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neonlight2 · 2 years ago

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My police man | Patrick x Tom, Patrick x platonic!OC

Warning: femxfem SMUT/ implied homophobia— it’s the 50’s

A/n: Based off of the movie “My Policeman”, which is based off the book. You can imagine the characters as the actors if you wish or not, you do you.

The room consisted of three sounds, all encompassing. The first, one would notice when walking into the grander looking apartment— filled with character and personalities contrasting together— is the humming hymn and melody of Elvis Presley. This in itself was obscene, yet not a crime. That much could not be said for the other two sounds.

The second sound was that of pure obscenity. Sputtering breaths, whimpering cords, and whiny moans. Muffled they were, but not enough to withstand the threshold of the living room. No, they pierce through the opening without care. However, the music kept it away from the exiting door’s archway.

And the third… it could have been described as even more immoral. Profuse, blunt noise of wetness covered the room. Good god the scene could have drove anyone mad, whether it be from anger or lust one must decide for themself.

Here they were, two women, the causes of such exuberant delight. Both tangled on top of the plush sofa. One laid on her back, whilst the other had her way with her, teasing, prodding, and enveloping senses someone could only ever dream of. Unfortunately it seemed the poor girl, who arched her back enough to be a bridge, dream would not last— popped by a man in great despair.

Clicking the door open in seconds, frantic for some time of support or serendipity, Patrick entered his flat with a mission set in his mind. He had come home, after a day of unexpected events. Things that swarmed his thoughts; a man who enraptured his attention. Oh and the tragedy of it all, for the beauty to catch his eye, the uniqueness in which snagged his heart— all sourced from a policeman. Without lifting a finger the boy in blue manage to jail him. The only concern of Patrick’s, nonetheless, was for how long was his sentence to be?

He scrambled in, slamming the door with his foot, while yanking fallen strands of hair from his face continuously. A moment was spared, though barely so, for placing his belongings onto a rack and table. Patrick had always hated careless messes; he often joked that he acted more like the wife than his companion ever could or would. She never was one for keeping things clean.

Speaking of such…

“A bit of warning next time.” Patrick say coarsely, stomping over to the liquor cabinet. A glimpse of bare skin, far too light to be his other half, made his eyes latch onto anywhere else in the house. Though nudity was not much of a taboo for the two, he gave the unfamiliar body as much respect as possible in a scenario as this.

Humming amused, the brunette flattens her tongue against the other woman’s wetness— sending her into a trembling frenzy. “Someone’s angry.”

The conversion not acknowledged to her and the vibration running down her spine, brought the euphoric woman out of her daze, shooting up to cover her flush breast. Her chest roses rapidly, beyond terrified of the consequences plaguing her thoughts.

Frowning shortly, the brunette’s hazel eyes found her lover’s blue. “It’s okay darling he’s one of us.”

Slowly, delicate fingers wrap around the woman’s calves, tracing along the skin with a trail of raised follicles to follow. “Or perhaps I should say the opposite?” She joked, fingers directing upward, almost reaching her heat, tantalizingly close enough to draw out a whimper. “We can stop if you wish.”

She peaked over at a seemingly fuming stranger, who paid no mind at all. Patrick was preoccupied pouring himself a scotch as he usually does around this time, just with more fervor.

Shaking her head sporadically, the brunette smirks with triumphant. “Oh, someone’s an exhibitionist.” She teases, cockiness soaked into her words as she continues to worships the woman beneath her.

The very accusation brought forth an abundance of whines and mewls, and the poor thing wasn’t able to stand the overstimulation for much longer. Let alone her lovers calculated fingers which curled perfectly snug. Soon, the brunette had to clamp her hand atop her victims mouth.

“Now, now love. Although I admire your boldness, you’re playing on the dangerous side now.” She whispered hastily against her neck, peppering kiss along the way.

“You’re such a cocky bastard, Mae.” Patrick scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked for his sketch paper in the midst of a mess— one would think a hurricane had run through here.

Humming once more, causing her lover to writhe beneath the vibration, she pulls back to stare at her good work. Locking her gaze, so tantalizing warm, with a deep blue; she smiles sweetly, too sweet. Suddenly her fingers pace increase and her thumb starts to rub, causing illicit profanities to spill from the woman’s mouth and a patronizing pout to cross Maeve’s face. She basks in pride as the woman beneath her falls apart, muttering and whimpering incoherent babble.

Finally, with no warning, Maeve bends down to nip at her thighs. This cuts the thread which once held the woman’s sanity, allowing her body to fall into an abyss of pleasure. From her head to her toes, she tingles with ecstasy. Oh and how she trembled as Maeve continued to tease her sweet spot. Slowly in efforts to torment, she watched as her lover’s stomach shivered and quirked until eventually she pushes her hand away.

Sighing, Maeve conceded begrudgingly— opting to clean her fingers as a consolation. “Alright, pour me a glass darling. Lord knows I’m gonna need it with what you’ve done.”

“Says the one half naked.” Patrick quips, throwing a robe he had found among the array of clothing sporadically thrown on the ground at her while grabbing another glass. “Would your friend like one?”

“She has a name,” Maeve states in a mocking, insulted tone.

“Well, when or if she tells me it, I’ll call her such,”Patrick exhales whilst handing his friend a glass practically halfway full, back still facing the bare duo.

Maeve smiles wickedly as she slips the robe on smoothly, letting it occasionally fall of her shoulder without care. Her hand reaches out for the glass in delight, showing off the pairs matching simple, gold bands decorating their left-ring finger. However, she had another sitting right above it, chunkier than it’s sibling and jeweled with a rough amethyst.

“You know her, my darling husband.” Maeve purred, propping her knee onto the arm of the couch to lean her weight obnoxiously on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Oh?” He inquired, playing along with Maeve’s antics; he knew very well it’d only grow worse if he didn’t indulge her. “Do I miss?”

“Mrs,” Maeve whispers lowly, and Patrick could feel the grin hidden in the fabric of his vest.

“Maeve!”

Wincing, she rubs the bridge of her nose on Patrick’s shoulder before ripping away to down the liquid acid. “Don’t yell at me,” she said, pointing at woman who was dressing as fast as humanly possible, “I didn’t say your name, and I’m pretty sure that you don’t even remember it yourself, seeing as how much you’ve been screaming mine for the past two hours—,”

Patrick makes a gagging sound, causing Maeve to smack his arm harshly. “And you!” She pokes his chest in an accusatory spirit as they meet eyes. “I don’t even want to hear it, ‘Mr. Falls for every pretty face he sees’.”

Quirking an eyebrow up quickly, Patrick nods. “Two peas and a pod we are my Monet.”

Huffing exasperatedly, she caves and smiles at him dimly. “So who is he?”

Patrick groans dramatically, remembering why he was drinking in the first place. “Fuck, I’ve done it this time.”

Snorting, Maeve pours more liquor into his glass while sipping some herself. “You always do.”

“Stop doing that! It’s unsanitary.” He scolds, yanking the bottle away from her.

“So is fucking on the couch, but that doesn’t stop either of us, does it?”

There’s a thump that catches Maeve’s attention, causing her eyes to grow wide and her legs scurry. “You don’t have to go.” Whining, she steals the shoe off the ground, where her lover had tried to put it on.

The woman scoffs her, who had previously been a cocky and meticulous being, now looking at her with large puppy eyes and a hanging bottom lip— bit and bruised bright red. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?” Maeve retorted back like a pitiful infant.

“Because I have children.”

Exhaling through her nose, Maeve hands over the black heel. A detesting expression still imprinted into her face. “I hate your husband.”

Smiling shortly the woman gives Maeve a small peck on the lips. “You and me both. See you later, my temptress.”

“A married woman,” Patrick comments after hearing the door click, turning to stare at his friend. “How’d you manage to get away with that?”

Shrugging, Maeve plops back onto the couch manspread without a single card if she’s exposed. “Her husband has been cheating on her for a while, and I offered her the delight of returning the favor.”

“And she works for me?”

“With. She’s not your secretary.” She states beckoning him to sit in the empty seat above her head.

Patrick takes her offer willingly, gathering her hair gently and putting it to the side before sitting down. For a moment, head laid back and eyes sealed shut, Patrick tries to calm the thumping in his head, his chest, his lungs. Then he uttered the words…

“A policeman.”

There were few seconds of silence, to which Patrick found to good to be true. He quickly saw he was right when he opened his eyes, gaze immediately caught by hers. He hadn’t even noticed her move, but there she was— sat upright, face inches away from his, searching for the joke. But there wasn’t one.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispers, genuine disbelief— or was it pity? Patrick couldn’t tell.

“Of all the bloody options,” Maeve shakes her head, eyes drifting to the back of her head as she wheezed. Twisting with tense muscles, she groans as her head lands in his lap. Rubbing her eyes roughly, she finally quips, “And you call me reckless.”

This makes him snort, watching as her eyes bounce from the ceiling light, to the tables filled with paper and books, then to the portraits on the wall. In a way Patrick felt guilty, but he couldn’t help the way these things happen. She knew that.

Lightly tapping her hands as they began to pick at their cuticles, Patrick says, “Stop worrying. That’s my job.”

She lets out a breathy chuckle, gulping back her intrusive thoughts and endless overthinking. “I’m not.” She lied. “I’m just trying to figure out how the hell you can be so daft. I mean— it’s not like there not in uniform all the time or wear blue suits with tall ass helmets— oh wait!”

Rolling his eyes, Patrick cracks a smile. “Again, we’re two peas in a pod.”

Maeve holds her arms out like scales as she squints her face comedically. “Married women or policemen. Mhm, married woman— Policeman.”

“Fine, fine, fine. You’re the smartest today.”

“Stop being a prick and just tell me about him already.” Maeve retorts, hitting his chest with the back of her hand.

A delightful exhale leaves poor Patrick’s lips as an image of the man he met appears in his mind. Then a grin follows not to far after remembering how he spoke, acted, smiled.

“Good god, you’re already in the deep in.” She huffed, sympathy and happiness tangled into a tight knot within her heart as she observed her closest companion. “We’re fucked.”

“Hopefully— ow. Why must you insist on hurting me?”

“Why must you always avoid answering the question? At least tell me the boy in blues name for gods sake!”

Patrick becomes a smiling mess when the man’s name comes to mind, bubbling at the bridge of his tongue. “Tom.”

Scrunching up her nose, Maeve remarks, “Sounds old fashion.”

She squeals as Patrick jumps up suddenly, who demands her to stay in place. “But I guess that will change in time. Do you think he’ll ever let us call him Tommy—? Patrick what the hell are you—?”

“Stay.” He orders, balancing himself on the cushions below his feet, staring at her from above with pencil and sketchbook in hand. “Do that face that you just made.”

“What face?”

“Can you not fight me this once.”

“But I’ll get wrinkles!” Maeve whines dramatically.

“You age like wine darling, now be a good wife and do as your told.” Patrick teases.

“Ha! Say please.”

“Please.” He asks, puckered lip out.

Rolling her eyes, she scrunches her nose like she had before. “Why of all the faces do you have to draw me with this one?”

“Well for one, more detail.” Patrick reply’s, wrist moving quickly along the page. “And I need to capture this moment.”

“And why is that?” She asked, watching him work quizzically.

“Because this is the moment before we let someone else into our tiny world.”

***

A/n: there will be more parts, not totally accurate to the movie cause— Maeve doesn’t stay to a script.

But requests for specific scenes/ situation can be made and are encouraged.

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recitedemise · 8 months ago

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Oh, Gale. Ever a gentleman, he can hardy allow her to endure this alone. Of course, she's a vision of midnight, as pale as the moonglow dressed dark as ink, but no rippling penumbra can veil her exhaustion, her nerves, her wearies, so visibly plain. Hells, even now, Gale supposes he hears those tells of drudgery. Her playing yet lingers, hovering in the canopies stamped bright with stars, and with the shimmering phantom of her lilting strings, he notes lullabies, whispers, and distant strain. Sayuri still frazzles. Sayuri's still needs. And Gale, now plucking at a host of leaves, wonders to when she'll surrender her mask... To at last, he supposes, be heard and seen. Truthfully, Gale couldn't yearn for anything greater. She may boast pretty grins and charmed, honeyed smiles, but the wizard, bare, always fails in his lies. Gale's no fib he can pass off as genuine. He is up. He is restless. And his heart so hurts.

But enough of that, he grouses, tea now steeping. It seems thought so plagues the two of them both.

(Who is she really? And then: who is he?)

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were encouraging my vocal acts of treason. I admit, I have an unparalleled fondness for those skies over Waterdeep," he allows, "but their brilliance here is more than worthy of praise." Very much so. He misses home, and on him, there flashes a there-then-gone flicker of distant yearning. Back upon his terrace, he'd bathed in the shimmer of the voyeuring stars. He'd smelt the tang of sea salt, the crispness of the season as it pittered along, and with their fragrant tea, he can nearly envision it... Eyes crescenting, smile soft, he huffs a laugh. "Ah. But if there's one thing the elements couldn't pale in comparison, it would be the endless capering back at home. This may surprise you, but my hand was a fiercely contested item on our most esteemed dancefloors. It'd hardly be a substitute for a velvet chaise, but an evening with me can prove positively decadent...and if you fail to keep step, know it's less about the falling, and more the getting up."

Wry, cocky, confident little...! Gods, is he insufferable. Still, time spent together, as usual, feels wonderfully easy. "I'm electing to believe you meant only to compliment me. If so," Gale begins, "consider me charmed." Here, he hands her her tea, the smell of honeyed-lemon delightfully sweet. "Few things could better trump a wizard than a head swam with thoughts. Sleep, I regret to inform you, is a distant prospect." Shame. He looks to her, the pulsing in his ribs angrily rippling. Truth be told, few of his thoughts leave his blight these days; however, with the bitterness of death so near and certain, such, Gale hazards, would be his due. Anyway: "As with life, I imagine the way to endure it would be with worthwhile company. Not to sound presumptuous, but it seemed you were in need of some yourself. The stars, of course, not withstanding." She'd sounded so...bare, hadn't she? He looks to her, eyes twinkling and deep as earth. "They say to hear a bard sing is to hear their heart. I've the mind to agree."

@recitedemise : ❝ i see you’re not getting much sleep either. should i make us both some tea, then? ❞

In gold, the strumming of her lute is plucked by each claw. The Inferian who bows her head underneath the light of stars, she hums the song that is absolute, mindlessly adrift with no end in sight. Blemished, the skin underneath her eyes is softly bruised - she hasn’t slept at all since the roads began to twist into one. It’s easier to focus on the melody underneath her fingertips, where she once remembered the streets alit with a song, humanoid && passionate with a burning heart. Stronger than a flame, if only temporary, the one who strayed from the natural order && for those of her kin - fate. Suddenly, she is pulled from the confines of her dream, a familiar voice, one she has grown accustomed to even bantering && igniting frustration with her wit, he’s charming. “Tea would be nice” the instrument is set downwards, nicked && scratched, one of many in her arsenal where she no longer needs to think of a blade between the palms && sabotage. A woman with thousands of faces, to the degree she was not sure which was her own, the fleshy features of a human or the tiefling with ever bright eyes akin to emeralds. Ah, she’s being dramatic now, lost in her head once more, swimming into despair when she should incite an air of entertainment.

“The stars are clearer out of the city, don’t you think?” There, she spews romanticism once more, ever watchful of the constellations as if trying to decipher their stories or follow them, even if home was all but a figment of her dreams. “I would ask you to dance but, the thought of our exhausted forms meeting the crashing of the ground isn’t as splendid as I imagined in my head, you don’t strike me as someone who falls elegantly�� from the corner of her lips, she hides the grin forming over the cast of light sweeping across her effigy, even when disarmed her tongue is sharp. “This is shameful, we should be having tea with pastries in velvet chairs && decadence, not in the outdoors - how does a wizard such as yourself survive?” the comical gesture as she moved the fabric of her sleeping gown, monotone with stitching's of powder blue, lest she dare crack the persona of mystery with color. With an ounce of hesitation, her earnest inquiry was an attempt at connection, the ability to walk past the persona she held tighter than a sword.

“Surprised to see you awake, I would think with your capabilities you were a man that could sleep through anything, care to elaborate? It’s better to be an insomniac with another than alone”

#KUROYRII #You know when you're both die hard romanticss that just want sincere moments #where you can be yourselves and share your hearts and bare them and feel and be felt in turn???#Gale sees you Sayuri.... a bard singing in the middle of the night?#singing to just the stars?#surely that must mean smth #gale who is dying and is in pain and actively rotting: ahahha..... me? up late at night??? ohhh.....u know #typical wizard things....always filled with thoughts!!! Aa hahhaa.a...#The kids are not alright. :) theres smth to be said about sayuri always hiding behind these thousands of faces #Does anyone KNOW her..does she? Does she want to be known???

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1kook · 4 years ago

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skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…”

Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane.

Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot.

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form.

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds.

They were his favorite.

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this.

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month.

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity.

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings.

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream.

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him.

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping.

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since!

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind.

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck.

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching.

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go.

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen.

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins.

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?”

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.”

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.”

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here.

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action.

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes.

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high.

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time.

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down.

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.”

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now.

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly.

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist.

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy.

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can.

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer.

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question.

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.”

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides.

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes.

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be.

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest.

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly.

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?”

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign.

He strikes while the iron is still hot.

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion.

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort.

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months.

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it.

Kinda.

Probably.

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over.

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing.

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders.

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off.

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face.

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing.

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting.

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.)

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you.

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone.

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more.

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs.

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it.

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him.

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top.

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips.

And then something unforgivable happens.

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information.

Your hand.

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face.

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant.

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.”

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.”

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him.

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him.

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip.

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now.

The sympathy doesn’t last long.

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams.

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand.

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this.

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches.

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are.

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out.

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him.

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead.

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.”

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands.

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!)

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead.

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises.

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock.

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon.

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time.

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.”

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago.

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap.

There was never a choice.

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johobi · 4 years ago

Text

A Lycan Dignity

Word count: 4k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: rough, penetrative werewolf sex, pregnancy sex, blood consumption, biting, knotting, squirting, very strong dom/sub dynamic, extremely graphic sexual description lol, impreg kink, baby bump worship, masturbation, giant COCK, i mean huge, tiny amount of angst

A/N: This was commissioned by the wonderful @divine-bangtan in exchange for a Black Lives Matter donation! I really hope you enjoy it!

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

After many months of unremitting use, your once solid bed frame had become a rickety, wretched old thing. Its joints ground like those of a horse bound for the knackery. Weeks ago, you thought it near total collapse. Since then, however - though it protested any and all movement - it had remained intact. Because, no longer did you and Jungkook breed with the impassioned fervour you once did. No, these days your bed hosted only the most lacklustre of sex; the sort you never imagined needing endure when you tied yourself to him. After all, Jungkook was an oversexed, testosterone-burdened manbeast with a twelve inch cock and a negligible refractory period. So why was it now so scant? So underwhelming?

According to him, it was necessary.

Ugh.

Oh, how you longed for the days and nights Jungkook would run you all the way through, bending you this way and that to offload himself for the third, consecutive time. How he would grow and grow and grow, locking into place in the depths of your cunt and soothe you all the while.

Being that you were now five months pregnant, however, you were the only one ballooning. God, you missed his knot. Missed the intensity with which he once bedded you. Missed the—

“Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Presently, Jungkook mounted you with the shallowest of thrusts, barely wetting half his length. The bed swayed beneath you, tapping the wall to the rhythm of his gently rolling hips. Before you’d grown big, it had clapped the cabin’s pine like thunder, and splintered where it struck. Today you clutched a pillow for comfort as Jungkook rocked you into a drowsy stupor.

It was so quiet that his breathing carried across you. It, too, was shallow - hardly laboured - and sometimes there came an occasional grunt of effort. Or perhaps of pleasure? It was difficult to distinguish to what extent the act satisfied Jungkook when he restrained himself so. By the furrow in his brow, it appeared more akin to torture. It certainly was for you. Your libido had grown unruly during gestation, and nothing much gratified you.

