch. “As for you, what were you thinking getting him that drunk? He barely drinks at all!” She said firmly.

Naruto shrank at Rozu’s suddenly commanding aura. “It was just a bet between guys, y’know?! Gaara is strong, I didn’t doubt he could handle himself!” He rattled on, hoping to avoid Rozu’s wrath.

Rozu pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Ugh, fine. I’m just glad you’re both okay.” She sighed. She paused for a moment and sucked in a breath. “Well, relatively.”

She looked up at her spouse, who was fidgeting nervously in his chair. “So you said you’re unable to change back?”

Gaara bit his lip. “That’s right,” he replied. “I remember transforming, then being carried and passing out. When I woke up, I was still like this.” He explained. “I’ve tried disrupting my chakra flow several times. Even Naruto tried to assist and…” he glanced over at Naruto. “It still didn’t work.”

Rozu sat in thought for a while. “So you transformed when you were drunk. Maybe it’s a state of mind thing?” She mused out loud. Naruto shrugged and let out a sigh.

“No idea. Maybe it’ll just wear off.” He said as he stood up from the couch. Naruto put his ice pack on the kitchen table just behind Rozu. He reached for his coat.

“Are you going somewhere already, Naruto?” Rozu asked hurriedly. Naruto turned toward her and fished his froggy wallet out of his jacket pocket. He quickly counted the contents inside before heading to the door.

“I want to treat you guys to breakfast, as a way of apologizing for getting Gaara so drunk last night.” Naruto said with a small smile. “I’d offer for you to come with me, but it might be a better idea if he stays here for now.”

Rozu and Gaara looked at each other, then at Naruto. “You’re right,” said Gaara, “I can’t go out like this. People will notice.”

“While you’re gone, Gaara and I can try to figure this out,” said Rozu. She stood up and turned toward the kitchen to put on some more coffee. “Get us something greasy.”

Naruto smiled and stepped through the door with a wave goodbye. “I’ll be back soon, y’know! Don’t have too much fun!”

Rozu razzed at him playfully as she watched him leave and shut the door.

Gaara’s eyes never left the floor. He was still so embarrassed at the outcome of this situation. Never in his life did he think he’d do anything wilder than cheating at dice with Tsunade, but now here he was. He definitely overdid it with the transformation, and now he couldn’t revert to normal. It was strange being in this new body. Not unpleasant, but definitely different. He was very much lost in his thoughts about how wrong this all went.

The silence in the house was palpable until Rozu set down a cup of fresh coffee in front of Gaara with a satisfying clink. Gaara was roused from his thoughts and nervously met Rozu’s amber eyes. Rozu was smiling sweetly at him. “Hey sweetheart,” she said softly and sat down closely on the loveseat with Gaara, their outer thighs touching one another. Rozu gently took Gaara’s hand and placed a gentle kiss on each knuckle. “Try your best not to worry so much about it. We’ll figure it out together.”

Gaara blushed deeply at Rozu’s sweet gesture. Gaara would already turn into a melted mess in his normal form when Rozu did something like this, but the fact that she was still doing it even with Gaara being a woman made him feel intimately vulnerable. Rozu always gave Gaara no reason not to trust her.

He looked into Rozu’s eyes and felt a wave of intense emotion wash over him, then a twinge of embarrassment. Rozu hadn't been looking at Gaara’s face, but was in fact looking lower. Rozu’s eyes trailed languidly from Gaara’s eyes, to his cheeks, then his soft lips, down his neck, collarbone, then the exposed slopes of his ample breasts. Rozu noticed on Gaara’s left breast, a little mole at the top of the slope, closely matching the birthmark under Rozu’s left eye.

Rozu smiled and seemed to have an idea.

“Rozu—“ Gaara said quietly. Rozu’s eyes drifted back up to Gaara’s.

“Wow, Gaara,” Rozu sighed. She brought her right hand gently up Gaara’s arm, neck, then rested on his cheek. “You put a lot of detail in this form, huh?”

Gaara knew she was talking about the birthmark. While he didn’t remember much, he did put a little sentiment in the transformation, and the added matching birthmark was like a little Easter egg to him, knowing at the time that Rozu was gonna be really surprised.

“I suppose I did,” Gaara responded. He leaned into Rozu’s touch. Her hands felt so nice on his skin. “I figured if I was going to lose the bet I would make the most of it, so…”

Rozu giggled quietly in response. “Is that so?” She quipped. The two of them gazed at each other for a moment in silence. Then, Rozu’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Gaara,” she said, “I think Naruto is gonna be gone for a while, and I’ve got an idea.”

Gaara watched her and nodded. He waited for her to speak again, morbidly curious as to what this idea could be.

“Do you… can we have sex? With you in this form?” Rozu asked bluntly.

Gaara felt his mouth go dry. Did he hear that right? “You want to have sex with me… as a woman?” He confirmed.

Rozu blushed nervously. “W-we don’t have to! I just…” she looked around the room for the right thing to say, then looked back to Gaara. “You’re so handsome already, and as a woman you are… just…” Rozu’s voice trailed off as her eyes wandered over Gaara’s buxom body. “You are absolutely stunning. I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about doing it with a gender bent version of you.”

Gaara’s heart was beating out of his chest and he was sure his face was just as red as it was the night before. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not only was Rozu not angry with him in the slightest, but she was turned on by this. He wasn’t sure whether to be confused or incredibly aroused by her proposition.

Judging by his body’s response, it was the latter. An aching wave of wet heat pulsed from Gaara’s clenched pussy. His thighs pressed together involuntarily, trying to relieve some of the sudden pressure between his legs.

Rozu took notice of this and bit her lip. She put her two hands on Gaara’s knees and slowly slid her palms up his thighs. “So… Do you wanna?” She asked again.

Gaara’s breath quickened. If he wanted to, then this would really happen. Rozu was asking his permission. He could say no, and she wouldn’t think twice about it.

A beat of silence passed between them.

Or…

“Ok.” Gaara replied quietly.

Rozu blinked in surprise. She was honestly expecting Gaara to say no. She was pleasantly proven wrong. Her expression melted into a smile. “Okay.” She said softly. Rozu scooted closer to Gaara and let her hands wander up Gaara’s thighs, gently pushing the fabric of his bathrobe up to his hips.

Gaara’s breathing had become heavier as Rozu’s hands crept closer to Gaara’s sensitive new parts. He was already very excited at the prospect of Rozu touching his pussy, but the thought that crossed his mind excited him for it more. Rozu, having been a woman her whole life, knew her own body inside and out. Quite literally. He had caught Rozu touching herself in the past, and burned the image of her masterfully caressing herself to climax into his memories for later use.

He couldn’t wait for Rozu to get her hands on him, and neither could she.

Rozu leaned up, cupped her right hand on Gaara’s cheek, and pulled him in for a gentle kiss. Her left hand worked the spot where his hip joined his thigh, the creamy skin soft and supple under Rozu’s touch. She worked her fingers over the curve of Gaara’s hip, following it down under his bum. Rozu gave Gaara’s round bottom a light squeeze, which earned a soft squeak from him as they kissed.

Gaara’s thighs pressed together again, another gush of warmth coming from his twitching hole. A deep ache inside of him made him groan quietly into Rozu’s mouth.

Rozu giggled and sucked gently on Gaara’s lower lip. Her right hand traced down his jawline, over his neck and collarbone, and down to his soft breasts. Her touch left a trail of fire on his skin that fueled his desire. The position he found himself in with his love was so intimate and erotic.

Gaara gasped again when Rozu pulled away from his lips and kissed her way down his chest. In a fluid motion she pushed away the fabric of the robe covering Gaara’s breasts, exposing them. Gaara blushed hard, the redness in his face spread to his ears and chest.

“A-ah, Rozu—“ he gasped. Rozu gently palmed Gaara’s tits, giving them a gentle squeeze. She earned another moan of her name off of his lips. She hummed and covered one of Gaara’s pink, pert nipples with her mouth, and gently pinched and rolled the other with her forefinger and thumb.