Nothing but your aforementioned, well-endowed mate. Only he could alleviate the nagging ache.

So it was to your utter dismay when Jungkook deemed you too large for such boisterous intercourse, and insisted you be handled like some delicate bijou. It was preposterous! You were tough enough to withstand a decade’s duty in the militia’s vanguard! A few extra inches of cock weren’t like to break you.

In the end, despite two full days of moody back-and-forth on the matter, he tempered your lovemaking significantly. And though your post-coital canoodling was as much to your joy and satisfaction as it ever was, you found the preceding act painfully lacking. Actually, literally painful. Pregnancy was quite intolerable.

You challenged Jungkook on several, fruitless occasions thereafter. But his constant dismissals would not deter you. Especially not today, when the entirety of you quivered for satiation, and he had been drip-feeding you cock for the past twenty-odd minutes. It was maddening. The path to climax was a sleet-sodden slope that you could never hope to climb.

"Jungkook, please, enter me fully. There’s no need for such caution. I know it hurts you to hold back." And me. “How many times must I assure you that I’m not as fragile as you think me?" You grimaced at the headboard as Jungkook probed your entrance with middling impetus. His girth was such that your cunt begged and fluttered to receive it deeper, distressed by the gaping space that went unfilled.

“Hmph.”

Jungkook’s considerable weight descended, blanketing your back to secure your compliance. With his breath at your ear, he interwove your fingers and exerted pressure enough to bow you to the blanket. Your ass, however, remained high and accessible; as submissive a posture there was. By the devilish chuckle that blew across your cheek, Jungkook already thought himself the victor of this quarrel. "And how many times must I ask you not to challenge me? I know my own strength." It was difficult to rebuke him when his lips skirted your ear so. So soft and wet and careful in their pressure.

"And I know your strength just as well. I have been on the receiving end of it for months before th-this—ah!" Pain suffused your neck where Jungkook’s mouth lingered. He curled his lip at your continued defiance. Out of the corner of your eye, his fangs bore a red glaze.

Mayhaps it was a warning, but it only served to embolden you.

"Nothing you could do would harm the pups. Please, Jungkook. I'm begging you." He liked being begged. Liked when you relinquished your power and station entirely. Because, outside your bedchambers, you were as important and respected as he. That he liked, too.

Your particularly bullish nature meant that Jungkook relished your surrender. Especially in the aftermath of contentious discussions. There had been many an occasion where Jungkook’s red-blooded urges almost jeopardised tactical assemblies, because he simply could not ignore them. Particularly the meetings where you butted heads on some divisive detail or another. The tension grew so stark during these exchanges that it cowed the other attendants into silence. You would exchange little else, thereon, but sultry glares, and Jungkook would orbit you in inappropriate proximity, breathing down your neck and rubbing you where others could not see. The sex after those meetings was singularly wild.

Jungkook attested often to his being a tethered beast, but you were the one with the leash. “Please. Put it all the way in,” you snivelled. “Alpha.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your urging; you felt him on your back, chest broad and feverish. He did not perspire out of exertion but sheer sexual frustration. It was obvious by the weight with which his balls hung; you spied them between your legs when you looked beneath. "Please, alpha. Take me completely."

Furtively, you grinned. Jungkook was an astute man. However, he was also a simple, dick-driven creature.

“Argh!”

A snarl seared your ear, drawing gooseflesh in its wake. You tilted your head to behold him; to enthrall him with lust-lidded eyes. But it was you who was captivated. Jungkook would never be anything less than breathtakingly handsome. The type women ripped costly bodices for. He was rugged; as hewn in the jaw as he was in body, and with eyes so honest you could be sup from his soul. Your mouth hung in open appreciation of his masculine beauty. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, then, as you drunk one another in. A fleeting slip, but enough to propel him deeper for a crucial moment. The repercussions manifested immediately. Your eyes rolled in their sockets and out came a harrowing groan. The entirety of your body tautened as your cunt did, grasping at his elusive length as it again withdrew. "Ugh. Jungkook!"

"Cease your attempts to seduce me, woman," Jungkook menaced, butting aside your head and raking his fangs along the angle of your jaw. "Your charms will not work." His tongue laved wherever they grazed, his hands surrendering your hips only to snake beneath and caress your rotund belly. So tender was he in his touches, that your cunt pulled with desire. Jungkook splayed his fingertips, cradling your circumference as best he could in his calloused palms. He muttered something soft and indiscernible about our children as he admired you, your provocation momentarily forgotten.

His cheek came by yours, then, rounded nose drifting to your temple to huff in your pregnant scent. According to him, you’d become overwhelmingly, wonderfully fragrant. Such that he would pine if denied it too long.

Chamomile.

That was what you effused while with child.

Jungkook’s favourite tea.

The headbutt that came next would reasonably incapacitate the average person; indeed, it was so strong that your knees rattled on their hinges. But Jungkook went unscathed, nuzzling a path through your tangled hair, air whooshing through his nostrils as he scented you. "God, you are beautiful. So round, so full. And utterly mine," Jungkook murmured, teetering on the fringes of abandon. He continued his ardent groping with a whine.

Had he really sabotaged his own restraint?

How funny that his undoing was his own. Positively hilarious.

That was, until you felt his cock sink deliberately deeper. Jungkook groaned as you did, though you were far more shameless in your desperation. “Oh, God—!”

"Fuck!" The curse word unravelled into a low, ungodly growl.

"Yes, Jungkook. More—" Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his backside, but it soon retreated out of reach as he again withdrew. "Godfuckingdamnit! What must I do to convince you? Please, do it again. I can take it!"

"I will not. It’s too much a risk. What happened was—was entirely unintentional, and I won’t allow it to happen again." He stated it with resolve, but his hips stuttered traitorously, heeding not him but the wolf within him. A rush of breath buffeted your shoulders and then Jungkook's nose was again in your nest of hair, inhaling himself to his senses. "That is the end of it," he murmured on exhale, seemingly sobered. "Now, let us continue." Penetration resumed at its previous, underwhelming pace, maddening you to your very marrow.

"Fine." A growl of your own grew in your chest. "Then I will not submit to you today."

When you dared look Jungkook’s way, the sheer displeasure buckling his features very nearly undid your determination. His brows hung gravely over his eyes, obscuring their usual, gentle glimmer with a severity that stirred your wanton pussy. "You will. You will always submit to me. I am your alpha," Jungkook stated with a snap of his teeth, seeking to subdue you with his hefty physique.

Oh, you absolutely would and should submit but it was imperative you defy him now or you would never see satiety.

With something of such import in the balance, you heaved yourself onto your elbows and then your hands, quaking beneath the werewolf that hung plastered to your back. As you rose, as you straightened your spine in defiance and denied Jungkook your submission, the growl behind you grew in outrage. His cock stalled at your opening, tip still between your folds.

“Not today.”

Jungkook's lips curled back along his gums, a slight tremor to his tautened jaw. Two, prominent fangs confronted you in the candlelight, your skin prickling where they'd countless times pierced. His authority was difficult to oppose when the mere visage of this apex predator was enough to buckle your knees and sodden your cunt. "You're a baffling woman. I've dominated you on hundreds of splendid occasions, and today is the day you defy me? Must I subjugate you again, my sweet?"

As much as you yearned to present him your sopping hole, it would be another five months of unrealised desire if you did.

To hell with that.

“Come, now. Show me how ready you are to receive me.” Jungkook sought to bow you with nips and kisses, but you would not be bowed. Not this time. When this much became clear, he peeled himself from your back and his cock from your hole. Oh, no. No, this wouldn't do.

"If you will not obey me then you will not receive me at all," he snorted, as enraged and engorged as a hung bull. Truly, he was a marvel that you could not tear your desirous eyes from. Not when he knelt there so, in all his strapping, virile glory. You whined for what you were cruelly denied. Jungkook interpreted your meaning well. "It is your own fault." He vented frustration through his flaring nostrils. "Present yourself to me or I will simply finish all over you."

Your cunt pulsed in anguish and joy. What a dream it would be if he painted you, cock in hand and strangling it of cum. If his sac throbbed with each ejaculation as it fell across your body, hot and sticky. If his lips were bitten bloody and his eyes crinkled closed.

God.

Yes, it would be beautiful. But it would afford you nothing in the end but your own, spiritless fingers to finish with. Jungkook had been so keen a lover that you could not even recall the last time you masturbated. And you weren’t about to start now, as unquenchable as you were.

So, you persisted. Prayed that your ruse might finally bear fruit. It all culminated with this: "I won't. How about you I take you, so that I may seek my own pleasure? Get on your back. Offer your belly up to me, wolf, so I may sit on you."

In a lightning's flash Jungkook was atop you, one muscular forearm looping your hips and the other strong across your chest, claws toying with the malleable flesh of your swollen breasts. His weight suffocated you once more, but you did not resist when he sought to manoeuvre you into submission. Not when, in the ferocity of his outrage did he then stuff you full with his entire cock, plunging to your depths in one, fluid thrust. It took your breath away. Deprived you of your vision. For a moment, nothing but blood raged in your ears as you fully comprehended just how in want you were. "Oh, G-Gods."

A scramble of depraved utterances streamed from Jungkook's mouth as he handled you as he truly wished. With just the one, greedy hand he bullied your swaying breasts, squeezing them as if to strain you of milk. Every vulgar grope, every pull of your nipples manifested violently in your cunt, throttling Jungkook's monstrous cock in arrhythmic convulsions. "I-Is it truly safe?" He posed it to you as a throaty moan, his other hand charting the flesh of your inner thighs and skimming them like a potter might wet clay. As his thumbs brushed the apex between, willingly and desperately you split your legs further apart, elevating your backside for his inspection. The mere act of yielding to Jungkook sensitised you to him tenfold. Though you were not werekind, his influence was such in its potency that it affected you all the same. A familiar, innate desire to pleasure him overcame you. And as you submitted to him now, nothing thrilled you more than the whines of appreciation that kissed your ears as his full length stretched you silly. Jungkook murmured again; lower and in earnest. "____. Is it truly safe?"

"It is. A thousand times I've said it." As you spoke he shifted within you, and the world shifted too. The gratification was profuse. "The babes will come to no harm," you sang, sliding along the base of his girthy cock. "And neither will I. No, I need this. And so do you."

"I won't deny that." Was all he said before he pinned you like a ravenous beast its beaten prey, hips snapping, momentum rippling through you. Each drive of his pelvis bombarded your cunt with his weighty, bloated balls as he dove in deep. They struck you like a rider’s crop, again and again, until you were sore and splendidly puffy. “Fuck, you’re so deep. I forgot how far back you go. God, you’re made for me. My perfect, pretty little bitch.” Jungkook was quickly carnal. Every phrase concluded in a wolfish whine.

He rutted you with the vigour of his first heat, feverish and erratic, jamming you to your limits with his colossal cock. His tip kissed your cervix on repeat, greasing your insides with pre-cum as he ploughed apart your unyielding walls. He leaked it so liberally now, so profusely that it dribbled from around him. All the while you yelped up a din beneath him, fully engrossed in your deference to him. You glimpsed night sky in the bedsheets, spatterings of stars combusting before your very eyes. They fell as tears, streaking your cheeks wet with relief.

"Yes, yes—that's it. Oh, you feel so good, my love. S-So good." Jungkook pistoned into you with expert precision, sweeping across your g-spot with every frenzied pass. A glorious ache tugged at your navel as he did so, wringing your insides like a sopping sponge. And, oh, how you were sopping. Vulgarly so. Jungkook juiced your cunt each time he crammed you full, soaking the space between you. It lacquered his abdomen 'til he shined in the lowlight. Gods, he was gorgeous, you could not help but glimpse him past your shoulder, to observe him as he split you apart, his eyes sharp and expression fraught. Your cunt heaved at the sight and sensation of him, and spurred him on.

"You were right. So right." Jungkook's tongue flicked around his gaping mouth, touching on his teeth in concentration. His eyes remained fixed to the site of your messy joining, tracking the drag and draw of his throbbing cock. "You can take anything. You're so strong. So beautiful," he whispered between uneven breaths, adhering himself to your arching back and resuming his earlier, intimate ministrations. As his lower half rippled and rammed you, his upper half cocooned you in comfort, gifting touches so soft they could be whispers.

You sensed it before it came. Hot breath tickled your nape for the briefest moment and then, there it was, sharp and soothing, a bite as familiar as his tender kiss; the bite that affirmed your initial bonding. It no longer induced pain, only a midsummer's welcome warmth. This first bite was the gentlest; Jungkook reasserting his claim. But then he withdrew, and struck again, and again, latching onto your nape for purchase as he pounded himself into your cunt to eke mewls from you.

"Ngh, fuck, it's happening too soon." Jungkook sounded utterly bereft. He did not, however, slow his incessant pace. His zeal had displaced you so far up the bed that the headboard clattered against your cheek. Discomfort was an irrelevant notion when you were having the life fucked into you, however. "I should withdraw."

"No!" It was practically a scream. "Knot me. Please, it's been too long. I need it, I need all of you," you burbled, tears afresh in your eyes. You were so close. Something momentous accumulated in your abdomen; teased glimpses of divine completion.

"Fuck!" Jungkook's hands roved your underside in woeful abandon, gripping at you like he might yet reestablish restraint. Clearly he could not, for his next move was to indulge in the blood that trickled freely from your neck. His long, rough tongue lapped you clean of his excesses, and his lips made sweet reparation. "I want—" A wet, solemn kiss. "I w-want—" A quick, furious thrust between your legs. "I want to fill you to the brim."

"Yes, do it, alpha. Please, please." Your whining rivalled that of the den's neediest pups. "I'm strong, like you said. I can take it. There is nothing more I've wanted these past months than that. Please knot me, Jungkook." As incentive you pitched your backside higher, clenching both orifices for his appreciation. Jungkook observed the gesture keenly, his cock jumping to a stall within you.

“Sh-shit—”

With surprising composure, he cupped the back of your head and tilted you toward him. Your cheekbones brushed in passing, and the tips of your noses pressed close. He sifted your eyes for sincerity before pressing his lips to yours in a long, torrid kiss that conveyed all that you needed from him. As you parted, Jungkook's tongue lingered long enough to draw strings. And then he grinned. "Alright. As you deferred to me so readily." His pace quickened, escalating into a frenzy of cunt-cleaving thrusts that drove ruthlessly along your upper wall. "I shall oblige you."

"Oh God—" The reservoir within you burgeoned suddenly, pulsed behind your cunt for release. And as you felt the dam begin to fracture, Jungkook's fingers found your clit amidst your plastered folds. One, establishing touch was all it took to undo you. As the base of his cock began to thicken, a river of fluid rushed around it as you finally, joyously climaxed, eyes half-lidded and sightless as you ascended. Euphoria tinged your every atom and daubed the world white. You convulsed on end and with alarming force, your pussy gulping down Jungkook's rapidly ballooning cock. The stretch of him stung wonderfully, pushed apart your seizing hole without care for your capacity.

"F-Fuck." Jungkook faltered upon witnessing the ferocity with which you gushed. It soaked what little remained dry of his thighs, clinging to their definition. You gasped and moaned beneath him, dizzied by orgasm, your mouth agape and cheek crushed flat to the headboard. His vascular forearms shook to support him as he hurtled toward completion. "You needed all of me, hm?" Jungkook panted, drunk on lust and wild with power. He gloated over you like the primeval beast he was, fangs bared and liberated by instinct. "Your slippery little cunt missed this, didn't it?"

You mustered little more than a gurgle as he continued to ravage your boneless body, fucking through your spasming cunt until he himself began to twitch. "Sh-Shit, fuck," he exclaimed on high, head thrown back and knot taking root. Though you were spent and without much sense, Jungkook's sudden, violent expulsion shot new life through you. Together you groaned, until he began baying, grinding his turgid cock as far as his knot would allow, frustrated by its impediment. Possessed by ferality, Jungkook nipped desperate pleas into your bruised shoulders, grunting with each subsequent spurt he emptied into you. Though he could no longer snap his hips, they nonetheless dug into you as he milked himself of residue. “God. Shit. I—” Monosyllabic cusses continued to fall from him as he prised himself from your limp body. Without a moment’s reprieve he maneuvered himself to his knees so as to better inspect your expanding belly, his hands roaming your bulging expanses. "Yes." It was almost a hiss. "You are perfect. So full of me and mine."

"Indeed, I am." You cast him a struggling smile. When Jungkook returned it, it revitalised you. Your smile grew into a grin. "And what a lucky woman I am."

"Come, let us make you more comfortable," Jungkook muttered with a touch to your dampened cheek. Historically his knots did not always abate in a timely manner. Knowing this, Jungkook clutched you to his chest, adjusting you so as not to tug at your joining, nor disturb your swollen belly. Ever so gently he steered you onto your side, his sweat-slick body clinging to your back. His knot throbbed pleasantly within, interlocking you indefinitely. And you did not object, because this was when you felt most at peace, most loved, most protected. His arms cradled you, encircled your precious load, and all the while he washed you of perspiration and blood. No week went by where your neck and shoulders were not a spectrum of colour due to Jungkook's oral attention.

You did not object to that either.

"Thank you, Jungkook. I really needed that. I genuinely shed tears," you giggled, your breasts askew around his forearm. It tensed and pulled you closer.

"So did I." A growl laced his chuckle. "But I would never harm you or the pups to satisfy my own selfish desires. Forgive me my obstinacy, but I had to be sure."

"I understand. And we are safe. We're the safest with you, my love."

Jungkook suspended his rigorous bathing of you to kiss the crown of your head. "You are. Nothing shall befall you while I still breathe.

For a dreadful moment, your ongoing predicament punctured the post-coital glow. But you resolved not to let it. No, it could wait until tomorrow. In the here and now, you did not have to fret whether Jungkook would return home tomorrow. Whether his dinner would grow cold and your bed perennially so.

No.

In this moment, he was here, as were you. One bonded pair and their six, synchronous heartbeats.

Just a quick note to elaborate on the reader’s pregnancy, as I appreciate not everyone will have read these asks.

1) She is pregnant with four boys.

2) They develop in utero as wolves, and are born in that form too - therefore they are quite a bit smaller than human babies. So she isn’t particularly overburdened. A few months after birth they will begin popping in and out of both forms until they learn to control it.

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook fluff #jeongguk fluff #jungkook x you #jeongguk x you #jungkook scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #werewolf!jungkook #werewolf!jeongguk #bts smut #bts scenarios #a lycan dignity #tooth and claw

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

One of them has a wet dream and the other finishes them off

Amy wakes up with a deep groan, and it takes a moment for her mind to figure out where exactly she is - back in her bed, in her pajamas, just like always.

The body next to her is a fairly new addition, though - not an unwelcome one, just a little unusual. After the dream she's just had, she'd usually turn over, maybe poke through her bedside drawer for B.o.b., her little battery-operated boyfriend (a term Gina has coined for her that will not leave her head no matter how much she hates it), and, well, finish the job.

But now, as her breathing normalises again and she turns her head, Jake is there, the real, non-battery boyfriend, bed-tousled hair and sleepy eyes and mischievous grin and all.

"Someone’s woke up frisky."

She can feel herself blush even as he shuffles closer to kiss just to the side of her lips, his hand slipping under her pajama top, fingertips slowly exploring upwards.

"Must've been a really good dream."

A content sigh escapes her lips when his hand finally finds its way up to her breast, a soft massage as his kisses wander over her cheek down to just below her ear, that spot he figured out on date 2 that never fails to make her whine.

"You said my name." He whispers after a little nibble, and his voice sounds different - she was expecting playful teasing, or a silly, overly horny comment, but there's something else in that tone, happy and proud and just a tiny bit vulnerable. They're still so new - still getting used to the idea that it's not "professional" anymore, not "just good friends", that he can call her his girlfriend when meeting old acquaintances at Shaw's, that she can mention her boyfriend casually like he's never been anything else.

"Well." She hums and then squeals just a little when his fingers pinch her nipple. "You were in my dream."