Gaara had to cover his mouth to prevent his moan from alerting the neighbors. The feeling of his wife sucking and fondling on his boobs was overwhelming. Was it like this all the time for her, or was this the result of Gaara’s transformation making him especially sensitive?

Either way he was relishing it. Rozu’s skillful mouth and fingers were making waves of arousal shoot through him. He was breathing hard, his right hand came up to fist itself in Rozu’s soft hair.

Rozu let Gaara’s nipple free with a lewd ‘pop’ and looked up into his eyes. His expression was priceless; cheeks dusted pink, eyes blown wide, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was already so turned on and she hadn’t even gotten to the best part. Rozu gently slid her hands over Gaara’s thighs. Her thumbs met between them and rubbed up and down as if to coax them open.

“Gaara,” Rozu said, “can I use my mouth?”

Gaara stared down at Rozu for a moment and realized what she was asking. His chest heaved with a heavy, antsy breath. He felt so good and really didn’t want to stop. After a pause, he nodded. “Y-yes, please.” He replied.

Rozu smiled widely at him and gently pushed him back on the sofa, laying him down. His legs were still pressed together tightly in a mix of arousal and embarrassment. “I want to make you feel really good,” said Rozu.

She climbed halfway over him and kissed down his stomach, starting with just under her breasts. Gaara reflexively covered his eyes with his arm bashfully.

He relished the sensation of Rozu’s lips on his bare skin as she placed kisses on his chest, then under his nipples, down his stomach, across his hips…

Gaara felt Rozu untie the rest of his robe and push it open. The cool air of the apartment gave him goosebumps and made him squirm a little. He heard Rozu giggle as she placed her hands on Gaara’s raised knees. “You look so beautiful right now,” she cooed, earning a shy giggle from Gaara.

Gaara felt Rozu push his thighs apart and allowed himself to open up to her. He felt the sudden rush of cool air meet with his pussy, which was glistening wet under the light. He had a patch of red hair just on his mons above his slit, a crimson shade matching his head hair.

“Don’t stare,” said Gaara. He could feel Rozu’s eyes on him even with his arm obscuring his vision. Rozu responded by lifting one of Gaara’s legs onto her shoulder and pressing kisses slowly upwards. Gaara yelped as he was repositioned, anticipation building inside him.

Rozu pressed kisses and licked Gaara’s thigh until she reached her destination. Her hot breath on his waiting pussy made his own breath quicken. He didn’t know what kinds of sensations to expect, and he was already so sensitive he wasn’t sure he was going to last even with just Rozu looking at him the way she was.

Gaara was snapped from his thoughts as he felt pressure against his hole. Rozu ran her middle finger gently up and down Gaara’s wet slit, then pressed it inside of him. “Ah..! Hahhh…” Gaara panted out, barely able to speak. Rozu hummed contentedly and pressed another finger inside, scissoring Gaara in and out gently. Gaara breathed heavily in rhythm to Rozu’s ministrations, getting lost in the feeling of her working him from the inside

Rozu then licked a long, slow stripe over Gaara’s clit. Gaara cursed and moaned loudly, unable to contain himself. His hands made purchase in Rozu’s hair, needing something to cling onto. Rozu licked Gaara’s sensitive bud in slow circles as she pumped her fingers inside of him, and relished the sounds he was making.

The lewd, wet slurping and sucking sounds between Gaara’s legs filled the room, mixing with Gaara’s feminine, wanton moans. Rozu used her free hand to dip into her own pussy and touch herself. She was wet as Hell, having taken great pleasure in eating out her husband like this. She had seen him undone before but this was on a whole other level.

“Gods, Gaara. You are so sexy.” Rozu said before returning her mouth to its duty. Gaara moaned her name and squirmed his hips as she wrapped her lips around his pearl and sucked on him softly. Hearing Gaara like this egged her on, and she wanted more of him.

Rozu removed her hand from herself and held Gaara’s legs open with both arms, securing him in place. She parted his pussy wider with her tongue and exposed his throbbing bundle of nerves. She wrapped her lips down and sucked on him firmly.

“Aahhahh, oh fuck… R-rozu—unghh…!” Gaara moaned loudly, having to put his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds. It was all so much— the wet sounds, the feeling of Rozu’s mouth on the new parts of him, the pumping heat through his body as his lover worked her tongue skillfully on his sex. His heart felt like it was going to burst. “Rozu,” he panted, “I-I’m going to…!”

Gaara didn’t have time to finish his sentence as his whole body spasmed with pleasure. He let out the loudest moan, screaming Rozu’s name as his back arched off of the sofa. His eyes rolled back, mouth open and tongue lolled out like a mind broken slut. He involuntarily rode his hips into Rozu’s mouth as he came hard, but she held him in place and kept working his gushing core. Gaara thrashed, unable to think anymore. He came again a second time, then a third, then fourth, all in rapid succession. He wasn’t sure where his body ended and Rozu’s mouth began.

Rozu gently pulled herself off of Gaara’s pussy and wiped off her mouth with her forearm. She looked over her husband’s form with a confident smile. He looked absolutely unwound, splayed out on the couch panting and sweating. His eyes were closed contentedly as he came down from his sex-induced high. After a moment, he felt Rozu press a kiss to his forehead, and Gaara instinctively wrapped his arms around her back to keep her in place. 

“That was amazing,” Gaara sighed and nuzzled into Rozu’s neck. “Does it feel like that for you all the time?”

Rozu giggled and kissed Gaara’s cheek. “Pretty much.” she replied. Rozu sat back up and looked over Gaara again, a hand under her chin in thought. “I’ve got another idea, but it’s kind of crazy…”

Gaara smiled at her and let out a breathy laugh. “What could be crazier than what we just did, love?”

Rozu stared down at Gaara and bit her lip. She quickly peeked out the curtain covering the window to see if Naruto was on his way back. With the horizon clear, she turned back to Gaara. “I want to make a dick and fuck you with it.” she stated.

Gaara’s eyes widened in response and he sat straight up, blushing hard. “O-oh,” he gasped. Rozu put her hands up defensively.

“Again, we don’t have to do it! I will not be upset if you say no–”

“T-that’s not it,” Gaara interrupted, “I… um… I want to try it too.”

Rozu blinked in surprise. Gaara fidgeted nervously.

“How do you want me?” he asked.

Rozu sighed heavily at such a question. This was incredibly kinky. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she was about to make love like this. Rozu pulled at the tie on her robe and let it fall to the floor. “On top, if that’s okay with you. I want you to be able to control the pace, and stop if you get uncomfortable.” she said. “Let’s move to the bedroom?”

Gaara nodded, then stood up from the sofa. Rozu took his hand and led him upstairs to their shared bedroom.

**

Rozu closed the bedroom door behind them, and Gaara stood by the edge of the bed, waiting for his wife to join him. Rozu turned to face him and smiled. “Okay,” she said, “my turn for a sexy jutsu!”

Gaara watched Rozu make a series of hand signs. A puff of smoke enshrouded her on the final sign. He watched in anticipation as the smoke slowly cleared, excited to see what form Rozu would take on. Once the smoke cleared completely, he was surprised to see that Rozu looked the same. Apparently she hadn’t changed anything, except…

Gaara’s eyes widened when they fell to the apex of Rozu’s thighs. “Is that…?”

Rozu smirked confidently and palmed her new equipment. She hadn’t changed anything about herself besides fashioning a hard, girthy cock. Gaara stared at her disrespectfully, feeling another gush of heat shoot down to his core. He had cum four times in a row in the living room and he was already aroused again. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Do you like it?” Rozu asked as she walked toward her husband. “I kind of modeled it after you.”

Gaara took notice of the details. She did indeed model her dick after his own, but it looks like she made a few adjustments of her own. It seemed like it was a little thicker, veinier, and sported a familiar birthmark on the shaft. The dark, meaty head glistened invitingly with thick pre-cum. Gaara realized Rozu was standing directly in front of him now. Almost automatically, Gaara took her cock in his hands and gave it a test stroke. 

Rozu sighed at the feeling of her cock in his hands. It was her turn to experience a new sensation. The skin of her shaft was soft and taut, the head of her cock peeked out with each downward stroke. “Mmm, babe, that feels nice.” she said. Gaara planted a soft kiss on Rozu’s lips, which she returned with fervor, and led her by her cock to the edge of the bed. Gaara used his free hand to guide Rozu to lay down, which she eagerly obliged.

Once Rozu was comfortable, Gaara positioned himself between her legs. Rozu watched him carefully and rested her arms behind her head to prop herself up a little. Gaara continued to stroke Rozu’s hefty cock and earned a moan from her lips. “That feels good, love,” she said as she let her head roll to one side, relaxed and content.

Rozu’s breathing picked up with Gaara’s strokes, getting a little faster and a little firmer. She trusted Gaara to take care of her in this form as much as her normal form. He was always so gentle with her normally, but this time she had a bit he was very familiar with. Rozu’s heart was beating fast in anticipation similar to Gaara’s when she had gone down on him, excited for what was in store.

With careful precision, Gaara pulled the skin on Rozu’s shaft gently downward to expose the head of her cock, then wrapped her lips around it. Rozu gasped, the sensation of Gaara’s mouth on her sent a shock up her spine. The sound egged Gaara on and he took more of her in his mouth, feeling the pulse of her cock in the back of his throat. “Fuck, Gaara,” Rozu moaned loudly. The feeling of Gaara’s wiggling tongue and shuddering throat on her cock meat was driving her crazy. She bucked her hips up in response, Gaara’s ministrations familiar to her as a technique she would use on him often.

Gaara’s head bobbed up and down on Rozu’s hot member, his slender fingers wrapped around the length he couldn’t quite swallow down. Lewd sucking and moaning sounds filled their bedroom.

“Gaara,” Rozu moaned. Her hand came down to stroke Gaara’s cheek and gently pull his mouth off of her, “ugh, that feels so good, but if you keep going like this I won’t last long.”

Gaara panted, then sat up. He wiped some drool off of his lips and nodded. Rozu extended her arms as if to help him as he climbed over her.

“Please be gentle,” he said quietly as he took Rozu’s hands and allowed her to help him get aligned with her sex. His breath quickened when he felt the hot head of Rozu’s cock gently press against his dripping hole.

Rozu sat up and pulled Gaara’s face down to hers to plant a kiss on his lips. “I will,” she promised, “if you need to tap out, or if anything hurts, please tell me and I will stop right away, okay?”

Gaara felt his heart swell with love. This moment was so erotic and steamy, and he could tell that Rozu wanted to ravish him, but she still took her time to care for his needs. It made him feel so important and loved. “Okay,” he replied, “here I go…”

Gaara lowered himself onto Rozu’s dick and allowed her cockhead to push past his velvety soft folds. He was plenty wet from the earlier orgasms, and was pleasantly surprised when Rozu’s member slipped in easily. He sucked in a breath, feeling the pop of her head push past his entrance, and the rest of her cock followed slowly after.

Rozu froze when she heard Gaara gasp. She ran her hands gently over Gaara’s curvy hips. “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” she asked frantically, thinking she may have hurt her husband.

Gaara shook his head quickly. “N-no, you feel really good, it’s just so different…” he said.

Rozu smiled and caressed his skin. “Yeah, it feels different here too, but like good different. Do you want to keep going?” she asked, her gaze meeting him.

Gaara nodded and placed his hands over hers, lacing their fingers together. Rozu took this cue to press her hips upward, joining them completely. He let out a moan at the feeling of their coupling. The sensation of Rozu’s cock stretching him out inside and filling him completely was amazing. So this is what it felt like for her…

“I’m going to move now, okay love?” Rozu asked, her hands gripping Gaara’s hips. Gaara nodded, granting her permission to start moving inside of him. Rozu pulled out gently, to the tip of her cock head, then pushed back in, the movement bouncing Gaara lightly and earning a moan from his lips. He leaned back and planted his hands on Rozu’s outer thighs for balance.

She started out slowly, pushing herself steadily in and out of Gaara’s wet cunt. Rozu watched herself disappear inside of Gaara over and over, enraptured by the feeling of taking him in this way. The gentle bouncing resonated through Gaara’s body, jiggling his large breasts with each thrust. Rozu reached a hand up and fondled Gaara’s left breast, enticing a loud moan from his lips. “Rozu, hahh… p-please go faster,” he begged.

Rozu groaned and planted her feet flat on the bed. “Alright, princess, if that’s what you want.”

She began to piston in and out of Gaara’s pussy, lewd sounds coming from between the two of them, mixed with Gaara’s now loud moaning between slapping bounces. Not only had Rozu sped up, but she had dug herself deeper into Gaara’s cunt, wrapping herself in his fold. Each time he came down, she held him there for a second before pulling all the way out and slamming into him again.

“Ahhn! Rozu! Rozu… you feel so good…!” Gaara moaned wantonly, his fingers digging into Rozu’s thighs. A hot, tight coil was building in his belly as he was pounded into by his lover, getting closer and closer to a new type of release Rozu was pounding faster now, her rhythm becoming erratic. A warm, wet finger worked circles over Gaara’s clit as he bounced up and down Rozu’s cock, and he was sent over the edge into a blinding white orgasm.

He screamed Rozu’s name as she drove herself into him one final time. He could feel her cock pulse and coat her walls with hot cum. After a few final, finishing thrusts, Gaara collapsed over Rozu, his arms encircled her head and kept her close. They panted together, out of breath from their love making, and lay snuggling in the afterglow. Rozu’s cock softened and slipped out of Gaara, then poofed out of existence to revert her sex back to normal, as it was no longer needed. Rozu sighed contentedly and rubbed Gaara’s back, whispering sweet things to him as his breathing evened out.

The two of them were exhausted from the new sexual experience, and sleep quickly took them.

**

Naruto had returned an hour later, but found that Rozu and Gaara were no longer in the living room. He had brought some food over for them to share and sat it down on the kitchen table before looking around for the couple. 

Naruto decided he should probably come back later when he spotted them through the crack in their bedroom door, sleeping atop one another and undeniably nude, their limbs entangled. It was obvious they had gotten intimate in his absence. 

He did notice, however, that Gaara had successfully released the Sexy Jutsu, and was back to his male form. Naruto left a note on the food in the kitchen, thanking Rozu again for letting him stay the night prior, and promptly left the house.

He could only imagine what went down when he left the first time, but he figured he probably shouldn’t get that Gaara drunk again.

[aka-indulgence]

waaah im late but this is my submission for @selfshipperapproved Day 6 - Missing You !

It’s mmmm more hurt/comfort than full fluff? But rest assured the comfort is there, I just feel... quite a bit for this one /w\

(also, suggestive near the end!!)

---

There were days where you were… maybe not feeling the greatest.

Especially while you’re out here, alone, your loved ones back home…

…

It usually just comes out of nowhere.

You don’t even know where it came from, what caused it, you just… this sudden feeling of… wishing there was someone here with you.

…

The bed sheets shifted under you as you turned to the window, the ones you forgot to close right before you sleep. The darkness just beyond the curtain that wasn’t quite so dark was just ahead, city lights keeping it considerably illuminated, even a little into the room.

You feel a familiar sensation in your eyes.

You decide to call him, speaker on, putting the phone next to you.

It only takes about two rings before you hear the sound of your lines connecting, and the sound of Sans’ voice filters out of your phone speakers.

“-ello, hello?? darlin’?” He sounds almost panicked saying it, and it gives you the mental image of him juggling his phone when he got your call. It puts a smile on your face.

“i’m here, i’m here! what’s wrong?”

Normally, it’d be unusual for someone to immediately think something’s wrong when you call them. Well, maybe not for Sans, since he’s been worrying about you ever since you left home. … And maybe even just whenever you’re not with him.

The doofus… that lovable, charming doofus…

Considering you’re calling in the middle of 3AM in the morning where you are, you’d be concerned too.