"Mhm." His nose digs into her neck with a deep, warm breath that makes her shiver, and his hand starts to slide down over her stomach again. "Tell me about it."

And this, too, is still so new to her - still something she's getting used to. It's not like she was some repressed, nervous little girl without a sex life - that brief dip with Teddy not withstanding - but things feel different with Jake. More... exciting. Maybe because despite his many dating escapades, she'd never imagined him as this open, this adventurous when it came to anything sex-related. Maybe because she never feels that nagging feeling with him, that tiny bit of leftover - guilt? awkwardness? self-consciousness? - whatever it is that used to ping in her brain whenever a boyfriend would try to offer up something new, it simply doesn't exist anymore with him.

He can look at her, sleep in her eyes and a bit of sweat covering her skin, ask her to tell him about the wet dream she's just had, and all she feels is a jolt of excitement as his hand fumbles with her waistband.

"We were in that restaurant... from last week."

"The fancy one." He seems to help along while his hand, warm and wide presses against her inner thigh, pushes her legs apart almost carefully.

"Yeah." She nods before his kisses resume on her neck again, interspersed with little nibs. "And you were- you said to the waitress we didn't need dessert."

There's a little laugh in his hum, probably figuring out where this is heading already.

"And then you lifted me up on the table, and I was- I was wearing my dress, but no-"

"No underwear?" He fills in as she lets out a little moan when his fingers press and rub over the gusset of the panties she's wearing right now, already feeling her hot and wet even through the fabric.

"Y-yes." He's pulled them aside now, sliding over the outside of her folds, pulling them apart just barely. "And you started - you were -" her breath is already getting heavier as his fingers continue to explore "-eating me out, but teasing so much, like you always do."

"Gotta amp you up." He's still grinning as he lifts his head to kiss her. "But in the middle of the restaurant?"

Amy only nods when she feels two fingers slide either side of her clit, pressing together and rubbing, drawing short little breaths out of her, high-pitched whines that she used to feel embarassed about, but knows Jake absolutely loves.

"You wouldn't let me come." She whines now, too, as his fingers keep moving, making her legs tremble. "And then you pushed up my dress completely, and you fff-ahn!"

His fingers have left her clit, only to push down further and right into her, spreading open easily for two of them to start stroking in and out.

"I did what?" She can hear the grin in his voice even if she can't see it with his face too close to hers, waiting for an answer before he kisses her again.

"You fucked me right on the table."

She earns her kiss for that, a much deeper one than the ones before, his tongue pushing into her as she moans over the ministrations of his hand speeding up too. His thumb is pressing against her clit again while he keeps pushing into her, rubbing slow, deep circles against it, and he bites and pulls on her bottom lip when the kiss ends, letting her huff and groan out loud.

“Is that something you want?” His voice is husky, almost rough, and it’s definitely not from leftover sleep as she sees the darkness of his eyes while he leans over her, his free hand digging into her hair and scratching a little while his other hand continues to play with her. “Being spread out on a table in your pretty dress and taken?”

“N-not at Malmaison.” She protests just a little, and he laughs breathlessly.

“You looked so fucking good in that dress.” He leans back down to her ear again, to whisper into it, but also to bite along its shell. “If you really hadn’t worn panties under it last week... I would’ve jumped you in the cab back home. I wouldn’t have waited for any private table at your place.”

“..Jake, oh god...!” She can’t answer anymore as his thumb speeds up, presses harder and faster against her clit, and it doesn’t take much longer until she’s completely speechless, clenching around his fingers that won’t stop, moaning into his ear as he continues to softly bite her neck.

She feels pressed down into the mattress even with no weight on top of her while she pants to get her breath back, watching him sit up as his hand slips out of her pajamas. There’s an extra little jolt to her already foggy brain when she sees him bring his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, before he looks down at his completed work of completely unraveling her and grins.

“Good morning, by the way.”

Amy huffs an annoyed little laugh and has just enough strength to whack his pillow over his head as he laughs too.

“C’mon, let’s get in the shower.” He grabs the arm holding the pillow and pulls her up to a much calmer kiss, followed by a still very husky whisper. “And then maybe you can pick a dress to wear today.”

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic #fuclet #Jean Jaques hard at work

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years ago

Text

There is Only Try, Part I

“Love spell,” Rowena proclaims as she glides down the stairs to the Bunker floor like it’s her personal ballroom. Her midnight blue floor-length gown and elaborately curled hair look especially out of place - Dean’s pretty sure his shirt has pizza stains from at least three different pizzas. The shirt is red, so at least two of them don’t count.

Behind her on the stairs, Sam chokes.

Rowena turns around to face him. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge,” she chides. “Really, Samuel?”

“What do you mean, ‘love spell’?” Dean demands with a fleeting glance at Cas, who’s gone red in the face. Dean doesn’t blame him - between the hooker with the daddy problems and the stabby reaper, he’d be leery of anything vaguely love-shaped too.

“We called you because we need to translate the runes on a cursed box,” Sam says slowly. “We think it’s in some sort of cipher, since even Cas can’t get a read on it.”

“Well, did Tweety Pie touch the box?”

“No,” Cas says, offended.

Dean nudges him with his elbow, saying in an undertone, “C’mon, like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes in Cas’s unamused face and scowls at Rowena's tinkling laugh. “Okay, Sabrina, what the fuck do you mean by ‘love spell’?”

“I mean the angel’s been cursed with a love spell,” Rowena says with deliberate slowness, like she’s giving a command to a particularly stupid lap dog. “Was it not obvious?”

Dean glances at Cas, horror trickling down his spine. “No.”

“Hmph,” Rowena sniffs. “Men really are oblivious to matters of the heart.” She waves her hand again, eyes glimmering violet. “Like I thought,” she continues, placing both hands on her hips, “A jardin d’amour.”

“A garden of,” Sam pauses, clearly trying not to laugh, “love?”

“A very basic love spell,” Rowena says disdainfully. “The lass didn’t seem to have any imagination.”

“The witch we ganked two weeks ago was a dude,” Dean says. A beat. “A man witch.”

Sam snorts.

“There you go,” Rowena says, lifting her nose into the air. “Most men don’t have that innate knack for the magical arts.” She turns to Sam, giving him the most obvious come-hither look Dean has ever seen. “There are some obvious exceptions, of course.”

Okay, Dean needs Rowena and her heebs with a large dosing of the jeebs out of the Bunker, stat.

“It starts as a tiny seed, a wee obsession,” Rowena explains, “and grows and grows until it consumes you.” She squints, wiggling her fingers, and Dean just barely stops himself from jumping in front of Cas on instinct. “I’d say the spell’s gone about halfway through its course.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He throws another calculating glance at Cas. “He’s not writing love songs or grabbing a boombox, so he’s obviously not cursed.”

Cas, still suspiciously silent, shoves both his hands in his pockets and stares hard at a spot of the floor between his feet.

“Oh, but he is, darlin’,” Rowena exclaims delightedly. “I can see it clear as day. Look!”

Cas sneezes as the magic washes over him for a third time, and now they all can see the purple sparkles - really, Rowena? - hovering in the air around him.

“Okay,” Dean makes a face, “Now I’m confused.”

“Not for the first time, isn’t that right?” Rowena says with faux-sympathy.

Dean glowers. He turns to Cas. “Come on, she’s making this all up. You’d know if you got dosed with Love Potion No. 9.”

“I-” Cas says, his gaze skittering from Dean to Rowena and back again. He looks… caught.

“Wait,” Dean thunders, taking a step forward, “You knew?”

“I,” Cas starts haltingly, “had suspected.”

“And you didn’t think you’d tell us you’d been whammied?”

Cas shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be affecting me at all. My vessel is functioning normally.”

“Sure, because you’re such an expert on normal-”

Cas’s eyes flash. “It didn’t seem relevant considering everything else-”

“What d’you mean every-?”

“Kelly Kline - Lucifer, again - the British Men of Letters - take your pick,” Castiel retorts heatedly.

“We’ve got that under control-”

“Killing a child is not ‘under control’-”

“It is if the kid’s the literal spawn of Satan-”

“I never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester defending the murder of an inno-”

Dean throws up his hands. “Did you miss my ‘spawn of Satan’ comment?”

“No,” Cas says, his expression as stony as the Bunker’s foundations, “my hearing is excellent.”

Off to the side, Rowena mutters in a carrying stage-whisper, “I can see how a wee curse like this is the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam says, running a weary hand down his face.

Dean rounds on them. “What?”

“Do you want me to remove the love spell or not?” Rowena asks, eyebrows raised. “My time is precious, you know. I don’t live to be at the Winchesters’ beck and call.”

“For the last fucking time, it’s not a goddamn spell!” Dean explodes. “Whatever it is, he is not in love. He hasn’t been acting any different.”

Rowena beams. “Well now, if he were already in love, it would have no outward effects. He’d…” Her expression becomes stomach-turningly sly, “...function normally, so to speak.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a firm line. As Dean goggles at him, Cas demands, “Remove the spell, now.”

Dean swallows. Cas can’t be - she can’t be implying - that’s impossible. He’s an angel. They don’t feel things like that.

Do they?

“I’m going to need some ingredients,” Rowena says, looking up to Sam. “Where might they be?”

Sam gestures her forward. “Back in the store room, I’ll show you.”

Rowena pats him lightly on the arm. “What a gentleman,” she simpers as Dean pretends to hurl behind her back.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak until they’re both out of earshot, their footsteps fading off into the distance. He turns to Cas, trying to keep his voice detached and failing miserably. “So, you think it got you after all?”

Cas looks away. “I know it has.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up his empty whiskey glass. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. It doesn't work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Fucking witches.”

“I - I could use one as well,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise.

* * *

“So, uh, who’s the lucky chick?” Dean asks as he makes a beeline for the liquor cart in the library off the war room. He grabs an additional glass for Cas and the bottle of Jack, tips the bottle down his own throat to get them started, and pours them out a few fingers.

Cas takes his drink, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look like a dude head over heels. He looks like his normal sleep-deprived, tax accountant self. He stays silent.

Dean thumps heavily down into a chair. “Have we met her?” he prompts because he’s nothing if not a masochist at heart.

“You could say so, in a sense.” Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, face softening, and Dean’s going to hurl for real this time. Cas continues, “There’s not much in my life I keep from you.”

Dean swallows against the ball of self-loathing and disgust clogging his throat. “Some lady angel, then? Been dreaming about plucking her harp strings?”

Cas scowls into his drink. “No.”

“Not an angel?”

“Not a lady,” Cas says, his voice almost unbearably stiff. “And not an angel, either. A human - a beautifully flawed human.”

Dean has no words to say to that, so he drinks. Cas has probably met thousands of people - nice, normal people who aren’t fucked up in the head from ganking monsters their whole lives - since he’s been on Earth. God knows, he hasn’t been plastered to Dean’s side the entire time. Lately, Dean can’t even come up with a good excuse to get him to stay for more than a day or two at most.

“A guy, then,” Dean says to make sure they’re on the same page - because last time he checked, waves of celestial intent cared less about acing a Gender and Sexuality 101 class and more about whether a meatsuit could withstand a holy oil molotov cocktail.

Cas nods, his eyes narrowing. “Your opinion on homosexual relationships is part of the reason I’ve never brought it up before.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” Dean says, not entirely truthfully. He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Homo it up, man. Love is love.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t comment on Dean’s hamfisted attempt at proving his acceptance of ‘alternative lifestyles’ as Dad might’ve put it charitably one time. “It’s complicated,” Cas adds, like any part of this fucked-up situation could fit under a goddamn Facebook status.

Dean hitches a grin on his face that probably wouldn’t fool a blind person. “So, apart from that, how come you’ve never come to me for help? I don’t wanna brag, but I’m kind of an expert in hookups. Sam’s kind of hopeless. He can’t get a chick into bed without her dying on him.”

Cas knocks back his glass. “I didn’t want to bother you with my feelings.”

Dean automatically grimaces at the mention of feelings. But, hell, he’s not a teenage girl. He can man up and be there for his best friend.

He has to - Cas hardly asks him for anything anymore.

Sure, Cas didn’t exactly ask Dean for anything this time around, but Dean can read between the lines. Now that he’s copped to what’s going on beneath Cas’s still waters, he can see how deep those feelings run. Especially if what Rowena’s saying is true and a love spell is barely a drop in the bucket.

“And, regardless, your ‘hookup’ skills wouldn’t be relevant, anyway,” Cas says quietly, lowering his hands. “I’m not interested in… coupling.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That reaper really screwed you over, didn’t she? Look, just because you got shanked, doesn’t mean all sex winds up with an angel blade-”

“I misspoke,” Cas says over him. “What I mean is, I would rather have no sexual relations at all if I cannot have all of him: mind, body, and soul.”

Trust Cas to spout the most profound cheese Dean has ever heard.

And also, what the fuck? Dean can’t get behind that idea at all. Dean’s always been a take what you can get kind of dude. He had to be, with what he has to work with - a pretty face, a killer's instinct, and an inability to have a normal relationship if his goddamn life depended on it.

Like, if Dean had gotten the slightest whiff that Cas was down with gettin’ down and dirty with Dean as his last hurrah (which of course he didn’t), Dean would never have bothered with that stupid den of inequity. As hilarious as the outcome was, he would have gone for a little something-something for himself before the end of the world.

Of course, Dean wasn’t in love with Cas yet then. Whenever it came to mind, it was just a fun thought experiment, an idle what if for him to think about during a dry spell. Like his fantasies about fucking Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Or hatesex with Bela Talbot.

But none of that mattered because every step of the way from Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, to Cas, their friendly neighborhood angel-man, he never hinted he’d be down for a quick roll in the hay... or something more serious.

Dean remembers very clearly: Anna fell to experience emotions, even the bad ones.

And Dean’s not an idiot - Cas obviously experiences emotions now. Dude’s been through too much not to feel something. But Dean’s never deluded himself that they could ever include all the romantic lovey-dovey, chick-flick moments crap.

Family love, sure. Cas might love all his haloed siblings. Cas has been around for all the Top 10 worst decisions that are the Winchesters’ version of brotherly devotion. Cas even said the big L-word out loud himself, when he was bleeding out in that barn a month ago.

But romantic love? The big kahuna L-O-V-E?

Dean always thought scaling Mount Everest with a plastic beach shovel would be easier than convincing an angel to feel that way about anyone. Cas is a wave of celestial intent; waves of celestial intent don’t do anything as human, as stupid, as fall in love.

But apparently they do.

So maybe that’s why Cas has always been so hard to pin down, so eager to leave Dean all the time. He’s been off pining after this mystery guy.

Awesome.

Cas heaves a weighty sigh and finishes off his own glass of whiskey. Without another word, he half raises from his chair, reaching around the table lamp, to pour them both a second round. “I suppose there is a bit of a relief in finally saying it,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t be with him, but there is a certain amount of happiness in it being known, just being seen.”

Dean wastes no time in downing half his new drink. Throat burning in warning, he forces out, “Why - why can’t you? You’re a freaking angel - thought you could have anyone.” Dean frowns. “He’s not a civilian, is he?”

Talk about a recipe for disaster: Cas plus normal person equals uncomfortable questions and fucked up babysitting gigs.

Cas’s eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not really.”

“So he knows about angels.”

Cas gives a slow nod. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of them, though,” he says ruefully, staring down into his glass. “They’ve made his life very difficult over the past few years.”

Dean scoffs, “He can join the club.”

Cas flinches.

“Hey, no,” Deans says quickly, “Not you.”

Cas raises head, his eyes unbearably bleak. “Why not me? I was the one who set the Leviathans and angels loose on humanity to wage their wars, among a dozen other transgressions.” He adds morosely, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if a different angel rescued you from Hell after all.”

Dean blinks at Cas, his stomach turning over with dread at the very idea. He tries to picture some nameless angel yanking him out of the Pit or marching into that barn with all the righteousness of Heaven on his heels. Dean can’t do it.

Or worse, not a nameless angel. Uriel, who was ready to kill thousands without a second thought. Zachariah, that dickwad with the mind games. Even Hannah, who Dean reluctantly liked - he still can’t see her sticking by their side, falling, sacrificing everything for them.

Cas is their third wheel, the stabilizer that keeps Team Free Will upright and moving forward. Without him, they’re a tandem bicycle, and nobody wants a repeat of that opening scene from Gabriel’s sitcom from Hell.

“Yeah, but at least you always tried to do the right thing.”

“There is no try, only what I did or did not do,” Cas answers with a strange, defeated expression.

“Okay, but,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes at Cas’s butchered Star Wars reference, “Yoda’s a lot of things, but applicable to the real world without space lasers, he is not. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try, dude.”

God knows, Dean could never have forgiven Cas for any of the shit he pulled if he hadn’t been 100% positive Cas had the best of intentions. Cas did all those things to save the world, and, sometimes, to save Dean personally. Which gives him the girliest, fuzzy feelings and also makes him want to punch a wall.

Cas throws him a pitying look. “Every time I ‘try’ to make things better, I fail.” He shakes his head. “When you were taken, I searched for months to find you. Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. I’m a… dumbass.”

“I thought you preferred ‘trusting,’” Dean jokes, and it only sounds a little forced.

Cas throws him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a few years ago. But now? I’ve made too many mistakes, and people have suffered - you and Sam have suffered - as a result. You don’t need to spare my feelings, Dean. It’s hardly what I deserve.”

Dean frowns, tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes in Cas's defeated air. “Hey, what’s with the pity party?”

“It’s not a ‘pity party’,” Cas counters. “These are basic facts.”

Dean leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

Cas stares back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face, looking for a break, for a tell - even though he knows he won’t find any. “You saved the world. A couple of times by now.”

“I also personally put it in jeopardy more than once,” Cas mutters. “I trusted Crowley to steal Purgatory. I trusted Metatron to bring peace to Heaven. I trusted Lucifer to take out the Darkness.”

Dean’s heart sinks with every reminder of Cas’s greatest hits. “Come on…”

Cas’s mouth thins, lips pressing together as he raises his glass to his mouth. “You don’t need to stay to keep me company, either,” he says in a low voice. “I’m the one under the spell. If you have anything more pressing, I can wait here for Rowena.”

“Shut up,” Dean says automatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas exhales a weighty sigh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Hey, what you need - hell, what we both need - is a win,” Dean says reassuringly. “Everything’s been such shit, you need a reminder to keep going.” He gets up from his seat, his legs itching to move. “Why don’t you tell me more about that man of yours?” he asks quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get out before the regret sets in. “Maybe that’s the key to getting your head back in the game.”

Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean moves to peruse a row of books he has no intention of ever reading. Eventually, Cas protests without much conviction, “My head is in the game. I am still useful.”

Dean’s head jerks around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It isn’t?” Cas asks, head tilting in confusion.

Dean makes a face. “I mean, if you’re feeling down, you… shouldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean paces to the other end of the bookshelf, unbelievably annoyed at Cas for making him spell it out for him. “Forget it,” Dean says instead. “I still owe you for ganking Billie-”

“But the cosmic consequences-”

“Will suck, but in the meantime you saved our lives. I owe you.” Dean turns so he’s back to fully facing Cas. “So, tell me what this mystery guy is into.”

Cas’s eyes narrow at him. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Seriously?”

Cas straightens and nods.

“But,” Dean says, words failing as he wars with himself. He could push Cas for more info or keep on living in blissful ignorance. But if he has to choose between his own personal peace of mind or Cas experiencing the one pinnacle of human happiness (or so Dean’s been told in countless chick flicks he’ll take to the grave), it’s no choice at all. He starts again, “If you tell me about him, it’ll make this a lot easier.”

“I don’t want it to be easier,” Cas says, baffled. “I don’t want this to be anything.”

Dean gapes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas taps his empty glass on the table, irritated. “Please, leave it alone.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “I wanna help you, man.”

“I don’t want any help.”

“Well, tough shit because you’re getting it anyway. You’re family-”

Cas’s face does a weird spasm.

“-And that’s what you do for family,” Dean continues, a little confused and insulted. They are family; Cas said so, back when he thought he was dying in Ramiel’s barn.