“Hahah… hi Sans.” you greet with your usual reply to when he seems paranoid for you, but this time it sounds weaker. “I’m… I’m fine, I guess, it’s… it’s nothing terrible or anything…”

Well, that did nothing to assure Sans you were ‘fine’. There’s a beat of silence from his end, and then “tell me, sweetheart. ya know you could tell me anythin’.”

You sigh… you don’t even know why you bothered saying you were ‘fine’, it was just a knee-jerk reaction at this point.

“Ok, ok,” you sigh in defeat, “I promise you, it’s nothing terrible or anything, it’s just that I, well…”

…

“I mi-iss you.”

Sometimes just saying it seems to magnify the feelings, as if acknowledging it signals to your brain ‘Hey no need to hold back those sad signals now, let ‘em rip’.

You sniff a little and Sans is quick to respond.

“aww…” he coos, in a tone that wasn’t patronizing and more sympathetic. “i miss ya too, sweetheart. ya know how i’ve been with ya…”

You make a weak laugh and try to fight the tears off. “Y-yeah… I just…” god, your throat feels tight, “I wish you were here.”

There’s a long exhale on the other side, if he had organs you’d say it sounded like he was emptying out his lungs.

“god, me too.” he says, then having a moment to pause before he continues, “but ya know what? we don’t gotta wait much longer.”

A chuckle.

“soon we’re gonna see each other again, right? we won’t gotta be missin’ each other when we meet again. it what keeps me from… i dunno… pullin’ my skull off my body and kickin’ it around like a football.”

The description is so sudden and so specific, and the image of Sans’ grumpy skull getting kicked around by himself while he probably grumbles at himself to stop kicking him in the eyesocket, or something appearing in your head… it gets you laughing suddenly, and a smile immediately forms on your face.

Talented boyfriend of yours, making you laugh while you were feeling so blue.

“Wh-what?” you say in between giggles, “d… don’t do that!

“aaah, i told’ja i didn’t!” Sans laughs along with you, “knowin’ we’re gonna meet again’s keepin’ me sane.”

You hug the blanket over you, wishing you could be hugging him instead. Your heart feels like it’s swelling and you kinda wanna cry again?

“Aww… Sans!”

“tell ya what, when ya get back home, we’re gonna have to get a lot of ‘bedtime’ together to catch up on lost time.”

Wh-

“Sans!”

“i’m jus’ warnin’ ya early on! my soul misses ya, but there’s somethin’ else that misses you too~”

“Oh my god Sans, you ruined the moment!”

You both break into laughter. After that Sans would bring you back “into the moment” by asking you why you were awake, and you’d tell him that you did sleep already but you were woken up by ‘sadness, I guess’, and you’d both would share your woes about being apart. But right now you’re just enjoying the long distance-company of each other, driving the loneliness away.

[13thdoodle]

Kicks the door down to tell you I love your ocs so fucking much I keep wanting to include them in my fucking fics

Also, how do you feel Quizz would interact with both Levi and 31 if they were together? What about in a RET au?

DANTE IM VIBRATING WITH EXCITEMENT EVERY TIME HELL YEAH (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o))) ✨✨✨

aksjdnasjdk gosh if its like in AUs where these two are siblings? Levi gonna spill all the embarassing shits 31 had ever done in the most loving way and 31 gonna throw hands, or attempt to also spill them tea but like theres only so much embarassing thing when Levi just.. does things for funsies the mans too feral to get embarassed (most of the time)

No actually theres a LOT to spill about Levi, but Levi would just go oh yeah that was fun wanna see me do that again? :D

gosh this took so long to think about like ??? I don't know how to shove both Levi n 31 into RET AU? like 31... required Danny got caught by GiW so thats.. bad? maybe if he's made by vlad he might be around but also aksjndjaks i gotta think about it more kjansakd

Levi. Levi jsut vibe in the background, like he probably could almost one up the trio?? but then idk where we go from there.

Altho... maybe like.. as a concept?? Levi being 31's ghost patron like Plant!Nocturne being Danny's patron etc would be fun 👀 ....corrupted/unhinged mad protector!Levi as 31's patron... 👀👀

31 can get a lil bit unhinged too.. as a treat do i know how to shove that into the AU's plot or sth? no. Does is sound fun anyway? Hell yeah

[aj-the-cat]

Lawless

(Fuck it, a week early then when i had originally scheduled it to come out)

~ Chapter 1 ~ Masterlist

Word count: 2096

Scorpion’s Roost

Solidarity, Texas

"My god Shawn, do you ever sit still?"

Shawn Michaels squirmed on his horses saddle, itching to get up and move around but the man on the other horse was not having it. "It's uncomfortable, Hunter! You know I can't do long rides. And besides, the dude in El Paso was so rough in me, it felt like he was going to-"

Hunter made a retching sound. "I don't want to hear about your sex life!" Shawn let out an offended gasp.

"But I'm your best friend!"

"That doesn't matter!"

Shawn remained silent as the horses continued on their path. They trotted through Ginger's Plain, observing a fence around a certain area and the very little vegetation. Shawn broke the silence of the place. "Why'd they call this place Ginger's Plain? I see no red anything, and I certainly see no ginger's runnin' around." Hunter shook his head. "I don't have any clue. C'mon, lets hurry up. We can get to the next town a little past noon if we keep going."

The sun beamed brightly overhead as the two bandits finally made their way to the town sign. "Thank god! My ass is killing me!" Shawn hopped off his horse, staggering a little but still remained on his feet. Hunter shook his head and got off his horse as well, claiming his trusty sledgehammer off his horses rump and sheathing it on his back.

The two bandits walked their horses into town, earning stares from some townsfolk. Shawn looked around, examining every building until one caught his eye. "Sweet! This town has a horse stable, we can leave our horses there while we drink in the saloon." Hunter quickly shot that idea down. "And waste our money? We can just leave our horses outside the saloon for free, and if we need an escape, they're right there." Shawn groaned, but complied with Hunters words.

They walked to the saloon and tied their horses on the poles outside.

The saloon wasn't too flashy, but it did stand out. Everything was quiet inside. "Shouldn't there be a piano man or somethin' in there? Seems dead." Shawn whispered. Hunter slapped him on the back of the head. "Not all saloon's are the same, idiot. If it's quiet, it should stay quiet." Hunter put a finger in Shawn's face. "That means no flirting with the patrons." The shirtless bandit rolled his eyes.

They walked inside and noticed the place empty, except a single table with people playing poker, a shadowed man drinking in the corner and the bartender cleaning a glass. When she heard the bootsteps, she looked up from the glass at the two bandits in the doorway. "Y'all just gonna stand there or am I gonna pour you a glass?" She called out.

Shawn, ever the giddy drinker, quickly walked over to a seat at the bar. "A beer my fine lady." He tried to put on his best charm, winking at the bartender, but she wasn't fazed. She poured his beer and set it down in front of him, ignoring the immediate gulps from him. "What what about you, Nosey? What'll you have?" She called out to Hunter.

Hunter went to grab his nose but stopped midway. "Uh, I don't drink. I think a water is just fine for me, thank you." He sat down beside Shawn who had already finished his glass. The bartender set down the glass of water in front of Hunter and asked, "Never seen ya around here, Nosey. What your name?" Hunter politely set down his glass and replied, "Hunter Hearst Helmsley. But just Triple H or Hunter if fine. Thats Shawn Michaels-" Shawn let out a very unpleasent burp and waved -"My best friend. What about you?"

The bartender smiled. "Call me Chyna. You two seem very interesting, where do y'all come from?" Hunter choked on his water and Shawn snorted. Chyna's eyes twinkled in amusement as the shirtless one of the two beat the other on the back, and the other sputtered and coughed.

Laughing, Shawn replied, "He HATES getting asked that question. Never been good at telling his background so I will tell." Hunter flipped his head around to face Shawn. "SHAWN! Don't you *cough* d-dare!" Placing his finger over Hunter's lips, Shawn cleared his throat and lifted his other finger up.