“Drop it.”

“No,” Dean argues, shoving down everything else as his temper rises. “You’re hurtin’, and I can help. Why don’t you trust me? You trusted Crowley, Metatron, fucking Lucifer-”

Too far. Shit.

Cas whirls around, his face a mask of frustration and an emotion Dean has never seen before. “I did, and you know what? They screwed me. And, please forgive me, Dean, but I am tired of being used and used up, over and over.”

Dean blinks, his anger falling away to a raw hurt only Cas can dredge up. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. He just shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s me,” Dean says - pleads, really. “You know me better than anyone else, ’cept Sammy. I won’t do something like that.”

Cas glares. “I do know you, so I know that is exactly what will happen.”

Dean reels back, and he can’t save himself in time before an undoubtedly pained look spreads across his face.

Cas’s hostility cracks, but Dean’s already gotten the message.

So Cas’s one big happy loving family message was only a deathbed thing. That’s… fine. Dean’s done it himself, a time or two. Told Sam to live his life and not go looking for revenge or a way to fix it - all a crock of horse shit, of course. He should’ve figured Cas was more human than angelic with that poison pumping through his veins, making him all weak and sweaty. ’Course he wasn’t above feeling human sentimentality in his death throes.

Face hardening, Dean turns on his heel. “You were right about one thing. I guess I do have more important things to do than staying here with you.”

“Dean,” he hears behind him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

* * *

Dean always hides a spare bottle of booze in the bottom drawer of the desk in his bedroom. It's mostly empty, but, hopefully, by the time Dean's polished it off, Cas’ll be cured, Rowena will be gone, and they all can pretend this never happened - Dean can pretend that Cas stopped keeping secrets because he’s learned they always blow up in his face in the past six years.

Anyway.

First, the booze.

Dean’s barely wrestled the top off with shaking fingers of leftover anger when a knock sounds against his door.

“’S the witch gone yet?” Dean asks without lifting his head.

The door opens. “Dean, it’s me.”

Dean takes a long pull of whiskey.

Cas sighs, audible in the stuffy, tension-filled space between them. He doesn’t approach, instead hovering in the doorway, and isn’t that how it always goes? Always poised for flight, that’s Cas. “Dean,” he repeats, which only makes Dean's blood boil that much hotter.

“What?” he demands. “What do you want now? ’Cause I can’t think of a single thing you need from me, Cas.”

Cas presses his lips together. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Me?” Dean barks incredulously. “You’re the one hiding things and not letting me help you.”

“You won’t accept this is one area in which you can’t help?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Cas shakes his head, his gaze focusing on Dean’s face with his patented laser intensity. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah, I’m just a jackass who can’t get a lady to stick around for more than a few hours. I get it.” He glances up to see Cas’s stricken expression. Frowning, Dean looks away.

Cas steps tentatively into Dean’s room, his face weirdly apprehensive. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Sure,” Dean says, tipping the bottle back like it’s water because he needs to be so much drunker to deal with Cas and his love spell bombshells right now.

Cas hovers awkwardly by Dean’s desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “You’re so capable of love.”

“Cas-” Dean starts, but he has no idea where he’s going with this.

Cas keeps talking, thank God. “You don’t acknowledge that side of you very often, but I feel it every time we see each other, every time you’re with your brother. You care, you love, so wholly and completely.” Cas chuckles ruefully. “I didn’t realize it for a few years. I didn’t see how unique it was, how special you are, but you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Dean’s tongue finally unsticks from the roof of his mouth. Face flaming hotter than the inferno where he first met Cas eight years ago, he rasps out, “Cas - what the hell are you saying?”

Cas swallows, dragging his gaze back up to meet Dean’s wide eyes. “The reason I didn’t tell you about the love spell was because it couldn’t make me love you any more than I already do.”

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, at Cas, the words love you bouncing around his skull like a blocked radio signal. Cas said them; Dean heard them with his own two ears; but the meaning behind the words is getting lost in transmission.

As Dean’s brain struggles to make sense of just about everything, Cas nods once. “Well, now you know. I’ll go wait for Rowena’s cure in the kitchen.”

And then he leaves.

Dean slams the whiskey bottle down on his desk, cursing as it nearly topples over in his haste. He sets it right, swearing more as precious seconds pass by. He hurtles down the hall, half-convinced Cas lied to him to get a head start and is really halfway to Timbuktu.

But Dean finds Cas in the library, sitting more or less where he left him before Dean had his little wallowing session in his bedroom.

“Cas!” Dean blurts, skidding to a halt and grabbing onto the edge of the table for support.

Cas looks up, frowning. “I - “ he gives himself a little shake and starts again, “Is Rowena having trouble with the spell?”

“What?” Dean strides forward on shaky legs. “No - I mean, I don’t know. They could be fucking in a supply closet for all I care.”

Cas’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. For the first time today, he looks almost afraid. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his gaze darting towards the stairs to the exit. “I’m only going to stay in the Bunker until Rowena can finish. Then I will go.”

“Go?” Dean repeats, a spike of panic shooting up his spine. “You can’t.”

Cas inhales a sharp breath. “You want me to stay?”

“You want to bail?” Dean demands, his voice rising.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “You’re upset. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not fucking upset!”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “You clearly are. Your pulse is rising. Your pupils are dilated. I can smell your elevated levels of adrenaline.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude - lines - crossed.”

“Fine,” Cas says, his face set. He gets up. “I can coordinate with Rowena at a later date. She should focus on the cursed box, anyway. It’s clearly a more pressing concern and the reason we called her in the first place.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step forward. “Wait.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you want, Dean? I did as you asked. I told you the spell could only latch onto my feelings for you.”

Dean falters, his words failing him.

Cas’s shoulders slump. “I did warn you, you know,” he murmurs, trying to pass Dean on his way towards the door.

Dean grabs onto Cas’s bicep before he can disappear. “Gimme a moment. What you said - it’s a lot.”

Miracle of miracles, Cas stops.

Dean can practically feel the power thrumming underneath the trench coat sleeve in his grip, but Cas wordlessly lets Dean guide him back to the library table.

“Okay,” Dean starts, his head still mercilessly void of the right thing to say, “So that guy, the one you’re - well, it’s - he’s me?” he asks, stumbling over his words like he hasn’t since that one time Rhonda Hurley opened her underwear drawer.

Cas nods once, his face impossibly solemn.

“Right,” Dean grunts. He rubs at his chin, Cas watching the whole while. “That’s - wow.”

“Quite,” Cas says wryly.

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Dean shoots back. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Cas sighs. “But now you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. If only he could be more like Cas with the grand declarations.

Cas opens his mouth, pausing for a beat before saying, “I was never intending to leave permanently. I will still help you figure out how to deal with Kelly Kline. I will still assist with research, translations, anything you need.” His blue eyes bore into Dean’s face. “I can still be useful.”

Dean’s chest aches. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t about that?” he asks gruffly.

Cas’s earnest expression falters. “Of course,” he says, subdued. “Regardless, know that I am always willing to help the Winchesters.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, “This isn’t - it’s never been - about you being goddamn useful.” He huffs an exasperated breath, frowning harder as Cas doesn’t immediately get it and launch himself at Dean.

God, that would make this so much easier.

“What you want?” Dean says, glaring daggers at the tabletop between them, “That whole, mind, body, soul crap? You got it.”

Cas blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You already have it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Cas cocks his head like a perplexed chicken, still as clueless as ever.

It’s clearly time to bring out the big guns. If Cas is going to spout pretty speeches that steal Dean’s breath away and leave him weak-kneed but not actually, you know, make a move, Dean will just have to do everything himself.

Fine. That’s how he’s always operated, anyway.

Face determined, he leans over and grasps the lapels of Cas’s trench coat.

Cas leans back a fraction, his eyes widening in alarm or shock. But before he can utter another word, Dean brings their mouths together.

Cas takes a moment to get with the program. There’s a split-second (that lasts several years) when Cas almost seems to push Dean off him, but he kisses back before Dean can yank himself away first. Cas’s mouth is tentative against Dean’s, like he’s waiting for Dean to end it all and yell, “Got ya!”, but he unseals his lips with a light sigh as Dean gently parts them with his tongue.

Dean unclenches one hand from Cas’s lapel. He reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, the raspy stubble a physical reminder of the goddamn win he’s finally getting. His knees twinge from awkwardly leaning over, but rampaging Leviathans could burst into the kitchen and Dean wouldn’t give any less of a fuck.

He has Cas right where he wants him, and he’s going to fucking savor it for as long as he can.

When Cas pulls away, his face shows nothing but pure confusion. “Why?” he breathes, raising a finger to touch his lips.

Dean, still half-standing, half-leaning over him, frowns. He falls back to his seat with a thump. “Because you weren’t going to do it first?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t think you wanted anything like that,” he pauses, “with me.”

Like there’s anyone else around who wants to get real up close and personal with the most dumbass angel in the garrison.

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, the faintest inklings of embarrassment creeping in now they’re not kissing anymore and Cas’s first reaction isn’t to look like he got free tickets to Disneyland. “I did. Do.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat.

Cas looks away from Dean for the first time, and Dean dies a little inside. Stiffy, Cas says, “If this is some misguided attempt to show your sympathy for my situation. I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture?” Dean echoes, “What the hell are you on, man? I don’t kiss random dudes because I feel bad for them, Christ.”

“Then why?”

Dean grimaces. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s face. “I have misunderstood your actions in the past, and I have no desire to do it again.”

Dean groans. “Look, I didn’t think angels could have feelings like that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Or I would’ve… done something about it sooner,” he says, and that’s mostly true. Probably would’ve tried to seduce Cas, failed, and then jumped off a cliff, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, normal angels can’t,” Cas says, “but there’s something broken in me.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean swears loudly, his anger flaring. “You’re… better. A new and improved God Squad, far as I can tell.” He narrows his eyes, daring Cas to talk shit about himself one more time.

Cas bites his lip. “You truly mean it.”

Dean tries for a mocking leer, but it comes out more like a dopey, hopeful smile. “You wanna get it engraved? Put up in neon in the Dean cave?” he asks, eyebrows raised as excitement courses through his veins. Cas loves him. Dean can make good on all those what ifs that have been plaguing him for years. “Tattooed on my ass?”

Cas chuckles lightly. “That would be a start.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. He can already feel the insecurities looming on the horizon. There’s always a catch: Cas never stays; Cas might want Dean now, but he’ll fly away the moment Dean fucks up because he has no idea what he’s doing.

But none of that matters right now.

He kissed Cas.

And Cas didn’t smite him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't flutter off to the moon for shits and giggles.

Cas knows him, knows him better than anyone except Sam. And despite all the fucked up shit in Dean's head, Cas is staying anyway, with his eyes wide open like nobody else Dean has ever been with.

Cas smiles in return. “If I had known a love spell would result in this outcome, I would have sought out that witch ages ago.”

And just like that, all Dean’s happy-ending fantasies come to a screeching halt.

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #profoundnet #fanfic #destiel #rae writes fic #canon divergence #season 12 #love spell au #minor samwitch #there is only try

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years ago

Text

Raise the Stakes, Part 3

Ok, so this section is a lot longer than the previous ones, which is specifically what I was trying to avoid by splitting it up, but I'm certain that there was no way to insert an act break in this without it ruining the flow of the action.

If this is the first part of the story you're finding, you'll want to get caught up:

Place Your Bets (prequel)

Part one Part two

Pairing: Jay White x OFC/ David Finlay x OFC

Word count: 3,007

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, mild violence that some may find upsetting or disturbing.

“Jesus, Jay, what the hell?” You push at his chest, not that it’s going to do you a bit of good.

“Where have you been?” He hisses.

“Oh, are you seriously going to do this? You know where I’ve been. I had a date, I spent the night with him. And then I spent the day with him.”

“Didn’t bother asking for my permission.” His tone is so icy and mocking, and so uncharacteristically controlled that you’re a little frightened.

You exhale and let yourself go limp. “No, I didn’t. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve killed myself trying to make you happy and right now I have no idea why. So if you want to try to make me feel guilty for spending every minute I can with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m beneath contempt, if you want to punish me for running away and feeling happy for a few hours, you go right ahead.”

Your breathing is so rapid that you know he won’t believe that you actually don’t care but what’s the worst he can do? Is it really going to be any worse than what you’ve put yourself through trying to make him love you back?

He snickers quietly and slides one of his hands around the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or push, just leaves it there like a silent threat. He’s more than strong enough to strangle you without even having to exert himself. That’s crazy, though, isn’t it? Yes, he’s abusive and heartless and manipulative but he’s also someone you’ve known for years. There’s no way Jay would actually hurt you. Is there?

He leans his face close so that you can hear his breath rasping in your ear. “That’s sweet. Did your little boyfriend treat you nice? Did he make you feel special?”

“Jay,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady, “you need to get off of me right now. I don’t know if you’ve been drinking or taking speed or what but it has to stop.”

His hand pushes just a little further up and feels just a little heavier.

“Answer me. Did he make you feel good?”

“This is none of your business.” You give an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I had a great time. He made me feel like the most beautiful, most desirable-“

For the first time, Jay tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air and your words.

“So he fucked you well? Made you come? Had you screaming his name?”

He releases you again and in the wake of the terror of the last few seconds, you’re suddenly furious.

“Yes, he did. So many times. Best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, you want to be mean? Think you’re going to hurt my feelings like you haven’t been panting after me like some pathetic stray dog for years? I pay you, I let you get your little shots in, I fuck you which no one else has until the last week.” His hand drops from your throat but just as quickly, his other hand grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it so tight that you feel a few strands ripped out at the root. He twists your head to the side, pinning it to the pillow.

“Jay, you’re hurting me!” For the first time, the fear is in your voice. You’ve never seen him like this. You don’t know who this man in your bed is.

“You want to know what hurts?” He snarls. “I trusted you.”

“What are you talking about? What do you think is going on? It’s a couple of dates, Jay. I took a day off and didn’t tell you. Can’t you be a little happy for me?”

“I trusted you,” he repeats. “And you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed? Don’t be so dramatic. This is not about you.”

He grabs your throat again and squeezes.

“I saw you,” he drawls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “I saw you yesterday in his arms, all happy and smiling. You couldn’t even be bothered to close the fucking door.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up. Did he mean this morning? No, he wouldn’t have had any reason to be skulking around on a different floor of the hotel. Did Sanada say something after all? Then it occurs to you. Sanada hadn’t closed the door when he left the room yesterday. He probably hadn’t even thought about it. The door was almost always open. You’d closed it because you wanted to work. David had closed it because he wanted to keep your secret. Sanada had opened the door, gotten a drink, and walked out like he always did, and you and David had been so blissed out that you hadn’t noticed.

“Look,” you gasp, clawing at his hand, “we can talk about this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

He gives a pained cry and bites down hard on your neck, making you cry out in turn.

“This is a huge fucking deal. I am not going to let that little mealworm wriggle in and take what’s mine.”

He releases your neck again and as you draw in oxygen, you frantically try to think of how to defuse the bomb on top of you. If he wants to, he can end David’s career in New Japan. He can easily stop the two of you from seeing each other. What’s clear, though, is that he’s not firing you, which would be a mercy, because if that’s what he wanted, he’d have done it already.

What’s also clear, and you hate yourself for it, is that you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Feeling the weight of him on you, the burning intensity of his expression and his words. It’s like he can barely control himself, that he’s fighting to stop himself from tearing into you. You’ve never seen him act like this about anything.

“No one’s taking anything from you, Jay,” you insist, turning to look at him when he loosens his grip a little. “I’m not going anywhere. I work myself to the bone for you and that’s not going to change.”

He gives a sardonic laugh. “And he’s so pathetically in love that he’s fine with the kind of work you do for me?”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. That was never exactly part of the job description. But everything else stays the same.”

“Except that you’re fucking David Finlay.”

“Except that I have a life outside my job. And you won’t have to put up with me panting after you as you so delicately put it.”

“No.” He says it so loudly it startles you.

“What do you mean no?” You whine. “This is how normal people do things. Some people work together. They have relationships with other people. They don’t crawl into a coworker’s bed in the middle of the night and scare them half to death thinking-“

“No,” he repeats sharply.

“Why?” You whimper.

“You’re mine and he can’t have you.” He shoves the bedcovers out of the way and roughly runs his hands over your nude body. “He can’t have any part of you. Not your pussy, not your mouth, not your loyalty, not your feelings.”

You’re about to argue but he crushes his mouth against yours and although you know the only sane thing to do is fight him off, you reciprocate without hesitation, relishing the little moans and purrs that escape him as the kiss grows more and more passionate.

“I’ve been so terrible,” he murmurs. “My girl needs a reminder of why she puts up with me.”

He squeezes your breast, twisting his fingers around the nipple just firmly enough to make you gasp. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you should smack him in the head or scream into his ear and do whatever it takes to make him go away because you’re very aware what’s at risk. But as he kisses his way down your body, giving little hums and sighs of satisfaction when you twitch or gasp in response, it’s like the lovely memories you were clinging to when you crawled into this bed a few hours ago are becoming foggy and disjointed, like something you might have imagined to make yourself feel better about the situation you’re really in.

For the longest time, he lets his mouth hover around your pussy, just soft licks and kisses over the hollows of your hips, the inside of your thighs, and over the inner and outer lips, gently sucking on the flesh as his hot breath vibrates over your clit.

“This is the best smell in the world,” he murmurs into your skin, “and I never take the time to enjoy it.”

Your whole body is shaking by the time he starts thrusting his tongue against you. You want to push back against him but you force yourself not to, hoping to withstand his attention, to refuse to let him bring you to orgasm. The problem is that when he makes the effort, Jay is an incredible lover.

“Don’t hold back,” he cajoles, having detected what you’re trying to do. “Give into it. Let go.” He looks up at you and flashes an evil little grin. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

You try to curse at him but of course, he intensifies his actions and all you can do is grab hold of the sheet with all your might and try to stop yourself from screaming. He alternates fucking you with his tongue and lavishing attention on your clit, pausing only to keep encouraging you to relax and let it happen, to let him pleasure you and with each passing second, it seems more ridiculous to even try to stop it. You’re too far gone in every sense.

“Oh god, fuck, Jay!” Your silence gives way at the same time as your body and you blurt out his name like it’s the only thing you’re capable of saying.

He lifts his head just enough so that you can see the thick gloss of your juices on his lips and through his beard before he starts kissing you and touching you again. He stays away from your too-sensitive bud but his lips and fingers move everywhere around it, finding a whole ring of nerves outside and inside just begging for attention. You can’t even tell if it’s just powerful aftershocks you’re feeling or if you’re rolling through orgasm after orgasm. Does it matter? It does not.

Gradually he glides up your body, still rocking against you, caressing you all over as he moves, like he wants to make love to every part of you individually. You run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp like you know he loves. You're rewarded with deep purrs of satisfaction, like he’s a big cat you’ve managed to tame. Usually, you don’t get the opportunity to touch him like this, but you figured it out early on and you’ve never forgotten.

You wonder if he knows he was the first man to make you come. You’ve certainly never told him. It’s not like you were that experienced but you’d been with enough men by the time you first got together with Jay that you’d pretty much given up hope that you’d meet a man who’d be able to figure you out. And then he’d come along and made you fall apart like it was nothing. He still can.

His kisses become more playful and ticklish, which gets you both laughing a little.

“You deserve it.” He says the phrase in the same singsong cadence that fans chant it during shows. “You deserve it.”

This gets you laughing even harder so that you’re almost caught off guard when he starts licking and nipping at your neck in earnest.

His rigid cock is sliding against your soaked pussy but he’s making no effort to enter you. You buck your hips a little to let him know he’s welcome.

“I don’t have to,” he tells you, running a finger ever so delicately down your throat and over your collarbone. “This is for you.”

“You don’t want to?”

He laughs. “More than anything. But for once I’m telling you it’s not about what I want. I mean it. You can send me back to my room if you like.”

“You know I want you.”

“Like this?” He thrusts his hips hard against yours.

“Exactly like that.”

He needs no further encouragement to guide himself into you, gasping like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt as he begins pumping into you.

“That son of a bitch fucked you all night and you’re still as tight as when I met you.”

A pained sound escapes you and the word “no” just after it. You cover your face with your hand and try not to picture where you were twenty-four hours ago.

Roughly, he pushes your hand back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You just feel so good, always so fucking good.”

He kisses you insistently but sweetly, pulling on your legs so that they curve over his broad shoulders, allowing him to push deeper inside you as he picks up his pace. As he moves, he rolls you a little further forward, to the point you think that if his arms weren’t firmly planted on either side of your head, the two of you would end up turning a summersault. The higher the angle, the deeper he’s able to get and the more contact he’s able to get with your g-spot, so that you’re practically screaming again as you feel the tension rising like lava in a volcano.

“That’s so good,” you whine, grabbing onto his bicep. You have to focus on pulling oxygen into your lungs or you’ll pass out. “I’m gonna come again, Jay.”

“I’m right with you,”

Your eyes close for a second before you feel his hand insistently rubbing at your cheek and temple.

“Open your eyes,” he rasps, obviously on the brink of losing control of himself. “I want to see those beautiful eyes when you come.”

You oblige and it’s just in time as you go to pieces, your muscles spasming and squeezing tight around him. And it’s only seconds before you feel him come hot and wet inside you, gradually slowing his movements until the two of you are still, hands running over each other as you catch your breath.

He finally rises, pushing himself down the bed and lifting one of your legs over his. You’ve never seen that look on his face before, like he can’t process what has just happened or how he’s feeling about it. He just sits there, stroking your leg as his expression goes through a series of subtle changes until his eyes come to rest on your pussy.

He’s not making any effort to conceal the hunger in his stare. His hand drifts up your thigh and he strokes at the apex of it with a calloused thumb.

“It’s perfect,” he mumbles. “Fucking perfect. The color, the shape, those gorgeous thick lips. It’s like I never want to look at anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I wish I had. I wish I’d said it every time you let me have it.” He squeezes at the flesh just a little and teases pushing a couple of fingers inside. “I want to take a picture.”

“No way.”

“I know, I know. I’d just love to take a picture and send it to him so he could see what he’s missing. So he could see how beautiful it looks with my cum leaking out of it.”

You spring up and try to push yourself away but he instantly has a tight grip on your leg and gives a sharp bite to the inside of your knee.

“I’ll bet he was a good little boy,” he sighs, resting his head against your thigh. “I’ll bet he wore a condom for you so that you felt nice and safe.”

You can’t even speak, you're so angry.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“It’s none of your goddamned business, Jay.” You glare at him, wanting to wipe that infuriating smile off his face forever. “Yes, we used condoms. A lot of them.”

“Oh of course. I forgot what an amazing lover he is. All sweet and attentive.”

“Not as sweet as you think, asshole. But you’re right about amazing. Like I said, the best-“

“No, he isn’t.” He pushes the heel of his hand against your pussy, stimulating the nerves without making it physically painful. “Did you tell him you let me fuck you without a condom? That you stay on birth control for me?”

“Funny,” you sneer, “it didn’t come up.”

He stares at you, flicking his tongue over his lips.

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” You groan.

“Would you still be here if I wasn’t?”

That hits you like a glass of ice water and while you’re trying to think of a retort, he pulls you up onto his lap and starts peppering you with kisses like he hasn’t just behaved like a monster.

“You think I’m joking but I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go away. I’m not going to settle for being the second most important man in your life. “

“I don’t think it would bother you if you weren’t thinking you were about to come second to David Finlay. Again.”

He locks his arm around you and stands up in one smooth movement. You know how hard he works on his body and how strong he is but your jaw still drops a little at how effortless it is. He doesn’t even have to hold you particularly tight to support your whole weight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You croak.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And with that, he whisks you off to his adjoining room.

#jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #david finlay imagine #david finlay fanfic #njpw fanfic #wrestling fanfic #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years ago

Text

c’mere, honey | d.h

BASED ON THIS ASK... can i ask for a like happy fic wit female pronouns and prompt 34? diego hargreeves pls ily -- anon. WARNINGS: female pronouns used; no physical descriptions of the person are made, but I didn’t go gender-neutral on this one, per the anon’s request. this was written a while ago, but i’m reposting bc tumblr refuses to let anything of mine be shown in tags anymore. :( hopefully this works. x

HE WASN’T SURE WHEN THE NIGHTLY VISITS BECAME A SERIOUS HABIT.

He never did it with the intention to start a regular schedule. It had only been a combination of piss-poor factors -- his late night street-stalking habits, his inability to stay away from the one friend he hadn’t lost yet, and the fact that no matter how bad his night had gone, he couldn’t make it past a minute without laughing at one of her stupid jokes, or smiling at her dancing stupidly in the kitchen in an attempt to make him happy. He wanted to be around her, and his body dragged him to her apartment even without thinking about it, and then...it just happened.

He came to her almost every night. Sometimes he felt bad about it and skipped out, forcing himself to take a break from bothering her. But she scolded him about that every time. Like she actually wanted him there, stinking about her living room and staring at her swivelling form every chance he could. He didn’t really believe her, but he came anyways.

Couldn’t keep himself away.

That night started just as they always did. Diego slipped in through the half-cracked window, and she hailed him in with a loud cry too cheery for that time of night. He used to flinch at her touch; over time, he grew to expect it. Even going so far as to reach for her incoming arms, pulling her to him as tight as he could and burrowing his cold face in her neck. Sometimes, he debated pulling back enough and kissing the soft, sweet-smelling skin, just barely pressing his love into the curve.

“I missed you,” he said instead. The words were muffled by her thick red sweater, but when her arms squeezed a little harder, he knew she heard him. “You good?”

“All good,” she replied. “Better, now that I’ve seen you.”

They’ve always shared a flirtatious relationship -- it built naturally and lingered even when they remained strictly platonic. Maybe it was what he liked most about her. She didn’t seem to bother with the strict guidelines of most friendships. Lines always blurred with her and the way she hugged, how she held his hand and traced soft details into the calloused skin -- how she pulled him to the couch and sank into with his arms still around her, forcing his shivering body to lean into her own honey sweet touch.

She pulled away from him a little, holding onto his gloved hands. Her own fingers danced over the black fabric.

“You’re always so cold.”

“M’sorry.”

She shrugged. Her grasp still held. “Not a bad thing. Just an observation.”

Diego wondered if he should pull away. If he should just pull his hands out of her grasp and throw himself out from whence he came. He didn’t want to ruin her. Pull apart her naturally warm energy with his cold, bitter touch. She was too good...for him, for the world, for life in general.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Her brows furrowed dark and heavy over gentle eyes. In the back of his mind, Diego imagines reaching out and smoothing the worry lines that formed. He considers letting his cold hands press into her skin. His fingers almost leap forward on their own accord. It takes all his inner strength to hold the eagerness back, to remind himself to keep some distance.

His hands fell limp in her grasp. She didn’t miss a beat.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Diego didn’t look at her. He knew she would catch the strand too quickly and pull the lie too fast and he wasn’t built to withstand a loss like that. “I’m okay.” But his voice caught, and he stumbled over his own falsehood. “I...just…”

“...just?”

“Tired,” Diego sighed. And he is. It’s not far from the real, full truth. “Just tired.”

Her head cocked, surveying his sunken form. Her tongue clicks; the sound made him think of a hen, and his brain imagined her fussing over him with the grace of a mother.

“You need to sleep more, honey.”

God, he loved when she called him honey.

“Nah? And miss hanging out with my favourite person?”

Her nose crinkled. If he was more alert, he would catch how her eyes glowed dull red in the lamplight, or the way she had to blink away the fuzzy feeling creeping into her mind. He’d later chide himself for it. “There’s no way I’m your favourite person.”

It was easy, though, to just know his answer was right. Not because of the fact that he could count the number of people he liked on one hand, or because she let him show up too late and stay too late and bother her until it was way too early. She was comfortable. He didn’t have to think about what he said next with her, or what was going to screw things up, or if she was going to leave him because everyone else had.

“Regardless of your lies,” she said, cutting him off before a single syllable could leave his lips, “you should sleep. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m good.”

“Yeah, and I’m a superhero.”

“Are you?”

She didn’t laugh at that, just clicked her tongue again before suddenly, out of nowhere, pulling her hands from his grasp. She left him cold and stranded on her dilapidated couch and he just watched, seeing her rush out of the room before he could protest.

“I - is--” the words failed him, because his brain failed to catch up to the point where she left him and hadn’t yet provided a reason why. Diego stared at the point he last saw her go. “Is everything okay?”

THUMP. THUMP. CRASH.

“What -- are you okay?!”

“I--” two more thumps come crashing down, echoing into the tiny living space. “I’m good! Just -- stay there!”

“How the -- what the -- why can’t I come?!”

“--don’t get up! I’ll be right back!”

It took every single inch of him to remain seated. He yearned to rush over, pull out a knife and slice through whatever danger she must be facing -- it’s only her voice that stopped him. The reminder that ‘throwing knives in her apartment is absolutely off the table, no matter the circumstances’. She taught him patience, forced him to swallow the bitter pill and remain in his seat despite the fear careening through his bruised and battered frame.

When she returned, he could see the surprise on her face that she was still there. And even when his heart raced and threatened to pop in its shallow cavity, Diego smiled. Are you proud? he wonders to himself.

“Take off your harness,” she instructed. The bundle in her arms fell to the ground with a decided plop of fabrics; his eyes immediately caught on the brightly coloured comforter, and the mound of pillows she had stuffed into it. “Get comfy, you know, whatever--”

“--what are you doing?”

“Oh,” she said, like she was only just then realising the oddity of her actions. Her gaze flitted down to the blankets, then back up to him. “Well, I just...call it setting up camp.”

That didn’t answer anything at all. “What?”

“Take off the thing-y!”

He obliged, still waiting for an answer.

She rushed forward and pulled her blankets with her. Diego followed every motion. “We’re going to make you relax. It’s cold, and I know you’re tired, and you need to take a break at some point. The city’s gonna lose it’s Knife-Boy if you don’t take a little break.”

He huffed. His gaze caught on her own, sharp and amused. “What, we’re going to cuddle?”

“Don’t laugh, honey. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do!”

“I -- what?”

Her grin is bright and unwavering. Yellow, he mused to himself, just as bright as the first rays of sun or the polkadots on her pillow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never cuddled before, honey.”

“Uh…” Shit. Crap. “Well…”

“Holy shit, have you never cuddled with someone before?!”

He shrugged haplessly, too embarrassed (was this something to be embarrassed about?) to look at her again. “Never came up in life?”

That was somewhat true. Childhood rarely offered moments of comfort amidst the grueling battles he fought with, for, and against his siblings -- and when it did, it came in brief cheek kisses and pats on the back when his father wasn’t looking and his mother saw his face fall most. He never realised there was even more to intimacy of any kind until he left the Academy and he fucked up his first relationship, then fell into another with Patch. And Patch hadn’t craved physical touch like he secretly did, so he pushed down the desire to pull her tight to him and let her leave him cold and high. He never fought for touch because simply he didn’t believe he was deserving of such things. That he was too stiff and wild and red all over to be embraced like a kid.

Not until her, did Diego crave it most. But he fought it and settled for the little things. To avoid hurting her, too.

“Oh, honey…” her voice drips of yellow sympathy, sweet and soothing against his wounded heart. He let it sink into the cut. “C’mere.”

Diego didn’t fight her. He let her pull her in. He watched, almost out of his own body, as she tugs off his gloves and tosses away his domino mask, smiling softly back at him with the gentleness of a dove. Her arms draw an inviting embrace and he would be a fool to not fall into it, even when he felt stiff and awkward in her hold.

“Relax,” she whispered into his ear. She smiled slightly when he shivered, pulling back so she could rest against his shoulder. “Just...relax.”

“You know I got places to be tonight, right?”

“Not right now, you don’t.”

“I can’t just…”

The hand that wasn’t clinging around his shoulders pulled at his fingers; he smiled despite himself as they once again twisted around his, intertwining the slender digits. He fought the urge to kiss her knuckles.

“Lay back, and relax, honey.” Her head curled in, resting more on his upper chest then. He wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart. “Even badass losers like yourself, need their rest.”

“You don’t have to do this, for me.”

Her face shuffled closer, moving from his chest to rest just where his neck curved down to his torso. He might have imagined it but Diego thought he felt just the slightest brush of her lips against his skin -- soft enough so he could pass it off as nothing, but there enough for him to roll the moment back, over and over and over in his mind.

“Sure, I do,” she mumbled. His embrace pressed even closer. “Everyone needs a cuddle buddy.”

Diego snorted, half out of principle and half because he never thought he’d be in a position like this with anyone. Especially not someone he would trust so indefinitely and without question. Someone who called him honey, without questioning the sounds before they left her lips. He wondered if one could get addicted to a physical sensation, and if he would be the next victim, that he would become obsessed with the feeling of someone actually holding him.

“Just relax, honey.”

And in spite of all his worries and his mind, he obeyed his heart, and did.

A/N - I’m purposely choosing not to reread and reread this because I’ll hate it. I already sort of do, a tad, but...oh well. Not my best work, but I hope this is alright and you enjoy. :)

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves fluff #tua x reader #hargreeves x reader #female reader #mine

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little-writings · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I LOVE your writing and you're my fav writer for jumin 💖 Can you do a continuation of your fic 'Before I go to sleep' ? Where MC finally woke up remembering who jumin is? My heart aches for jumin and I would really like to see what happens. You don't have to if you don't want to ><

I think it’d actually be really fun to write a prompt of this sort! Especially since the ‘Before I go to Sleep’ is one of my favorite that I’ve written! Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and have an amazing day, thank you!

‘Before I go to Sleep’ Prompt

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You’d never quite realized how easy it was to start a fuss. After all, the only thing you’d done was say a name.

You’d only just begun to wake when you felt a rise and fall pressed against your back -- a breathing body, comfortable and steady. You were in a room you didn’t entirely know, but you recognized. And when you turned your head with groggy, heavy eyes you saw a man you didn’t entirely know, but you recognized. Like the fuzziest memories of childhood, a fondness brimmed at your chest.

A name even came to mind.

“Jumin...”

The man beside you shifted at the mention of his name. His sooty curls of hair brushed against your cheek before he raised his head lazily. His eyes flickered open, revealing a soft, velvety grey full of drowsiness. He looked down at you, brows furrowing in confusion as if he thought he might’ve imagined something.

“What was that? Did you say something?”

You raised a hand to press your palm to his cheek, the edge of your fingertips brushing his hair and the warmth of his face sinking against your skin. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Jumin...?”

He made a sound almost like a laugh were it not for the disbelief that was so strongly entwined with it. “Yes it is -- how did you-” He took in a sharp breath. “How did you know that?”

You paused, thinking. “Well, why wouldn’t I? We look close enough for me to know your name.” You chuckled. “Unless I’m wrong?”

“No... no!” He blurted out the last bit in a rush, his words stumbling out with a fumbling mind. “Would you come with me?”

You nodded and Jumin hurried from the bed in an instant. He took your hands and led you out from under the blankets and the sheets. The sunshine spilled over your bare limbs and your feet stumbled onto the carpet, but Jumin was practically whirling. He guided you to the bathroom where a mural of photos was on display -- some featuring just the two of you with hands interlocked and smiles engraved upon your faces. Others had a small white cat with the most beautiful coat of fur you’d ever seen, and others featured a group of people with shades of red, yellow, and white among them, and happiness splayed about every one of them.

‘Jumin Han’

‘Your husband’

‘Elizabeth 3rd’

‘RFA’

For each photo, you only had the faintest inkling of who they were and why they were important, but you had a feeling that was more than usual. You could almost make out names and places.

“These are... our friends aren’t they?” You asked, fingers tracing over the photos.

“They’re our life,” Jumin answered softly, just a few steps behind you. “I tried to get as many photos as possible to show all that we’d been through.”

You found the wedding quickly. It must’ve been a grand event because your heart tugged at the very sight of it.

“How long have we been together?” You asked.

“Almost ten years now, coming next month. You’ve had this... condition for four years.” Jumin let out a deep breath, and as you turned to see him you noticed just how much he fidgeted. He tapped his knuckles, anxiously grappled with his wrist. Perhaps it tethered him, kept Jumin grounded. “But never once have you remembered anything.”

“Not once? Not even the accident?”

Jumin’s eyes widened like saucers. “You remember the accident?”

The question had slipped without you truly knowing just what it meant.

The accident.

Something flashed in your head, deep within those memories that’d been locked away for so, so long. Chatter and laughter between you and Jumin as you sat close together in a car. The beaming sights of the city and the flickers of the traffic lights -- green, yellow-

And red. Red.

An eighteen-wheeler ran a red light when it slammed into your car and despite everything Jumin did to save you, it wasn’t enough. The vehicle still slammed into the remaining traffic and your head still careened through the glass.

“I nearly died.” You muttered. “I was dead at the hospital for a few seconds -- wasn’t I?”

All it took was that confession, that realization, for the tears to flow. All those thoughts and feelings flooding back in a horrifying break of pressure. Like the crashing of a dam, it was wholly and entirely uncontrollable. You remembered the pain of the glass smashing against your head and the shards that cracked on your skull. Jumin, hovering over you where the brunt of the metal of your mangled car stabbed him. His leg crushed beneath it all, and still Jumin protecting you.

“Oh god-” You cried, tears flowing and a weight pressing against your chest.

Your brain had spent so long coping how it knew best, how else could you withstand the onslaught?

Jumin raced to catch you, but hesitated at the last moment, arms outstretched and worry painting every inch of him. “Can I...?”

And then you remembered the first mornings after the mechanism began. How you looked at him and saw a total stranger. You’d screamed and clawed your way with all your might granted to you to the corner of the bedroom, and Jumin just as confused and bewildered as you were. In a moment he’d reached out to you, to explain, or just to offer the slightest bit of comfort and your panic reached a breaking point. You hit him. You hit him and locked yourself in the bathroom, clawing at your trembling body and searching for a single ounce of safety where none could be found.

Only after had you counted to one thousand through shaky whispers did you feel secure enough to step out.

There, in the living room, you saw Jumin and despite the fear that’d overtaken you minutes before, at the sight of him, what remained was pity. You couldn’t hear a sound and yet could still tell tears had been shed.

How could you have done that? No matter the years that’d passed since then the pain and guilt was now.

When you looked up at Jumin, arms outstretched, all you could muster was, “I’m sorry,” before falling into his arms.

You stayed like that for a good while, even when you fell to sniffles and shivering. Jumin drew gentle fingers over your spine and pressed you close to his chest. His heartbeat was the only thing keeping you grounded, a gentle thump against your ear to remind you that you were here, and so was Jumin.

It was only interrupted by a knocking on the front door, and you knew just who it was.

“Are you okay if I leave?” Jumin asked quietly. “It’ll only be a moment.”

You gave a weak nod, but that did little to convince him.

“Are you sure?”

Another knock.

“Yes,” You reassured, sputtering a whimpering that was incredibly embarrassing. “Yes, go get V.”

“V... you remember him too.”

You heard hushed whispers between the two of them as Jumin brought V inside. He’d only aged a little, thicker frames for his glasses and a tighter grasp upon his cane. But you recognized him in an instant.

You sniffled, rising slowly. How much his vision had further faded mattered little for you still offered him a smile. “Hi.”

V gave a gentle grin, moving closer to take your hand in his own, ever so kindly. His heart only softened over the years. “Hi. How’re you feeling?”

Your chin quivered despite your best efforts. “Not great.”

V chuckled and gave a squeeze to your palm. “That just won’t do, will it?”

Your therapist was given a brief call where for as much explanation Jumin attempted, confusion was ridiculously apparent on both ends. She fumbled for rescheduling the next day and wished you both the best but the pauses between every few words told you enough.

And instead, V called the RFA.