"You see, this man was born with a silver spoon so far down his throat that it was impossible for him to be seen outside his mansion up in Conneticut. All his life he was a spoiled little rat-" Hunter glared at Shawn, still having his finger on his lips- "Hell, by the time he was 12 he already owned a couple acres of land and a couple slaves. He was so miserable. I found him by hopping a train that led to where he lived and I broke him out of that hell hole. We've been best friends ever since."

Shawn removed his finger from Hunters lips and smiled innocently. Chyna giggled as Hunter fumed, wringing his hands in attempt to not strangle his friend. "Thank you for that, Shawn." He growled. Shawn tipped his cowboy hat. "No problem, ol' friend of mine."

Hunter facepalmed and sipped a bit of his water. "I come from Dallas, bein' a bandit is all I ever known. My parents got shot while I was 13 and I learned to shoot a gun at 14. Been hittin' the roads ever since." Shawn smiled and looked at Chyna expectantly. Her eyes twinkled in amusement at the two idiots in front of her.

Chyna grabbed the men's ears and pulled them to her face, Hunter almost knocking down his water. "I'll tell ya what. You two seem interesting, and nothing ever interesting ever goes on here. I wanna join you two on your adventures." She let their ears go and their eyes widened.

Shawn grabbed Hunter's shoulders and turned both of them around on the bar seats. In a low whisper, he talked to Hunter. "Ya hear this?! We can start a group like we always wanted! And nobody would expect a woman!" Shawn looked back at Chyna and she winked.

"She is pretty, and she seems smart too. We could definately use her on heists." Hunter replied. Shawn smiled wide. "This is our big break! We'll be known all across the nation!" Hunter shook his head. "Don't let your ego get in the way." Shawn let go of Hunters shoulders and placed a hand over his heart. "I do not have an ego!" Hunter snorted. "You so do."

Shawn opened his mouth to retort back but was interrupted by the sound of spurs and bootsteps, as well as a heavy accented voice yelling. "I'll wring that stack o' dimes you call a neck someday, Vince! Don't you forget that!"

Both Shawn and Hunter froze at the voice. "Austin." They both said. Shawn climbed over the bar counter and grabbed Chyna's leg. "Hide me! Please!" Using her other leg, she kicked open a hidden cabinet and Shawn climbed inside. Hunter was about to climb over the bar but Chyna stopped him. "Only room for one. You'll have to face this rattlesnake alone." She pointed to the door just as Austin was walking in.

Austin whipped his head around from looking at something and his blue eyes narrowed as he saw Hunter. Hunter gulped as he saw Austin's hand clench into a fist. "Helmsley." He growled. Chyna put on a bored expression and walked to the other side of the bar, where the shadowed man sat. "I don't see yer partner. Come to MY town alone?" Hunter nodded slowly.

Austin chuckled and quickly whipped out his gun. "Well too bad for you. By order of the town of Scorpion's Roost, you are under arrest for your life of crime as a bandit. Any last words before I shoot you?" Hunter slowy shrugged. "Uh, beer sucks?"

"Wrong answer!"

Hunter ducked just in time for a bullet to shoot right where his head was, making a bottle of tequila explode. He crawled on the floor and between Austin's legs to the door. He stood up and yelled, "I got places to be! See ya!" And hightailed it out of the saloon.

Cursing, Austin ran after the blonde and yelled after him.

Hearing that the coast was clear, Shawn emerged from his hiding place and slowly looked over the bar. No bald-headed bounty hunters. All was clear. Sughing in relief, he climbed back over the bar and settled in a chair. "Thank god that's over. He scares the bejeezus outta me." He reached for his beer glass and found it empty.

Shawn looked to the other side of the bar for Chyna and saw her pouring shots for the shadowed man he saw earlier. He smirked and got out of his chair, sauntering over to where the man sat.

Leaning against the bar, Shawn made sure to puff out his shirtless chest and put on his best charm. "Hiya, Tex. Nice set of legs ya got there. What time do they open?" The shadowed man downed his last shot and set the glass upside down on the bar. Shawn got a glimpse of piercing green eyes and midnight black hair as the man got up from his seat. His heart raced as the man walked away, but he stopped.

"Put it on my tab, Chyna." He growled out and walked away, heavy boots clunking on the floorboards. Shawns heart was racing a million miles a minute and butterflies found their way inside his stomach. "Who was that?" He whispered out, still staring at the door.

Chyna picked up the glasses and put them under the bar. "Nobody knows. Everybody just calls him The Undertaker. He works at the local funeral parlor and comes in here once a week." Shawn's imagination fired up as he remembered the large frame of the man, now known to him as The Undertaker, and imagined his large hands gliding across-

"SHAWN!" Hunter burst through the doors of the saloon, making Shawn snap out of his day dream. Hunter's sledgehammer was out of its sheath and in its owners hands, making Shawn wonder what had happened to make his friend pull out his hammer. "We gotta hide for a while. I managed to lose Austin, but not for long."

Hunter ran over and grabbed Shawn's arm and pulled him towards the door. Chyna waved at the two bandits and set up a tab for Shawn and Hunter, and put The Undertaker's shots on his existing tab.

Outside, the sun was falling towards the horizon. Hunter and Shawn ran to the hotel across the street and burst in their doors. "We need a room. Now." Hunter said, very breathless. He put his sledgehammer on the counter to make a warning to the lady. Shawn had his hand on his gun and was surveying the surrounding area. The woman at the counter shakily pointed upstairs. Top floor, last one on the left." Hunter nodded and both bandits went upstairs.

Going to the room and locking themselves in, they sat on the floor and Hunter caught his breath. "We made it, oh thank god." Hunter thought about his safety in the room. Meanwhile, Shawn's mind wandered to The Undertaker and his green eyes. He usually could forget people and what they looked like, but this man had a hold on his mind.

Shawn usually had his mind hardwired on sex, alcohol and his mischevious antics. But this time things were different. His cheeks burned as he thought about the man more and more. 'God what is happening?' He thought to himself.

Hunter noticed his friend looking a little sick. "Shawn, buddy, you ok?" He snapped his fingers in front of Shawn's face, making the other man jump. "Hunter what the hell?!" Hunter noticed Shawn's pink cheeks but ignored it. "Shawn, you ok? You spaced out." Shawn waved off Hunter. "Im fine."

Hunter nodded and layed on the ground, not even bothering to tour the room. Shawn followed suit and looked up at the ceiling and was lost in thought. 

Eventually, the sun went down fully and the half moon glowed brightly in the sky. Hunter had fallen asleep, but Shawn was still wide awake and deep in his thoughts.

Who was this man Shawn's mind had grabbed on to? Shawn had to find out. Closing his eyes, he decided that in the morning he would find out. Sleep soon took over him and cast him away to a dream-filled night.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

the honorable thing to do

Notes: a while ago, @thisauthorisscreaming formulated a fantasy!au featuring Toshinori, long lost heir to a throne stolen by AFO (malicious god), being escorted back to his rightful inheritance by Nana (a paladin of OFA, benevolent god) and Sorahiko (a guardsman of Toshinori’s village who was leery of letting some strange woman spirit off a kid). I contributed... mostly a receptive audience, and now, the tentative beginnings of an AU! :D

*Mosu is named for Mos Eisley. Gotta keep those SW refs.

Word count: 1,207

//

The paladin happened across the little village of Mosu on the occasion of Yagi Toshinori’s thirteenth birthday. Toshinori, busy tending to his flock of sheep, missed the entrance of the most interesting person to stumble into Mosu in nearly a decade.

He was in the middle of herding the sheep back to the village outskirts when Torino Sorahiko, the village’s designated guardsman and mediator of petty disputes, came bolting for Toshinori. Torino had his longbow in hand, and he was wild-eyed.

“Toshinori!”

Instinctively, Toshinori straightened up and hid his shepherd’s crook behind his back. Not that he was guilty of anything! It was just that Torino rarely put the effort into chasing anybody.