They’d come in a rush and one by one you recognized them like light bulbs flickering on. Yoosung. Zen. 707. Jahee. If only in the simplest, tiniest flecks you knew them.

“Are you sure they remember us?” Yoosung whispered to Jumin. “They seem... nervous.”

Zen elbowed Yoosung’s side, his white hair tied up high and tight. “Wouldn’t you be? It’s like waking up from a four-year coma? Or something like that.”

“It’s not quite like that,” Jahee remarked. “But the poetic sentiment is surely appreciated.”

You couldn’t stifle the snicker that brought out of you. Jahee’s eyes brightened. “Did you think that was funny? D-Do you remember me?”

“I do. You’re Jahee -- Jahee Kang. You’ve always helped me and Jumin, always.”

Jahee adjusted her glasses so that sunlight could hide perhaps the faintest shine in her gaze, the ends of her lips turning upwards. “Yes, I uh -- I suppose I have.”

“Well, what about me huh~?” 707 chimed, lazily drooping over Jahee’s shoulder. He soon found himself stumbling as Jahee stepped away, staggering to a stop just before you. He hadn’t lost his silliness, but he had steadied himself in his own way. “Remember me?”

You nudged his shoulder, scoffing. “Of course I do! You talk too much for me to forget.”

707 grappled at his chest in mock hurt but the boyish grin never left his face. “Ah! Try to have some compassion, I’m sensitive!”

Jumin approached you and set a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm them. I’m sure this is a lot to take in already.”

“It is.” You answered. “But I want this, I really do.”

The next few hours could only be akin to opening up a scrapbook that hadn’t been seen in ages. The stories told between you livened up both the room and your mind -- like holiday lights brightening everything in their wake. RFA parties, anniversaries, and birthdays all those times that brought you together closer than family.

Each member of the RFA had waited just as patiently as Jumin for you to come back. The whole day they couldn’t stop reminding you of even the most ridiculous of things you’d done together just so you could erupt into giggles and for all the sorrow and pain that’d arose in the morning you could feel joy at that moment.

Only when night replaced the day and stars decorated the sky overhead did they leave -- and even then it was reluctant. The RFA refused to leave without a hug at the very least. Yoosung, Jahee, and Zen promised to come by in the morning, 707 promised more than a few calls, and V assured you he’d come by at the drop of a hat if you asked.

Of course, just as the morning began, it was just you and Jumin.

“How’re you feeling?” He wondered gingerly as he closed the door behind him.

“Is there a word for when you’re excited but also overwhelmed?”

Jumin laughed. “I think you described it perfectly. May I?”

You nodded and he pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering sweetly. “You did so well, if it helps.”

You sat down on the sofa with Jumin only falling behind at the sight of the television. He eyed it carefully. More specifically, he eyed the tapes beneath the television. “Would you like to watch one of these?”

You pointed to the one you knew best. “How about the wedding?”

The smile that brought Jumin made your very heart swell. He started the video without a word and sat down beside you. Your hands brushed beside one another and slowly enveloped like you’d done so many times before.

The wedding followed just like you remembered. The music that filled the room and the two of you -- a surprisingly small ceremony with only your closest family. Even through the screen, one could see nothing but absolute adoration between the two of you. You practically hurried down the aisle.

“Are you... afraid about tomorrow?” Nervousness began to bubble up inside of you, digging your feet into the floor. “About me forgetting in the morning?”

“I’d be lying if I said no. Something like this -- it just seems too good to be true.”

In the wedding, you’d begun exchanging vows. You could hardly make it through your beginning sentences without bursting into sheepish snickering. You couldn’t quite remember what Jumin murmured to you when you buried your head in the crook of his neck but you’d both laughed.

“But I do know, that if something does happen, and you do forget -- we’ll take it one step at a time like we always have.” He softened. “It won’t change a thing.”

Your eyes grew heavy as you watched the last few minutes of the video, Jumin’s vows as devoted and tender as words could possibly be. Your heart threatened to burst just listening to them all over again.

“Well, in case I do forget,” You rested your head on Jumin’s shoulder, soon resting his own head against you in return. “I love you.”

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation from Jumin. It was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, and it quelled all of your fears for the morning. It was going to be okay, no matter what came.

You’d do your best to say good morning when the next day arrived.

“I love you too.”

88 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Note

Thought about something cute like reader and 5sos singing on the same festival and she’s dating cal 😭 and they switch with her guitarist and drummer boy and at first she didn’t notice but they they start to have so much fun together at the stage dancing together and doing stupid shit them following her around as she tries to prevent herself from giggling too much and actually singing 🥺🥺 and later she walks down when 5sos are performing with crystal Kay and Sierra omg 😳

+ I’m sorry I’m annoying but part two to my last asks!! I just imagine calum being all heart eyes for her minding his own business tho playing his guitar but every time he doesn’t have to use vocals or his bass he caught her hand or keep her close and ahh singing wildflower to her!!’ When at first the girls just wanted to have fun on stage with them but Calum just keeps her close the whole time singing to her and her singing back with him and being all funny and giggly together ooof

Thanks for your suggestion! It took me a minute to get to it. I did combine it with a few other suggestions. One person asked for drama and someone asked for angst. And viola! Here it is.

This is the last part of the Distance series! I’ll do an epilogue if folks want to send in some suggestions for it! HUGE thanks to everyone that sent me ideas! This series wouldn’t be what is it without you guys!

Find the Distance series masterlist here! Here’s my main masterlist! CW: 18+ (Smut). Angst. Lots of Fluff.

Songs I played: Woman and From The Dining Table by Harry Styles!

Here it is at a WHOOPINg 9.6k. Enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________

The release of her album is followed by a tour. At first, she’s excited. Her mind runs wild with possibilities. Her fingers can’t keep up fast enough with every wonder and question she sends to Calum and thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind the incessant buzzing. He takes each question in stride. It’s nice, in a way, for him to have the wisdom to give her. Like she doesn’t have to go in blind like he did, especially since it’s just her. He hopes he can make her feel a little less alone on the road. It can be a hard road to travel alone.

The glimmer starts to wear off fast. Rehearsals turn her into a zombie. She’s up fairly early stretching, taking her dog for a walk, trying to remind herself that everything’s going to fall into place like it needs to, but the second she walks into the rehearsal space it feels like everything is going to fall apart. That somehow everything she’s ever wanted on tour is just too much, too much out of the budget, too much because she doesn’t have the weight to her name just yet. And maybe it’s a lot of glitz and glamour. Maybe she is asking for too much. Maybe that would be her downfall.

Her phone buzzes. And she pauses, sitting on the floor with her mic in hand, and glances over to it. It’s Calum again. Another message that she won’t actually read until some ungodly hour in the night. He’s got to be up to his throat in worry. She can’t seem to think enough to text him back during the day. Too much is going on. She feels like she’s going to sink, just through the carpeted floor and through the concrete foundation and bury herself into the dirt. Maybe that would be a better fate for her.

She turns her attention back to her notebook, with the crude drawing she made when she was trying to set the stage. “Let’s just,” she sighs. “Let’s start from scratch.”

And it works. Though it’s long and arduous, she’s able to figure out how to set the stage, finalizing the neon design. There’s a rough draft at the video that will be playing behind her for a wardrobe change. By the time she’s able to crawl into her sheets, it’s nearly 1 am. There’s barely enough energy to keep her eyes open to send Calum an apology text. When she wakes, she grins at her dog waiting patiently at the side of her bed. “Ready to go, bubs?”

They give a tiny whine and rest their snout on the covers. She laughs, “Yeah, you’re ready to go.” She manages to brush her teeth and slips into a change of clothes before going out for a run.

Between showering and getting dressed, she checks her messages. Happy to hear that you got things straightened, baby. Reach out whenever you get a breather, reads the text from Calum.

She responds with a good morning text and then switches over to her email. At the top is an email with ‘urgent’ in the subject. She’s praying it’s not more bad news. She doesn’t quite have the heart to withstand more bad news after the progress they made yesterday. It’s details about a festival date in LA. That perfectly lines between her break between the European leg of the tour and the North America dates. She doesn’t even think twice about agreeing to the festival show.

Right as her day winds down, from a shockingly smooth day of rehearsals, Calum calls her. And though she’s drenched in sweat from the light choreography and running it for hours, she stops and answers. “Hey, baby.”

“Oh, she lives!”

“I know, I know. Sorry.”

“Only kidding. I know you’re hard at work. It’s just really good to hear your voice. How are rehearsals?”

“Really good now. Once we got over the hump, it’s like smooth sailing.”

“Good, I’m glad. I was calling. We got word a couple days ago about a festival show right when you’re on break between legs. And I was hoping you had some free time, just to hang out.”

She can’t contain the smile, leaning her head against the window. The evening twilight has already settled outside. “I’m joining that festival too. And we’ll be hanging out in LA for a few days for rehearsals and then shipping out. So absolutely, we can hang out. I miss your face. And Duke. God, I miss Duke.”

He laughs. Of course she emphasizes her longing for his dog over him. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I really can’t wait to see you.” It falls from his lips in a whisper, a secret between the two of them that no one else can be in on. But the boys see it. Everytime his phone buzzes he does his best to look at it as soon as he can just in case it’s her. It’s harder to get out of bed, especially when he hasn’t talked to her in a while. “Can’t wait to kiss you again.”

“You’re a sap, you know.”

“But I’m your sap.”

She giggles, softly, watching cars whizz by. “Yeah, you are my sap.”

_________________________________

Her tour starts off well. And even though it’s her first time being out on the road like this, a constant bouncing around, and completely flipping her normal routine, she manages to cope pretty well. And it helps of course when she calls her friends, or talks to her dog. But it’s still definitely draining, pouring every bit of herself out on stage and then having just enough time to recoup before doing it all over again. There’s value in it, when the lights lift, and she can see the crowd that’s gathered just for her. It’s surreal and makes her feel like she could do this all the time. That the only thing she’d ever need is the sound of a crowd singing her songs back to her.

In her dressing room, she swaps the gold earrings for a pair of acrylic ones, these jade green. “You’re too quiet on me,” she says, flicking her gaze down to her tablet.

Calum picks his head up. “It’s hard to say much when perfection’s staring you in the face.”

She grins, hooking the earring back on. “Thank you, but that’s not what I meant.”

“We just got word about two more festivals in the same week you have your break. One’s in LA still, the other one’s a little ways out.” There’s no need to fake the funk anymore, or hide it away. She has another three weeks of shows before her break. And maybe he expects her to fly off the handle. Maybe he expects her to throw a fit, about how they had made plans, and it’s the only time they’ll get for each other for months.

But she doesn’t. She nods, fingers twirling over her rings. “What are they others saying?”

“They’re itching to get back on stage. And from a business standpoint, it’s money in the pocket of course. But I know we made plans and I feel like an ass. But there’s also the band, too.”

“Our jobs aren’t easy,” she sighs. “Take the gigs.” Calum can see her eyes tearing up just a little. “Mind if tag along on the LA show?”

“Of course not. I’m really, really sorry, buttercup. I’m so sorry.”

She waves her hand, trying to keep the tears back. If they fall, they become real. It’s his job. Just like it’s hers. “I get it.” It’s tight as it leaves her throat. And it takes her a second, plus a few sips of water to get control of her emotions, and clear out all the tears that threaten to fall. He wishes he could say more, or do more. But it’s like the words die in his throat. And he’s left, mouth gaping, wishing and wanting, but unable to do anything.

“Does it look bad if I just forgo my heels tonight from the start? They’re killing my feet on stage,” she laughs.

It’s a small grin, upturns a corner of his mouth but doesn’t keep it up for long. “You usually end up kicking them off anyway, halfway through the show.”

“Someone’s been scrolling through my name on Twitter, huh?”

He does. Watching her is mesmerizing and he’s sad that he can’t get the chance to see it in person, so he resorts to the fan videos. But he’s yet to admit to it. “I do not do such a thing.” And there’s giggles. A fit of laughter as she looks over the outfits and plucks her oversize denim jacket and figures even in the shorts, she can make the docs Calum surprised her with work. So she slides into the worn red leather shoes and starts lacing them up.

Calum whistles, heart racing just a little. He didn’t know those shoes had made the cut. “Look at you.”

She strikes a pose but laughs. “Do I look good?”

“You look fucking amazing, buttercup.”

__________________________

The sound of the crowd roaring before her ears turn on will always make her heart race. Calum said he would try to sneak side stage, but considering that he had to play on the mainstage right after her set on the side stage, it might not be for long. She didn’t mind that. But she hadn’t seen him. Not a blond crop in sight, of course if he hasn’t changed his hair since the last time. Her bassist strums the opening cord and it sends the crowd into a tizzy. With her guitar strapped around, she rolls out her neck, lining up.

As they walk out onto the stage, they launch right into the first song. She feels her fingers buzzing as she strums. But it feels good. The LA sun is hot but she kind of welcomes it versus the heat of the stage lights. There’s still a small breeze. It comes in waves for sure and she can tell that her pits are going to be soaked by song three. “How’s everybody doing?” she shouts into the mic.

There’s cheer in response and she laughs, hearing it reverb for just a moment. “That’s what I like to hear. Just want to say thank you for coming to see me play today. Your support truly means a lot to me.”

She continues on for just a few more seconds and right as she goes to introduce the fourth song of her set, everyone in the crowd starts to get rowdy. She thinks nothing of it, as the song starts. But she knows something is happening and she turns to check her drummer and in her spin, there’s Calum, her bassist’s bass slung over his shoulder, fingers sliding over the frets, plucking at the strings. Not that she doesn’t think Calum would go for a mint green bass on his own, but she hasn’t seen one in his collection just yet.

If it weren’t for the verse coming back up, she knows she would just stare. Singing into her mic, she throws a few glances over to him. Waiting as the harmony comes in and Calum slides up to the music, voice smooth in her inner ears, she almost melts right there on the spot. She hadn’t quite thought about the way his voice would sound with hers, but god, he harmonizes like an angel. She finishes the verse, with a small break before the chorus again. The stage is kind of small but while facing the crowd, she can’t quite see to her sides.

She knows though. She can almost sense when Calum approaches her. She giggles just a little into the mic, watching him smile at her. His head bobbing like it always does when he gets into whatever he’s playing or listening too. Calum plays next to her, watching the way the sweat trails down her forehead, but doesn’t streak an ounce of her makeup. He almost gives in, almost bends in to kiss her on the cheek, but he doesn’t. He lets her voice and the song carry him away, into his spin and up to the drummer’s stand. One foot on the riser, Calum bobs along, laughing at his expression, the raised eyebrow that says it all.

She gets a small break to watch the way Calum interacts with her band. Almost as if he’s known them just as long as she has. And in some ways, he probably has. She talks about Calum to them and talks about her band to Calum all the time. Once the song ends, Calum throws one hand in a tiny wave, before smiling over at her. “Didn’t scare you, did I?” he asks, away from the mic.

She shakes her head, sure that her cheeks will hurt after this. Laughing, she thanks Calum as he walks off stage. And she knows, she knows she shouldn’t. But she jogs after him, as her bassist comes back on, sending a smile over her shoulder too. It’s in that moment that it becomes clear, this was planned. Catching Calum right in the wings, she catches his wrist, tugging him in close before kissing him. It’s quick, but Calum’s heart races in his chest. She runs back out. “Sorry about that guys. I did not expect that.”

And as they get back to their set, Calum watches her for one more song, the way she dances around the stage. Their gazes lock just before he leaves and he blows a quick kiss, before his security are running him down the stage steps and across the festival grounds to get back to the mainstage in time. “How’d it go?” Michael asks.

“Well,” Calum grins, throwing his brown and black bass over his shoulder.

“Get any smooches?” Luke teases, smacking his lips together, while his arm is slung over Sierra’s shoulder.

“And if I did?”

“On stage?” Michael screeches.

“No, side stage. I almost kissed her on stage. But I didn’t want that all over the internet.” Considering that they aren’t official publically in any capacity, it would just cause more headache. Their set begins and Calum knows she has to run across the festival, so he’s not worried when by the time they step out and get three songs in, she hasn’t shown up at the side of the stage. And by the time, Calum regains consciousness enough to check again, there she is, standing off to the side, still in what she performed and breathing hard but she waves, gently from the side.

Out of reflex, once the chords are played, he gives a small wave in return. She returns the blown kiss from earlier and the other girls laugh softly at the action. “God, you guys are so fucking smitten with each other, it’s insane,” Sierra jokes.

There’s no denying it she knows. They’re like lovesick puppies and though it would normally annoy her, it’s nice. Without another word, she sips at her bottle of water and watches Calum, with all the laughs and grins he gives, pouring his soul out onto the stage.

And though the video calls, and the calls, work. They’re not quite enough. Her tour comes to an end, but just around the corner is Calum’s tour with the band. She think she might be able to sneak another week away before she starts working on her album, but then she gets asked to perform at some more festivals in her home country. And, who is she to turn that down? The more shows she plays, the more her name is out there, the more streams, and the merchandise is purchased. It becomes an endless wheel. Things just keep going, and going, and going and the whole time, she keeps looking for the breaks. For the thing that can put her life on pause and let her feel normal again.

Everytime she thinks she can get real time with Calum, it ends up short. He has something that comes up. She has something that comes in. It was the festival in LA and now her festival run. It’s his tour and her sophomore album. Why had she met Calum when she did? Was the universe playing a cruel joke on her? Was it taunting her that it could give her everything she wanted and then threatening to have it crumble? Sitting her hotel room, her phone shakes, another call from Calum. She doesn’t answer it, staring at the fridge in her room. She could get a drink. Wouldn’t be hard just take it from the mini fridge.

Her phone stops shaking. And then a minute later, it chimes, letting her know that a voice message has been left behind. The third one and more likely than not it’s from Calum. She wants this. She wants the relationship, but lately, it felt like there was no time. There was no time for anything. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t pause. And that’s all she wanted. That’s all she wants right now. She doesn’t want to open that voicemail to Calum pleading with her to answer. She wants to get back to when things were easier. And obviously, they were easier because they both had nothing to do.

Swiping her room key and her wallet, she heads down to the bar in the hotel. She orders herself a glass of wine. The glass makes a soft click as it settles down in front of her. She takes one sip. And it’s a little bitter, the red drier than she remembers it being. Soon the glass stares back at her and she can see her warped reflection. Would it just be easier for them to take things down a level? Is she afraid of hard work or more afraid of heartache?

With another two glasses of wine in her, she climbs back into the elevator and it takes her up, floor by floor until it digs and the doors slide open. The room is dark when she reenters like she left it the AC blasting. But she can see the blue light of her phone, on the desk, lighting up that corner of the room. Is it fair? If she wants to bolt, if she wants to cut ties so it makes things so much easier for them? Why couldn’t it be easy?

Calum’s sure he’s going to pull all his hair out. One moment, things are going good. They get a little tight for sure with their schedules never quite lining up to allow them more time together. But this is the third day in a row that he’s gone with nothing from her. No texts, not a returned call. Not even a meme in their Twitter thread. Nothing on her finsta. Her regular account post mainly about her upcoming shows. But he is as closed to being blocked without actually being blocked.

“Hey, I-I don’t know if something’s gone wrong. But please, please call me back. Or text me. Or send me a voice message. Something. Anything. Please? If I did anything, please let know what it was? I’m worried. Am I losing you?”

He ends the recording and sends it. Maybe he ought to stop reaching out so much. Should he wait for her to respond before sending more? But he doesn’t want to lose her? He doesn’t want to lose what they have. He hasn’t found it with anyone else in all his searching and even in his not searching. This fell into his lap and he can’t stand to lose it. Not when there had to be something to do to save it.

His phone sits for another day and half before she calls. He hands shake as he goes to answer it. He almost doesn’t want to answer it. His vegetable stir fry even threatens to come back up his throat. It’s not even burnt this time. But somewhere in his mind, somewhere deep, he had figured she wouldn’t ever call him back. He would be cursed to always wonder what went wrong. “Hey,” he breathes as he answers the call.