And before Toshinori had been entrusted with the village sheep, he had been the one most likely to be chased around by Torino. It came with being the youngest orphan (and, if Toshinori was being honest, human being) in Mosu; he was naturally drawn to mischief.

It had been funny to drop a chicken in Torino’s bed. Whether it had been worth the verbal dressing down…

“Guardsman Torino?” he squeaked, and squeaked again when Torino grabbed his elbow and yanked him towards the trees. “Whoa! What’s wrong, what’s happening?”

“There’s a paladin in town looking for you,” Torino said. “Dropped your name and approximate age and everything. She’s hunting you down for something, kid.”

“Paladin?” Toshinori echoed, startled. He began to resist; he dug his heels into the dirt and strained for the flickering lights that guided him home. A small part of him really wanted to see a paladin, supposedly titans in heavy armor, sworn to a patron god… And Mosu had never entertained a warrior before! If anyone passed through Mosu, it was the occasional caravan of merchants. “Wait, wait, I wanna see!”

“Are you listening to me? She knows your identity! There’s no benevolent reason behind that!”

“Maybe she knows my real parents,” he suggested. It stung when Torino scoffed. Toshinori tried in vain to free himself from Torino’s grasp. Looking all around, his eyes snagged on a figure fast approaching, steel armor catching the light. In a purely petty move, Toshinori opted to distract Torino. “What about the sheep? I can’t just leave them.”

“They’ll make it through the night—”

“Unhand the boy!” a voice commanded, and the order rang like a clear bell. Even Torino faltered at the sound, turning his head and his grip going slack for a second. Because the paladin was tall, broad-shouldered, armed with an broadsword, and—she wore no helmet. Her hair was raven black, tied up in a half ponytail, with the rest of her long hair streaming behind her.

Her eyes were as steely as her armor.

“Wow,” Toshinori breathed, forgetting about Torino.

Torino did not forget about him. Instead of flinching away from the approaching storm, Torino shoved Toshinori behind him and nocked an arrow.

“Back off,” snarled Torino.

“You first,” the paladin responded, and Torino’s arrow flew, straight and true. Except it didn’t hit. Toshinori saw the paladin flick her wrist and deflect the arrow, inadvertently slicing through the shaft of wood. Her expression darkened at the provocation.

“That was really dumb,” Toshinori whispered.

“If there ever was a time to shut your mouth—”

“Have some respect for your prince,” snapped the paladin, and all of a sudden, she was there. Stepping into Torino’s space and catching his wrist, tightening her hold until Torino made a sound and dropped his longbow, lifting her sword so the edge of it rested gently against Torino’s neck. The point of the sword was angled away from Toshinori.

Prince. What? Toshinori flailed for the appropriate reaction. He may have wanted to catch a glimpse of the paladin, but he didn’t want Torino to die for it!

“You’ve got the wrong kid,” Torino said.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the right one. Not just any town gets to be warded against violent interlopers, you know.”

“Um,” Toshinori piped up, a little nervous. The paladin’s steel gray eyes zeroed in on him, and they curved into happy crescents. The curled lip of her sneer softened into a genuine, toothsome grin. She had a beauty mark dotting the lower right half of her jaw, and it didn’t detract from the vision at all.

“Hello, your Majesty,” she greeted. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Yagi Toshinori.”

“That’s, um, really interesting,” he said. “Could we talk about that over dinner? Without swords? Guardsman Torino can buy us both plates.”

“You little shit,” breathed Torino, sliding a glare Toshinori’s way. Then his breathing stuttered at a threatening look from the paladin. And, Toshinori noted with alarm, there was a faint line of white from where her blade pressed against Torino’s throat.

“He’s trustworthy?”

“He raised me,” Toshinori said with reasonable confidence. Toshinori was very much deemed the village’s collective child, but he usually fell into Torino’s care, by virtue of the guardsman having no other family or people to provide for.

The paladin pursed her lips into a thin line. She leaned in, then, to whisper into Torino’s ear. Try as Toshinori might, he could not discern the words. The visible shiver the paladin induced in Torino probably meant she was imparting a threat.

In any case, she released Torino and took a large step back.

“First things first,” said the paladin. She knelt then, on one knee, and balanced her sword horizontally on her outstretched palms, a steel blade resting on steel gauntlets. “My name is Shimura Nana, last of the paladins of One for All. I am charged with bringing you back to the throne, Yagi Toshinori, come hell or high water. You are the rightful heir, and I swear fealty to you.”

“Oh,” Toshinori responded faintly, watching this from behind Torino’s elbow.

“Accept her oath,” Torino muttered, bending to pick up his longbow.

“Oh!” He darted in front of Torino but hesitated. He didn’t know how oaths went, much less oaths of fealty. Yet he had to do something. Toshinori bit his lip and reached for Shimura’s hands, coaxing them to curl back around the blade. “I, uh… I acknowledge and accept you as my protector?”

A beat of silence, broken by Torino’s exasperated groan. That cued Shimura into rising. She sheathed her blade and for the second time since Toshinori had met her, genuinely smiled. It was warm, that grin, and it dazzled Toshinori.

“Excellent,” she chirped, and smoothly maneuvered to stand between Toshinori and Torino. Shimura began to march them back to Mosu. Her strength was undeniable, as clear as the easy, carefree tone that had replaced the prior reverence. “Ah, the stuffy formal language was killing me! Do you mind if I call you Toshinori in public? I can revert back to the ‘your Majesty’ when we’re in private, but the Usurper’s got plants in every prefecture.”

“That’s fine,” squeaked Toshinori. “Usurper?”

“We can talk more about it over dinner,” Shimura said breezily. She cast a look at Torino, who refused to meet her gaze or hide his disapproving grimace. “Guess I gotta explain this to your guardian too, huh?”

“You’ll escort this kid out of Mosu, alone, over my dead body.”

“… We’re off to a great start!”

[one-piece-but-smitten]

Fearless

Nami × Reader

Tags/TW: Small bit of Sexual Harassment

~~~~~~~

"Oi bartender, hit me with another whiskey."

You managed to croak, your hot cheek resting comfortably against the cold leather of your jacket. It had been a rough night for you. Right now, you were trying to burn it out with the Fireball you kept ordering. The barkeep cocked a brow at you, passing silent judgement before sliding you the glass. You took it up gratefully, sipping at the poison. She glanced at you a few times, unable to hide her curiosity as she finally spoke to you.

"You don't seem like the heavy drinker type. What's your damage?"

She asked. You looked over at her again. She was unbelievably pretty. Long, ginger hair fell far past her shoulders and draped down her back like a fiery waterfall. A mirthless chuckle escaped your mouth before you sipped at the glass again.

"Nothing major, not worth rememberin' anyway."

You replied. The answer doesn't seem to satisfy her, you could tell from the way her hazel eyes lingered on you. She fixed a drink for a fellow not too far down from your stool, and you let yourself get back to your thoughts.

Nothin' major... What a load of horse shit.

You thought bitterly to yourself, unable to push it out of your mind.

----

"Fired?!"

"Exactly right, [Name]. The company has no more need for you here. I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for new wor-"

The man jumped as you slammed your hand down against the desk, standing upright. You were a tall individual, and the way your boss cowered under your shadow emphasized it greatly. Your eyes narrowed at him viciously.

"May I ask the reason you're firing me, sir?"

You growled, venom dripping as you addressed him by the title. He swallowed, looking up at you sheepishly. You weren't stupid. You knew why. You just wanted him to grow a pair and say it to your face. You watched him take his time, gathering his courage before glaring up at you fearfully.

"B...B-Because you're terrifying, damn it!!! Now get off the premise b-before I call security on you!!"

He shot back, his voice high and squeaky as he shot up and pointed at the door. You let out a huff, shooting him one last death glare before turning on your heel to stalk out of the office.

"Fine, you've been a pain in the ass anyway."

----

"--You okay there??"

You snapped your head up, brought out of the memory by a voice. It was the barkeep again... What was her name? You managed a grin, shifting slightly on the barstool.

"Yeah, yeah. Just got a little lost in thought,"

You paused, squinting at the small tag above her chest that held her name.

"Nami."

You looked back up at her, seeing her give you a small smile. You liked that smile. It was warm, radiant. Most smiles that were aimed your way were nervous or uncertain, so the little gesture felt like a nice change. You went back to your drink, but eventually your eyes wandered back to Nami. She really was beautiful. A sigh escaped your lips before you caught yourself, mentally blaming the drink for the rouge tint of your cheeks as you chug the rest of it down. Lovely as she was, that smile was only given to you because you were a customer. People like you were too scary for a fragile thing like love. You couldn't even remember your last relationship.. Maybe that was just because you forgot. Either way, you felt the chances were slim. Getting out of the depressing subject, you watched a man wander back towards the bar from the table section, a few of his friends not far behind him. He had an arrogant look about him, something told you he felt like starting trouble. He came over to where Nami was, leaning against the counter towards her. She only spared him a glance as she fixed drinks for the other patrons, flashing him a quick smile.

"What can I get you?"

She asked him. The grin on his face grew wider as he glanced back at his friends. You studied him silently from your seat, taking in small details to get a read on him. He was tall, a little taller than you, even. His face was marred by multiple scars, the way they adorned his face told you he had earned those from fights. Your grip tightened on the whiskey glass in your hand, your mind on edge as he leaned in closer to her.

"How about a round?"

She raised her eyebrow at the request, crossing her arms as she chuckled. You knew what he meant, but apparently Nami had missed it.

"Bud, I need to know what kind of drink you want."

She replied. The smug expression of his refused to falter as he let out a sharp laugh. You weren't liking this guy, not one bit. Your eyes hardened as you watched the interaction.

"What kind of round? I'd say a rough one in that hotel nearby when you're done here, pretty lady. What about it?"

He replied. His friends chortled in the background, whooping and praising his wit like a pack of yesmen. This could go one of two ways; either he takes "no" or he doesn't. Paired with the little fleet of kissups he had with him, your gut told you "no" wasn't in this dumbass's vocabulary today. Nami sighed, closing her eyes. With her beauty, she had to be used to the gross flirts by now. That thought gave you no comfort whatsoever.

"That sounds really nice, sir, but I'm not really interested."

She replied shortly. You hid a snort at the blunt reply, going unnoticed by the man. His eyes narrowed at the answer, and within moments he had overstepped his bounds tremendously. His hands had snaked over the counter, going immediately to Nami's ass. She let out a yelp, but she didn't fight back. She couldn't. Like hell you were going to let this go.

You stood up slowly from your seat, your blood boiling as you approached him. He looked over at you with a disinterested expression, looking nonchalant as he gripped her behind.

"What d'you want? I'm in the middle of something here."

He grumbled. You ignored him, your eyes going over to Nami. She let out small whimpers as he groped her, your eyes locking with hers.

She looked terrified.

Your movement was swift and powerful. You raised your left arm, and your hand locked itself onto his head as you forced it down against the bar counter with a monstrous force. His hands flew away from her as he screamed out in pain, clutching his face. You broken his nose, along with a few of his teeth. God, you wished you could do so much worse, but you wouldn't dare to scar Nami with any more of that. Your eyes narrowed down at him dangerously, your anger raw and barely contained as you maintained the grip on his cranium.

"That wasn't a smart thing to do, pal. She just told you no, that wasn't a fuckin' invitation. You're lucky that I haven't fucked up more than your face, you pig."

You hissed into his ear, letting his head go before taking him by the collar and tossing him at his friends. They caught him unsteadily, looking fearfully over at you. You looked down on them, your voice a deep rumble as you growled over at them.

"Get out and don't come back."

You stated. They didn't need to be told twice. No sooner than you said it, the small troupe scrambled out the door, carrying the incapacitated harasser with them. You turned back to Nami, your eyes searching her worriedly.

"Are you okay?"

You asked, the concern obvious in your tone. You met her eyes again. You knew you were scary, what just happened had to be terrifying for her. She probably saw you as a monster now.. No more sunshine smiles for you..

But there wasn't any fear in her eyes.

She grinned up at you, looking amazed.

"I'm okay now, don't worry! That was terrifying though... I don't know what would have happened if you didn't come save me like that.."

She said, shivering. You felt a blush crawl into your face, smiling back at her sheepishly.

"I-It's no big deal, really.. I just did what was right."

You replied humbly, scratching the back of your neck. She shook her head at the reply, her gaze full of fire.

"You just KO'ed a guy bigger than you like it was nothing!! Don't go all modest on me with that kind of stunt, I owe you big time!" 

She replied firmly, taking your hand in hers and giving it a quick squeeze before putting it down. You looked away, feeling your blush grow rapidly.

"At least let me thank you somehow."

She offered. Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe there was a chance.. You look down at her, swallowing.

"Well, I'm free on Wednesday if you wanna head to the movies that night.."

You reply, setting your hands in your pockets awkwardly. Your eyes drift back to her face, and the sight almost makes you lose it.

She's blushing.

No weird face. No grimace. No sign of rejection. Hope sparked inside of you and caught on your heart like wildfire as she felt her cheeks, avoiding your gaze in an embarrassed fashion. Adorable. Finally, she looked back up at you, giving you that sunshine smile that you were growing fond of.

"Okay... But can I know something?"

Taking a second to get out of your dumbfounded stupor, you looked down at her curiously.

"Of course, what's up?"

She giggles.

"What's your name?"

You pause, processing it for a minute. Finally, you let out a laugh. It goes for a minute before you calm down, apologizing before catching your breath fully.

"Sorry about that... I had forgotten to introduce myself, I'm so stupid!"

You chuckle, shaking your head. You hold out your hand, offering her your first genuine smile of the night.

"I'm [Name]."

She grasps your hand, shaking it slightly.

"I'm happy to finally know it. How about you come here around 7:30 that day to pick me up?"

You grin.

"Sounds good."

Suddenly, the back pocket of your riding pants started to vibrate. You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone to see your friend was calling. They didn't call unless they needed you down there for something. With a sigh, you look back at her apologetically.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go. If that fucker gives you any trouble again, call me."

You say, taking out an old receipt and a pen from your pocket to scribble down your number. You slide it down towards her along with the money for your drinks before heading towards the door, taking up your helmet on the way out. You can feel her eyes on you as you go.

The eyes that refuse to fear you.

~~~~~~~

I SMELLED NAMI STANS AND I HAVE COME TO FEED YOU HELLO I AM HERE

By the by, most of my reader inserts are gender neutral and unless someone specifically requests for a gender that's how it stays

[smallestclowninthecircus]