“Hey.” It’s croaky, like she might’ve been crying. And then it’s silent. Neither one of them are sure how to bring it up. Neither of them know how to ask what’s lingering between the two of them seems almost too much for words.

“Did I do something?”

“No,” she sighs. It would be easier if he had. It would be easier if she had. It would be easier if both of them were just bad for each other. “It’s just hard.”

“Talk to me. Let me in. We can figure it out.”

That’s the whole crux of her issue. She had let Calum in. She had let him so far in that it was starting to seem impossible to stay in her country and work. She had let him so far in that she wasn’t sure it would be possible to go months without seeing him properly. He was in everything, her bookshelves, her closet, her studio, her lyrics, her studio, in her sheets. Everything reminded her of him. And it just hurt in a way that she didn’t think being in love could hurt. In her silence, Calum continues on, “Let me look at something.” He scrolls through the emails, looking at the dates.

“How? How do we figure it out? On your tour, the only break you have in my country I’m in promo. And after that, you only get a day here or there. Everything’s so mismatched now.”

Calum blinks the tears that are stinging at his lower lash line. “Something’s gonna give.” Something has to give. There has to be something. Calum goes back to emails. What would be the magic code for them?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

His throat jumps at her words, heart racing. “No, don’t say that. If you say that, I know what comes next.”

“Maybe it would just be easier, Calum.”

He is sick of it. Sick of things always blowing up in his face. But he can’t make her do something. He can’t make her take the words back, even if he wants her too. “We said there was an us.” It’s not accusorary as it falls from his lips. It just hurts. Things were going so well for so long, until time proved herself the ultimate judge yet again. “So what now?” The walls of his house start to push in closer on him.

“I’m not saying I never wanted more for us. I’m not saying that I want to cut you completely out of my life, Calum. I wanted so much more for us.”

“Me too. I want more for us.”

“Is now a good time though? Is now going to allow us more?”

Calum wants to laugh, it bubbles in his chest and he knows it’s delivery would be dry but he swallows it back down. “If you’re always waiting for the perfect moment, you’ll be waiting for a long time.”

“Maybe there’s a better time for us. Not a perfect one. Just a better one.”

“Maybe,” he whispers.

“You know, you’re in everything right? When you said to let you in, I couldn’t help but think that was my problem. You’re in my goddamn sheets. You’re in everything. When the sun rises, it’s like watching you smile. If you think I’m shutting you out, that I’m trying to save myself, I want you to know that I’m doing the exact opposite. I am drowning. In everything. In you. In whatever the fuck it means to be a musician. I am drowning and I can’t bear taking you down with me.”

He couldn’t possibly be in everything, not when she was in everything for him. In his journals, in the strings of his bass. When he sits down at a piano, he can’t help but think of the throaty notes that start the song she wrote about him. He can’t help but hear her voice, Brown irises and black tattoos. Maybe they were both drowning and couldn’t see anything but the water invading their own nostrils and lungs. “You’ll always be there,” Calum says, sniffling. The tears shock him, he hadn’t felt them until they’re running down his neck. He doesn’t even know where there is, but he feels it in the cavity of his chest.

_________________

That video is going to haunt him. And it’ll haunt her too. Whenever they see the videos and pictures of when Calum surprised her on stage it always shows just how fucking happy they were with each other. How things really were working for them. But right around the corner, right as she runs behind the edge of the stage, the world doesn’t see the kiss. They don’t see the tears that followed phone calls. They don’t see how schedules always seems to be running in parallel but never fucking intersectiong. That’s all they needed. Just one point to intersect, to meet again at, and maybe they would still be tagging each other in stupid memes. Maybe they would still be talking until crazy hours of the morning. Maybe they would still be writing small poems about each other and always posting them, but never saying who they were about.

Maybe if they just had the one chance to intersect again, her second album wouldn’t be about him. Maybe she could’ve talked about the way the clouds surf in the sky. Maybe she would have pondered the questions of existence without it being tied up in lost love. Maybe Calum would’ve had more to say in interviews. Maybe then, no one would ask him about his love life and it wouldn’t hurt to goddamn bad every time one of the other boys would jump in to save him. Maybe Calum wouldn’t feel like a rock sinking to the bottom of the river and seeing the sunlight just above him, but never having the willpower to push back up.

He hadn’t removed her number. Hadn’t unfollowed her on her finsta. Hadn’t blocked her on a goddamn platform. Because somehow that felt like a harsher step. Like a permanent close, like he was trying to erase who she was and what she had meant to him. It’s stupid, he knows. It’s insane and it’s not helping him in the slightest, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe part of it was that natural and sometimes detrimental curiosity if that person was suffering just like you. He wanted to know if she bled just like him, if her pain was just as vicious as his.

Calum watches the video loop back again. The way she bites her lower lip but runs after him. The crowd is still screaming. They are still cheering. They are still buzzing. After saving the tweet, he drafts a message to her: I know you’ve moved to New York. I hope you’re enjoying it. City makes you feel anonymous doesn’t it? I have two days off during this tour. Maybe we have our better time now? I’m sure by now you know all the best places in town for pizza. I could be down for some cheesy delights.

Should he send that? His fingers shake. What’s left for them after a year and a half? They’ve still supported each other. He retweets about all her singles and videos. She praises the band’s new music in interviews. They aren’t unknown to each other. But somehow they feel like two ghosts. There’s a glass wall between and they look at each other just in passing. They never touch. They never intersect again. Instead, he exits the messaging app, but doesn’t actually delete the words.

When he goes back to the message thread, about a week from their dates in New York, there’s no shock that the app hasn’t saved it. And he feels partially relieved. He exits the app again and goes back to his mindless scroll through Instagram. An app saved him this time.

There is nothing to save him though, when he walks into the green room and spies her shrugging a coat on. The New York mornings are a little cool to the start. His heart is now in his throat. He’s not sure if he should swallow it back down. “We can go,” Ashton says quietly, taking him back his arm gently.

And somehow, like her ears are tuned in on everything, she hears something like her name, something like a soft wisp of a voice. When she looks up and sees Calum, donned in all black, though his long lined jacket has some white stitching and embroidery, she’s sure she could melt into the floor. He still looks good. Still has the same quiet pout to his face that makes him look slightly less approachable but it changes in a heartbeat when he smiles. She grabs the strap to her bookbag purse.

She knows it was her that ended things. She knows that seeing Calum here in front of her, should make her feel embarrassed. But somehow, all she wants to do, all she’s ever wanted to do since that phone call is embrace him one last time. Tell him that he’s still handsome as ever. Promise him that she meant what she said, that he was and still is in everything. “C’mon. We gotta go,” her security tell her.

But all she can do is stare at Calum. Unzipping her purse, she finds the note, the letter she never had the courage to send him and with a deep breath, she walks over. Ashton looks like he could probably murder her. And she doesn’t blame him. She could never blame that instinct to protect the ones you love especially from the ones that hurt them the most. “I’m sorry,” she says, holding out the white envelope. “For everything. And if we don’t ever get that better time, know I’d only ever wish the best for you.”

Calum’s fingers barely grasp onto the note before she’s sidestepping him. The boys circle around him, like they’re just waiting for his word to pounce. She steps through the heavy glass door. And she’s leaving him again. She’s going to slip through his fingers. Again. Pushing through Luke and Michael, Calum swings open the door. “Wait!” he calls out.

She stops, spinning on her heels to face him again. Calum jogs down the corridor. All the offices have windows. Everyone is probably watching. With both hands cupping her face, letter between his fingers and all, he pulls her in close. “You’re not leaving me again. You’re not going to walk out my life a second time. Not without me putting up a hell of a fight.”

“You shouldn’t fight for me. Not after what I did.”

“Meet me tonight. Let’s actually talk about it. I’ve been holding so much inside and if, god forbid, if it’s not now if we had our shoot and we fucking blew it, at least I’ll know for sure.”

“Does 8 work for you?” She tries so hard not to wrap her hands around his wrist, not to slide it up his forearms and tug herself into his chest. And god, he still smells the same. Old Spice and Gain. It feels so right to press herself into his chest.

“Yeah,” he mumbles into the top of her head. It’s still the same scent as before in almost two years, he can’t even believe it.

She takes a step back, patting at her pockets and pulls out a pen. Pulling the envelope from his fingers, she scribbles down a name and address. “If this place is too far from your hotel, just call me.” He watches her, jotting down more numbers. “It’s my new US number.” While handing the infor back to him, she grins just a little. “Don’t lose it now.”

Calum laughs, remembering the first time she delivered that line to him. “I won’t. Promise.”

Dear Calum,

There’s no real way to say this that doesn’t make my chest feel like it’s been punched in. I shouldn’t have let you go. There was a way to make it all work. There was a way so that you and I could’ve pushed through. I was just too scared of things going too right, going too well. Maybe that sounds dumb. Or maybe that sounds insane. But the truth of the matter, I messed up. I’m sorry. And you don’t have to ever forgive me. You deserve the ability to move on. You deserve everything good that comes to you in the future. I want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me. Even if our better time has passed.

You deserve to be happy.

Calum reads over the letter again. Still not sure how his lungs are still operating because he was positive all the air had been exhaled. It’s the fourth time he’s read it today. Since he had Michael read it out to him in the green room. He would’ve asked Ashton, but knew that Ashton would’ve told him not to worry, to keep moving forward. Because he had, in a way. He had thrown himself into music. He had tried to chase after her in other people. He had read all the books on poetry, and love, and philosophy. But something down in his gut told him that he would never let her go again if he got a second chance with her.

He looks at the date. She wrote it six months after everything went south. Maybe she forgot to send it. It had his name on it--just never fully addressed out though. She could’ve messaged him. Emailed. Called. Literally anything and he would’ve answered. But hadn’t she? What held her back? And just as he goes to read it over one more time, the door chimes open. He looks at his phone. Just as the time ticks over to 8. And when he glances over his shoulder, there she is. In the same jacket from before.

The little pizza shop isn’t too loud. Most people come in just to get their few slices and then dip right back out. She smiles, waving just a little before sliding onto the stool next to him. She points to the letter, that he hasn’t even moved to put up, “Sorry it’s not my best work. I thought about finding a synonym for happy but nothing fit right.”

With a breathy chuckle, Calum folds the letter up, slipping it into his pocket. “What do you recommend off the menu?”

“God, with this place, anything.”

They settle back down on the stools, paper plates not fully supporting the extra large slices and a stack of napkins between them. The grease runs down his chin and Calum feels it rolling too. But his hands are full trying to keep his slice from falling. She laughs, dabbing at his face with a napkin. “I still see you’re the messiest eater around.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not my fault,” he grins. Their giggles dissipate as the bell chimes again, a signal of another patron entering. “What happened?” The question doesn’t feel full enough, doesn’t feel like it fully encapsulates all the confusion he holds. But yet, those are the only words he has.

“A lot started happening all at once. Your tour, my second album. More shows. It just-I felt like I couldn’t breathe. That I wasn’t a person. And maybe part of it was selfish. Maybe I was trying to save myself all along and I was just telling myself and you that I wasn’t selfish. I really am sorry. Like, if I had known, god if I had known that doing that would’ve caused all the pain it did, trust me, I wouldn’t have. If I could go back and tell myself, that crazy shit happens and you just gotta learn how to keep your cool, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It was a mistake letting you go. But at the same time, reaching out felt wrong too. Like I would’ve been ruining the peace you had created for yourself. And I didn’t want to do that either.”

“You know, I felt like we had something different. Like that was really going to be it for me and I had finally figured out this whole being in love thing. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. And maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I saw something happening and didn’t do anything.”

“We were living continents away. With everything happening, you weren’t seeing all of it. No need to blame yourself.” She takes his hand, slipping her fingers between his, twisting at the silver band around his middle finger. “I do want you to be happy, Calum. I want you to be so happy it just can’t be contained.”

“I was with you.” He squeezes her hand, willing her to look at him and not the street in front of them, through the glass.

“I’m still not in L.A.”

“But you are in the same country as me now and I will take that.”

“You’d still take me back after everything?” When she looks at him, brows furrowed together, Calum knows he’s a goner. He always was with her.

“I would.”

“You’d be crazy.”

“I am already crazy. Because I’m tempted to ask you where you’re staying and if I could stay the night.”

He’s leaned in to her, just a hair. And she leans in too, resting mostly shoulder to shoulder. “You are crazy,” she laughs softly, taking in the reflection of the neon lights on the street. “But maybe I’m also crazy too.”

The night is cool again. Both of their boots scuff the concrete. She doesn’t stay far from the small diner, a ten minute walk really. With fingers threaded through each other, they walk huddled close up the sidewalks. The wind whips across their faces. They dodge piles of trash on the edge of the sidewalks and they keep their heads down so as to not attract a crowd. “How do you like New York? Got to be a huge shock?”

“It most definitely is. I like feeling anonymous here. With so many people around.”

“I know you said you don’t do well with people and New York feels like the opposite of the place you want to. Especially not in the city.”

“I mean, I still don’t do great with people. I’m in the city for the time being. But I have my eye on a few places further out. But after everything, I felt less lonely here. I don’t know. No one cared about who I was. No one cared what the fuck I was doing here. And I liked it better that way. Back home, everyone knew. Everyone looked at me like I was a broken vase. Here, no one gave a shit. It’s move or be moved here. Forced me to come to terms with everything. Forced me to accept everything I was trying to hide.”

“Do you need to go to your hotel? Grab or bag or something?” She asks just before they pass the opening for the subway.

“I have my roomkey. It’s all good. All the interviews were today.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

He gives her hand another squeeze. “I’m sure.” They reach the door to the complex and she digs out her keys, opening the front door. Calum follows her through the second set of doors. The elevator is a little janky as it carries them up, and definitely tiny. In the space, they’re pressed chest to chest. There are a few extra lines around her eyes, he notices and runs the pad of his thumb over the skin. It’s just as soft as it’s always been. She feels so familiar under his touch, yet so new.

It’s not a far ascent and she laughs when he pouts as she pulls away. “Just like four more steps.”

It’s true to word, when they step out of the elevator, her door is directly in front of it. Her keys jingle just a little as she works the lock and pushes into the chipping red paint of the door. Her dog leaps from the couch, greeting her and then barking just a little when they spot Calum. He laughs, kneeling to hug them to his chest. “You still remember me, huh?” he laughs, as they attempt to lick his face and jaw. “Oh, too long, I know. Sorry, bubs. Didn’t forget about you.”

She takes his jacket, hanging it by the door. “Want anything to drink?”

Calum shakes his head from her couch, working at his shoes. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

She nods, watching as her dog claims Calum’s attention. But she can’t find an ounce of herself to be mad or annoyed. So she slips out of her shoes and puts them up, before getting herself a bottle of water. When she settles onto the couch, she just laughs at the antics. Calum keeps trying to say something but at every twist, her dog is right there, plopping themselves in his lap. Calum eventually gives up and wraps his arms around their body, scratching lightly at their fur.

“Someone missed you too,” she teases, putting her two fingers really close together. “Just a tiny bit.”

His laughter echoes in her head. “Yeah, clearly just a little.” He lifts his head just a little when he feels the wet tongue at his chin. “So, you’re working on your third album?”

“On and off,” she admits. “Playing more shows than anything for the time being. I don’t have to think. Everytime I think too much I end up fucking something up. So I’m just taking it easy for the time being. Taking some brand deals.”

“You’ve got a collab coming out soon, right?”

She nods at the question, laughing as her dog finally settles down. “Yeah, next month. I’ve always lived kind of a boring life, you know that.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know.” He can finally shift, as her dog wanders over to the water bowl, so that he can sit in front of her. It’s a dangerous game. He’s played it before with her. But he takes her chin into his hands. “We haven’t really talked in a while.”

“Is there something you want to say, Calum?”

“Yeah,” he returns simply. Her breath hitches, eyes searching his brown ones for something, anything that tells her what’s going on. “I wonder if your lips still feel the same. I always thought about the way you’d laugh sometimes into a kiss. And it used to haunt me. But right now, I want to find out if anything else has changed.”

She wastes no time, pushing up and sealing her mouth around his. His hand slides to the back of her neck and she pulls at the collar of his shirt. They fall into each other, then falling into the arm of the couch. She exhales her laughter, still pecking at Calum’s lip. Her fingers tease the skin of his upper chest and neck.

“I was right,” he grins.

She hooks her finger around the gold plate. “I guess you were.” She pulls him back in for another kiss, slipping her hands into his hair.

As his lips trail over her jaw and down to her neck, she thinks about the time at her apartment back home, Calum woke her up with kisses down her jaw. They still feel the same. Maybe even a little bit better. His finger push up the hem of her shirt, squeezing at the flesh of her side. She sighs and Calum groans at the sound. It sets off everything in his body when he hears her quiet noises of pleasure.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pulling away to look at her as his fingers brush over her skin. “I don’t want to push you or take things too fast this time.”

Being with Calum feels like no time has past, if she’s honest. She doesn’t have the butterflies, just the comfort of someone she’s known for a year. And it sort of feels like they’re picking back up from where they left off. “I’m okay with it.”

He grins and she sees it--that rising sun in the gleam. His forehead rests against her. “I kinda feel like we have a lot of lost time to make up for.” His lips brush just over hers as he speaks.

She exhales her laughter again, but agrees. “Just a little bit. I really am sorry.”

“We all make mistakes. You just have to communicate with me, okay? That’s all. Talk to me this time. If you feel like you’re drowning, let me help. Please.”

She pushes up and Calum settles back down into the cushion, taking her hands into his. “I know things won’t be like, perfect now. But I guess, it’s really important that we do get to spend quality time together.”

“It is. And I know my tour schedule is pretty packed right now, but there’s another longer break in about three weeks. They’re LA shows. I don’t know if you have plans, but if you do, we can hang out then.”

She has to laugh because here’s the trouble all over again. “Booked recording sessions then.”

“Okay, well, the week after that is the break between legs. What are you doing then?”

“Nothing.” There’s a break between sessions, and she had just planned to use the time to breathe.

“I’ll fly you out then. Just you and I and my rehearsals. But that’s besides the point.”

Laughing, she rests her head into his bicep. “Just you, I, and your rehearsals. Got it.”

“We’ll have to better plan out things, that’s all. We’ll have to look at both our schedules and make sure that there’s sufficient breaks and time together.” He guides her head up. “I want you. And I mean all of you. I can’t stand to lose you again.”

“I just have to make sure Ashton doesn’t kill me.”

“He’s protective, yes. But not an evil. I’ll talk to him. Don’t you worry.”

“He did write a whole song about how he’d bury a body for you. So I think I have a little bit to worry about.”

Calum laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe just a little bit.” Her grin makes him want to bottle it. He wants to carry it with him in his pocket. Leaning closer, he kisses her again. “But right now, it’s just you and I. There’s nothing else but time for us right now.”

She hums. “I like the sound of that.”

Fingers trail back under shirts. She drinks down his moans as they tease, barely touch. Calum’s shirt is discarded in the living room and her is pulled off in the hallway. Calum holds her face in his hands, memorizing the way her teeth sink into his bottom lip in the gentle nip. He moans. Fuck, she feels so good against him.

Her spine shivers as his fingers trail to her back and unsnap the band of her bra. As the fabric falls from her shoulders and she tosses it somewhere, Calum takes a hand just to cup her. His fingers roll the erect bud and she sighs again, mouth falling slack against his. He laughs. “Hmm, that’s right. Someone does like their nipples played with.”

She grins though, blinking open her eyes. “Don’t think I forgot that you don’t listening to rules and like a little pain.”

Finding her waist with both hands, Calum holds her in close. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She bends her knees, just a little and with hot and open mouth kisses she trails down his chest before taking her teeth into the meat of his peck. Calum jolts, a grunt falling over his lips and throat. “I would dare,” she returns.

They fall into her sheets, the same golden ones from before. They’re just as soft against Calum’s skin. It’s warm, as their skin heats up. Her skirt has landed somewhere to the floor and Calum pushes his hips up as she shrugs the denim down. She kisses over his thighs, moaning just a little. Calum lets his eyes flutter close at her soft kisses.