Season 4 notes

Ep 121: mmmm tape recorder turning on without them knowing goes brrr. AAAhjhdsjfhjdf "do you mind if i call you jon" its like "can i call you elias?" is this the dream guy with the tendrils? who wants to bet the boat is captained by peter lukas? big man if it killed yall how are you still here. oh boy the tape is doin that thing. who do we think it is? did he wake up? hmm. ep 122: lol jon. 6 months!?!? bruh quit movin big man. he just Knows things sometimes you know how it is. nah b/c i can relate to feeling like other ppl/ things arent real, thats the biggest mood BUT i think it is kinda pretentious to entertain the idea that youre the only Real person. If you dont see a body dont believe it. i'll hold out hope for a bit. theres not a new archivist is there? surely i wouldve heard about that. oh god peter what changes did you make. ep 123: web development. hope its about spiders. she blames him. bruh why. if they hadnt done anything the world would've ended piss off melanie. why are ppl acting like he chose to be in a coma for 6 months. we know this they just appear. no longer "head archivist of the magnus institute, london" now he's just "the archivist" covered in spiders? cuz ik the spider has to do with controlling what youre doing and all this stuff but i cant think of how this connects to that. ep 124: ugh vertigo. is michael crew an old man? oooh. fairchild. how did he know it was martin? hmm. GRR I LOST MY NOTES AGAIN. FROM EPISODE 125 - part of 131. ep 131: bruh he's so hard to understand big man ur voice is so low. Jared Hotworth. the boneturner. "the ones i helped find their proper bodies" name a better top surgeon? our favorite trans ally? ep 132: woo field trip into the coffin! static lol. he says "chill out im just poppin in for a quick recall mission" is the rib thing actually gonna work? bruh it feels so odd and contrived but he's an odd man with some odd powers so idk. rip that archivist ayyy statement time. voices? recordings? are those tape recorders? was it the tape recorders? did they pull him back? i hope so b/c if the rib thing actually worked im gonna be so disappointed. ep 133: predicting the lonely? tundra. like the lukases. hmm. sanikova! like sanikov land. so its the hunt? i suppose? yeah. so daisy's clearly rejecting the hunt, which makes sense cuz she doesnt seem to like the entities that much. wait so are we just not gonna talk abt all the tapes playing on the ground?? no? ep 134: not an archival assistant anymore? Adelard Decker (or however you spell it) i recognize that name. 15th power. i was right there are 15. the extinction? im trying to remember what ive heard. oooh spooky. no i gotta be real i dont understand this fear but i'll believe you that its a thing. ew lukas is so squealy. lukas can turn invisible? oh boy. oooh martin put the tape recorders there. lol lukas is worried he's gonna be an avatar of the eye. ep 135: yoo its the third Daedalus statement! maxwell rayner (reiner? reigner?) i dont know who that is but ik its somebody. is he the cult leader guy? church of the divine host? 4 people?? what? did they kidnap somebody and keep them up there?? oh dear jon are you dying? did he try to See or Know or whatever? why does everyone call basira detective lol. ep 136: he was the one from the spider movie that ate ppl right? the special effects artist? is it annabelle cane? "its a joke jon" lol. hmm they wanted to record the therapy session with melanie? i wonder who that is. i almost wanna guess annabelle cane but im not sure. ep 137: this is the one! he went to the other place and read the war statement but it wasnt the one she took. not the music again. sounds like the slaughter. who the heck is eric lol. "the watcher's crown" like the crown of eyes we saw in the piccrew ep 138: oh boy Robert Smirk time. is that elias? as unhelpful as usual. if new powers can be "born" can others die out? did jonah magnus wear the watchers crown? maybe they were born from our fear or maybe our fears were born from them. ceaseless watcher does ceaselessly watch so. idk what you want

big man. yeah jonah for sure did something. ep 139: agnes!! lol that one dude threw off all their plans thats so funny. BUT this does tell us something. the tree in the backyard of the hilltop house? not made by her. it going down didnt kill agnes. im guessing gertrude tied agnes to the house using the tree? u good jon? cuz every time you try to Know smth intentionally it seems like it causes you great pain. how come he can do it accidentally with no problem but the second he wants to know smth of plot relevance he gets a headache or whatever ep 140: lol pagan exultation. classic. "oh thats my rib" lmaoo. ppl are always so mad at jon and his Eye powers except when it benefits them. they're like "oh you shouldnt do that its not right" and then all of a sudden they want to know something and its all "oh cmon jon its the only way" ep 142: oh god jon what did you do. its interesting she's giving her statement in the way that they do when jon Asks. did he see her in the Coffin? and so he's following her? ok cmon jon you're supposed to let them come to you. lmao ikr martin. "start to hear the blood" "suure." lmao ep 143: lol that awkward moment when gertrude is already dead. big J if you die im gonna kill you. bruh. ayo helen? i guess it worked? ep 144: lol this reminds me of that one edgar allan poe story where he kills the old dude with the weird eye. spooky music stuff. lol thats my favorite symptom of a heart attack its hilarious. so its smth abt the location probably? bro i feel like you should write down the numbers idk. 162830165049 564846474827. seems like the distortion? like the kinda thing that causes you to go crazy because of the numbers. oh boy is it the extinction again. bro what?? im?? his dad just died and he's like eh. martin dont be mean. he's being all lonely again. big man ur pushing ppl away. oh god its fucking squealy boy. ep 145: that almost sounds like breekon/hope... Arthur? agnes. aah was he from the lightless flame cult. a tree. lol he's just ranting rn. hehehe fuck landlords amirite. yay someone tells jon outright to go to therapy. now do it big man. ep 146: oh great! the distortion! i'm making a spiral themed building in mc right now! jon maybe accept you did a bad? nah this goes back to what i said before. they're fine with him compelling ppl when its convenient for them but otherwise its "no jon you cant, youre a monster jon" the tapes didnt turn on. i spose that means its not important? i agree with daisy, this seems unecessarily dangerous. ep 147: is that a tape? the first tape? well that went better than i expected tbh. BAHAKJASHDJKF she did the "can i call you jon" like nikola says "elias, can i call you elias?" damn annabelle is such a girlboss. oh! the one thing from the picrew. its been a while since ive connected smth to that. lol all the other avatars always talk abt their patron so lovingly and the jon just. absolutely hates the eye. ep 148: lol thats the most elias thing. "i just like the way it sounds" ep 149: did he disappear? bruhh. ur lonely powers are popping off i guess. oops i accidentally deleted my notes for 150 - 152 ep 153: thats the cult right? yeah. it doesnt sound like the church of the divine host? idk. if it is the church of the divine host then they worship the dark right? so is the eleventh the dark star or wtvr? it almost sounds like the corruption b/c of the oil or grease or whatever. oh dear what happened. oh its the hunters. theyre so annyoing. not an "it" he has a name. he's a person. is this a page from the skin book? ep 154: oh shit this is gerry's dad! oh shit he quit! oh dear god. jon don't you do it. haha martin. yeahhhh... is he gonna tell the others? cuz you know theyre gonna get mad if he doesnt. oh also picrew connection! the bandages over the eyes? yeah thats this im guessing. ep 155: oh good he told them. oh my god what did you do. lol i have no mouth and i must scream. nah you get none of my sympathy you're straight up murdering ppl. its like the desolation, destroying lives to sustain your own. ok but taking their statements doesnt

kill them. oh... bye melanie. ep 156: lmao imagine if the tape recorder spoke back. oh boy decker! i swear we got a statement from him already. oh god mirrors scary. They're gonna eat the body arent they. Yup... sounds like the flesh or the slaughter, but I'm not sure. Could be the extinction for sure. Smth at the center! Like Helen mentioned. God Peter you dick. Ep 157: peter's just so :/ another decker statement i see. a statement about the corruption? hmm. maybe its not abt the corruption. the extinction. lol pandemics. topical. John Amherst. helen? lol i can hear admiral purring in the background. oh cmon helen dont be like that. im trying real hard to like you but you make it so difficult. ep 158: did they fucking free the stranger? im gonna lose it. you absolute dumbass. im sorry who is that? jonah magnus? my guy. peter. you absolute dickhead. that's elias. (im p sure i had this spoiled for me that elias is jonah) oh dear this is her death. god peter you prick. i hope this is a pop off martin moment and not a "martin you idiot" moment. i hope the hunters kill the stranger entity. or she kills them. furry daisy pop off! yeah fuck you peter martin can make his own decisions. you know that clip from Twisted where jafar says "ok what the fuck was that" martin D: ok like i know its gonna work but still D: D: ep 159: peter you bitchboy. because if im alone i cant hurt anyone else. imnotgonnacryimnotgonnacryimnotgonnacry do it do it do it do it. pop off jon. ok its a pretty good idea for a ritual i gotta be honest. she didnt even have to blow it up lol. oh dear that was certainly a noise. "he gets you" did he not have jon already? he's back! our boy is back! awwww thats so cute. ep 160: oh right this is the thing in the safe house. i love him. "obviously im going to tell you if i see any good cows" martin my beloved <3 :)) oh boy who is this. fuckin. people. jonah you dick. gahh. you can tell he's trying to resist so hard lol. ohh. hehe keep an *eye* on him. altho if the extinction is a real thing he needs to be marked by that right? lol he sounds so intense im sorry- i want martin to just burst in and be like "look at this cow i saw!" its so dramatic and for why.