Everything just feels right. Even as Calum takes a nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing her just a little. Or when she kisses over his length. But right now, she tosses her head back when Calum pries her legs open kissing up her inner thighs. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispers, watching as she clenches, more of her arousal leaking from her.

She huffs, pulling a hand through her hair. “You sure do know how to make a girl sweat.”

“It’s a speciality,” he laughs with a wink before kissing her clit. She balls on fist around her sheets, stomach completely clenched. The last thing she wants is to have to wait much longer for anything. The anticipation can be a good thing, though she’s doing everything she can to keep her cool. That is, until Calum finally takes the first lap from her and she unravels, a moan leaving her throat as it mixes with a whine.

He takes his time, pushing her thighs and knees to give him all the access he could ever want. Calum licks another stripe over her, before sucking her clit into his mouth. She taste better than he could’ve ever imagined. Every sound she gives--moans, groans, or a whine--rattles in his brain and spurs him on. One of her hands finds it’s way into his hair and she tries to push up with her hips and his face down into her core. But it’s not like he needs the assistance or the reminder. When he trails down to her opening, his nose brushes over her clit and her body is reeling.

“Oh, fuck,” she whines, feeling the coil in her lower gut tightening.

Calum hums at the sounds, and when she praises him, tells him that he’s the only one to make her feel this fucking food, he rewards, slipping a finger into the mix, pushing up into her. “Is that so?” he asks, watching her head dive deeper into the pillows.

“God, Calum,” she huffs.

Another finger finds it way inside, pushing and curling in all the right places. Her body feels like it’s on fire. She feels like she’s a coil so tightly wound she’s going to break. His tongue flicks across her click, lapping at her. And that’s it, that’s the right combination to send her over the edge. Over she goes, with a yelp, her orgasm rocking her frame and toes curling as she cries out for Calum.

He keeps her going, keeps curling his fingers at her. So lost in the way she sounds. And when the huffs turn into a hiss, he pulls back. She beckons him up, kissing him and tasting her own arousal coating his lips and tongue. He’s careful not to settle fully against her, but it’s quickly changed when her legs come up and lock around his waist. “I’m not gonna break,” she laughs, when he finally let’s go and sinks into her.

She swallows his response with a kiss but it doesn’t matter anyway. Her hips come up and Calum rolls onto his back, letting her settle atop him. Her nails rake down his skin and she sucks at his neck, he’s sure it’ll bruise just a little but it’s okay with him. His nails dig into the flesh of her hips, not sure if he wants the friction right now or if he just needed to revel in the feeling of her against him.

“Shit,” he whines when she rocks over him. “I-fuck.”

She laughs, pulling away to reach into her drawer. “That sounds about right.”

Calum delivers a swift swat to her ass at the joke, but laughs anyway. “That is not funny.”

“Then why are you laughing.” When she turns her attention back to him, condom in hand. She stretches down to kiss him again. “Did I ever tell you you’re not the only one that likes a little pain?”

His eyebrows arches and he smooths over her ass before delivering another spank to her opposite cheek. She sighs, eyes fluttering close just a little. “Oh, buttercup, you should’ve never told me that.”

“We can save it for another time? Because right now the only thing I can think about is riding you until the sun rises.”

Kneading at her breast, Calum grins. “Now, that sounds about right.”

There’s a moment, right as she settles down on him fully, that they both moan at the feeling. Calum because of the warmth and slickness, her because of the stretch. Her head is dizzy again with need. She steadies herself with her hands planted on his chest and rocks. All she can focus on is the girth of him, stretching her completely open. It makes her toes tingle and she falters, falling into his chest, but starts a new cadence, pulling up and settling back down on his length.

“Holy shit,” he huffs. She buries her face into the crook of his neck and Calum coaxes her out, to look at him. “You don’t get to hide from me, not again. Wanna see that pretty face when you cum.”

Her hips are still rocking but she nods, eyes fluttering close just for a moment. Calum kisses her, and it’s his turn to swallow down the moan she feeds him. She pushes back up, pulling her own breast between her fingers. Calum loses the top of his head, he’s sure, watching as she rides him. His fingers trail over her hips, up to her stomach. “Why’d you have to be so handsome?” she teases breathy.

He’s not sure how to respond. Unsure of the heat he feels is a blush or the sweltering of arousal flooding his body. She takes one of his hands, trailing it towards her heat. And Calum takes the hint, thumb circling the bundle of nerves. Her head falls back on her neck as a hum builds in her chest. Calum kneads at her right breast, pulling and pushing at every button he can to have orgasm again for him.

A high pitched squeak falls from her. The bed taps against the wall, but neither one of them really cares. Her orgasm washes over it, like a wave crashing into the shoreline. She shudders, clenching around him and falls again into his chest, but pushes up onto her elbows, remember Calum’s early demand. “Fuck,” she whines when he starts to fuck up into her. He pulls her body up and she’s useless, body still like jello from her orgasm. Her words catch in her throat.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into her ear when she bites down onto his shoulder. “You know I like the pain.”

“Feel so good,” she returns. “Calum, shit, you feel so good.” His hips start to stutter, trying to ride out for longer, but knowing that inevitably he’s at the end of his rope. She kisses over his neck. “Cum for me, yeah? Please.”

Who is he to deny her? Who is he she to defy her? He ruts up once, twice, and she clenches hard, taking most of the wind of his third thrust but he cums hard, arms squeezing her to his chest and he knows he’s loud in her ear as he groans. Though, it’s suspected that’s just the sound she wanted to hear as she seals his mouth with hers.

Calum wraps the towel around his waist. She’s already under the cover, with them flipped down for him. She pats the spot in the mattress. He can see some of the hickies covering her chest that he left behind. Without much thought, Calum dries off a bit more and then slips between the sheets. “Hey,” she whispers. “Come here often?”

“My first time actually. But the first of many, I hope.”

Her nose scrunches as Calum taps it. “Yeah, of many. I brought your phone into the room. Put it on my spare charger. And I know that it’ll go off at 5:55 AM. No, you don’t have to turn it off. I know it’s important to you.”

“You--you still remember that?

“I don’t know if you really remember. But when I said that you were in everything, you were everywhere. I meant it.” She turns to her back, the sheets tucked up to her chin. Both of them are bare beneath them.

Calum’s taken up drawing random patterns on her stomach as he holds himself up on his elbow, facing her. “I remember. Could never forget that.”

“Guess we might’ve meant for something more, something better.” Her voice is soft. The blinds in her window let the lights of the city in. Nothing about it is quiet as sirens pass by. Calum lets his head fall into her pillows. She turns, both of them now facing each other again. Her arm slides over his waist. He throws one of his legs over hers.

She’s content like this, where she can kiss across the tattoos on his chest. Though she can’t really see the one just under his peck, she thinks about the question poised there. Why would she choose anything other than Calum? It remains quiet for a while and she thinks he’s fallen asleep until his chest rumbles.

“We were. It was just a matter of getting there. Finding the right path for us.” He’s positive, as she shuffles in a little closer that this is it for him. And if he has to fight hell, heaven, or high water, he’d do it all for her.

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greekgeek21 · 3 years ago

Text

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - they steal an old pirate ship

I'm alive!! I'm so sorry for just ditching you guys, but I was in Shasta for a week and didn't have any internet access so I wasn't even able to say that I was gonna not update. But I hope this nice, semi-long chapter makes up for it! Reminder that this is also available on FF, Inkitt, Ao3, Webnovel, and Wattpad

On a completely different note, I'm going to be starting to write a book. Like, a real published book. It'll take a few years but I'm determined and I love the idea I thought of so if any of you are interested, email me at [email protected] and I might be willing to send some samples. I want input, badly. And all the people in my life are biased. Total strangers on the internet are totally made for this, right?

I recently got into readers marauder era fanfics and I'm already in too deep, gays (and yes I meant to say gay, we all know it if you're reading pjo fanfiction). There is no escape.

Anyway, I'm running out of prewritten chapters, so I have to get to writing that while preparing to write a book. Wish me luck! Happy pride month! 🏳️‍🌈✨

- your author

Ω ♆ Ω

"Run it by me again. Just one more time," Steve asked, still highly confused.

They had made it to Florida and were now at a private dock. Percy had just briefly explained his control over any water vehicle and the Captain was not getting the point.It was understandable. Percy still barely got it.

However, they didn't have a whole lot of time, and every second they wasted discussing Percy's weird powers was another second Annabeth's captors had to hurt her. They did not have time for this.

"We are going to steal a boat, and I'm going to sail us the rest of the way," Percy sighed.

"Ok, but, how are we going to sail it if only you know how to do it?" Steve asked.

Even Piper was getting frustrated now. "He can control the boat! We won't have to do anything! The boat will listen to his will! Oh my gods!"

"But how is that possible!?" Steve shouted.

"How would I know?! I was just born with the freaky powers!" Percy yelled right back, getting fed up with this never-ending conversation.

Jason decided to cut in before things got too out of hand. They had to save Annabeth.

"Guys! This doesn't matter! What matters is that we save Annabeth, and we can't do that if we're stuck here arguing over something that is out of our control," he said.

Percy huffed. "He started it."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "How does Annabeth put up with you?"

"Honestly? No idea," Percy smirked.

"Let's just get going, team. We have a boat to steal, right?" Tony asked.

"Yep. And I think this place has the perfect one for the job." The son of Poseidon then started walking away, apparently following his weird sailing powers.

I guess we're supposed to follow him, thought Piper.

Ω ♆ Ω

"This is supposed to take us through the most cursed waters on the planet?" Bruce asked, looking the boat up and down.

"Yes. Isn't it beautiful?" Percy said and smiled, running his hand along the side.

Tony leaned over to Frank. "Is he seeing the same boat we are?"

Frank just shrugged, used to Percy's weirdness by now. Honestly, it was a little hard for him to imagine the team taking what was in front of them to Polyphemus' island. It seemed like it wouldn't survive the normal ocean.

To be clear, what Percy was suggesting they take was an old pirate ship, currently on display inside of a warehouse at the dock. It was covered in dried-up barnacles, and the mast was split in half. There were also holes all along the sides. It was a miracle the thing hadn't crumbled already.

"Yes, Tony, I am. This thing will run for me. It doesn't even need to be repaired, I can handle that. The only thing that matters is that it is built to withstand the type of waters we're going out in," Percy said. "We need all the advantages we can get."

Natasha, to everyone's surprise, spoke up, "I think we should trust Percy. If he says it'll work, then it'll work. He's the son of Poseidon, right? Nothing can hurt us while in the ocean. Am I correct, Percy?"

Jason cleared his throat and gave Percy a significant look. The Avengers needed to know that they were basically powerless in the triangle. The older teen looked ready to explain, but Frank spoke before he had the chance.

"Actually, no. The Sea of Monsters is outside of Poseidon's realm of power, hence the name. Percy won't have the same access to his father's domain as he does out here," he said, "So, basically, we're entering a dangerous situation, with no backup, and an inexperienced team. Should be fun, right?"

The Avengers were shocked, to say the least. Not at what the boy had said, but who had said it. As far as they had seen, Frank wasn't as confident as his physical form portrayed. They were wrong. Frank was confident, and his friends were proud of him for it, too. It had been a large transformation from when Percy had first met the son of Mars.

"Well, I think we should start heading out. We want to get as far as possible before the sun goes down, right?" Piper asked.

"Right," Percy nodded.

She wasn't really certain about all of this sailing stuff. Sure, she had been on the Argo II, but that was different than an actual boat. For one, it could fly and was controlled by a gaming console. She hadn't really bothered learning how to actually run a ship for that.

But now, she had to act like she knew what she was doing, and that was scary. The Avengers may put on a confident front, but she saw the insecurities in all of them. Some were harder to find than others, but finding insecurities was her specialty.

They really were going into a completely unknown situation. At least Piper and the Seven had been in this world for a little while, but the Avengers hadn't even encountered a monster before. It would sure be a shock when they were faced with some of the worst ones for their first fights. So, she and the rest of the demigods had a responsibility to be the examples, no matter how much the "adults" liked to point out that it was "ethically wrong" for them to do that.

Ω ♆ Ω

Turns out, the kid hadn't been lying about being able to sail the ship. Tony would be the first to admit that he was skeptical of the structure of the vessel, but he was proved wrong when, after the group had gotten the thing into the water, it had started to magically prepare itself for departure. Not a single drop of water leaked into the interior; it was like the water simply moved around the holes.

It was spectacular!

Before he knew it, the group had settled into the boat and were moving away from the dock. The Avengers were marveling at everything around them, considering that Percy wasn't even steering the thing, and yet it was supposedly moving in the right direction. To add to the shock, the ship's parts were moving themselves. It was not logically possible, and yet there Tony was, watching it unfold like some kind of acid trip.

"This is...amazing," he muttered, leaning against the rail with Leo, who he had taken a certain liking to. They were a lot alike.

The son of Hephaestus grinned, "Right? I told you guys Percy had cool powers. You should see him with Blackjack or Arion. It's wacky, man!"

"Who's Blackjack and Arion?" Tony asked, noting the new names.

"Oh. Right, I forgot. Blackjack is Percy's pegasus, and Arion is Hazel's horse. Percy can talk to them because his father created horses," Leo answered.

And just when the man of iron was getting used to all of this, he was pulled back into astonishment.

Ω ♆ Ω

After a couple hours of mingling and exploring, Percy called the team up to the deck. He had started to feel it a while ago when he knew it was still a distance away, but now he knew that they were approaching the Sea of Monsters.

It was a blank spot for him. Everywhere else, he could feel the ocean's power thrumming, waiting for him to control it. But here, there was nothing. Considering they were in the middle of the ocean, it was pretty obvious what it was. That was how he had tracked the place down without a map. It was his blind spot. He would just follow the blankness like it was the North Star.

Once everyone had gathered, he told them the news, and to say the atmosphere changed was an understatement. What smiles they had had disappeared, and their expressions turned serious.

"It's time, guys. Get ready. The first thing we're going to come up on is Scylla and Charybdis. We have to go through them to get into the sea. Now, I've planned this so that we should hopefully be able to pass through without any problems, but with six demigods' luck, we shouldn't rely on that too much. Charybdis only feeds three times a day, so if I planned this right, we should be able to pass over her without a fuss. Everyone got it? Be prepared for a fight, but don't expect it, please. We don't need any more reasons for the Fates to curse us."

Hazel stepped up, "Should the Avengers help us if we end up fighting something? Or should they just observe how we deal with monsters first?"

"We can handle ourselves," Steve defended.

Jason sighed, fed up with the same old arguments, "Alright, that's it! The Avengers will let us take the lead in any fights we may or may not end up in. They will not do anything without one of our approvals because we have actual experience with these beings. They will not be put on the sidelines, but they will also not be on the front lines. Does that work for everyone?"

Percy sent a thankful grin to his cousin, "Thank you, Jason. And yes, it does."

Jason just nodded in return.

"Alright, gang! Buckle up! Make sure to keep your hands and feet inside the ship at all times, and remember, the sword points away from you. It's showtime!" Leo cackled.

Just as he finished, they entered a wall of mist, which was unsettling to say the least. The temperature dropped almost three degrees as they passed through it.

Percy pulled out Riptide before steering the ship towards Charybdis. Hopefully, if everything went to plan, they would be out of this Hades-forsaken place by sunrise.

But, of course, nothing ever went to plan on a demigod's quest.

Ω ♆ Ω

Maybe it wasn't the best idea for me to come, was Bruce's first thought as he got his first glimpse at a greek monster. He had taken refuge inside the sleeping quarters of the ship, practicing his breathing exercises. He was really hoping this didn't turn into a Code Green. This was definitely not the place to let the Hulk loose.

So far, it had been silent upstairs, so Bruce concluded that it was going good so far. He had researched the Greek and Roman myths before they had left and on the plane, and everything that he could find on Charybdis was not reassuring. It was true what Percy said, that she only ate three times a day, but nobody really knew when those times were. Until Percy, apparently. He had survived the Sea of Monsters, so everyone on this ship had to trust his judgement in everything they did here. Bruce could tell that the other Avengers were struggling with taking orders from a "child." But Bruce had learned to not underestimate anyone on his travels while in hiding. Plus, look up any demigod's name and there was a whole list of accomplishments to find.

If Percy said that he knew when the monster liked to eat, then he knew when the monster liked to eat. It was as simple as that.

So, ten minutes into their first obstacle, and things were going fine. Everyone was eerily quiet, but no sign of Charybdis or Scylla yet. Of course, as soon as someone thought about it, an outline of a serpent appeared in the fog surrounding the boat.

Frank was the first one to spot it. "Guys..." He looked up at Percy. "We have a problem."

He pointed into the fog and Percy cursed. "Oh schist. I knew she couldn't just leave us alone."

The Avengers had figured out that something was coming and were unsure what to do. The demigods seemed to be just waiting like sitting ducks for the thing to attack them, and that was not a good plan. The Avengers don't wait for their opponent to strike first.

"Alright, that's it. I'm going to see what it is," Tony mumbled, activating his Iron Man armor.

"No, Tony! That's not a good-" Piper got cut off as the billionaire flew off, "...idea."

If she couldn't yell at that idiot, she was gonna yell at his teammates. She turned around, prepared to cuss out some idiot "superheroes," but Hazel beat her to it. "What was he thinking?! Why didn't you idiots stop him?! He has no idea what he's getting himself into! That monster is NOT something you guys can handle without our help! Mortalium tam stultus!"*

Natasha appraised the small demigod. She sure was a young spitfire. And from what she had seen already, a powerful one.

"Ok, let's just calm down, alright? Tony should be able to hold his own until we can go save his stupid ass," Leo sighed. Working with mortals was draining.

They were always so brash about things. And yes, coming from a greek, that statement was pretty hypocritical, but it still wasn't a lie. He idolized Mr. Stark's work, but man if only the guy could learn some restraint and he would be perfect.

Just as Leo had spoken, an explosion was heard, followed by a muffled string of curses. Only Tony Stark could come up with those creative swear words, so at least there was proof that the guy was still alive. For now, at least. The group needed to get that soon.

"Alright, hold on! This is gonna get bumpy!" Percy shouted, steering the ship towards the sound of fighting.

He willed the vessel to move faster, and it, of course, obeyed. In his head, Percy was just thinking rush rush rush. They needed to get this fight out of the way and get to Annabeth right after. Percy was praying to any god that would listen for there to not be any more disruptions to their journey. He just had to be confident in his skills. He had done this before, so he knew what lay ahead of them.

And it was going to be a challenge.

Ω ♆ Ω

Tony would deny any claim of him being held in the mouth of a sea serpent by his leg. Cuz that didn't happen. Totally.

But if it did, then the rest of the questing group would have worked together to fend off the monster until they could get away. Percy would've used Riptide to stab the monster in the leg, while Jason flew up and used his gladius to cut open her eye. The rest of the group basically just put on a full-frontal assault until Scylla released their idiotic teammate. Leo blew some fire, Hazel manipulated the Mist so that the Avengers could all see it for what it was, Piper made it loosen its grip with her charmspeak, Frank and Clint released some well-placed arrows, Natasha fired some gunshots, and Steve sliced into it with his shield.

All in all, the thing realized quickly that it was outmatched.

Then, after Tony received a very stern reprimanding by Piper and Steve, the group carried on. They didn't have time to dilly-dally. Saving Annabeth was their top priority.

Ω ♆ Ω

Meanwhile...

"Let me go, you skatá!"* Annabeth screamed, kicking her captor in the knees.

She had been knocked out as soon as they had shadow traveled, so she hadn't woken up until an hour ago. When she had, her wrists and ankles had been shackled to a stone wall with imperial gold shackles. The terrorists had stepped up their game.

There was dim lighting, but from what she could figure out before, she was in a cave of some kind. They had completely cleared out the area around her, so there weren't any visible location markers. That is, until they moved her.

The people who had grabbed her were strong and bulky and covered in black. They had black combat suits with black ski masks covering their features. Stereotypically, Annabeth would've figured the goons to be stupid, but they kept her shackles on and put a sack over her head so they at least has someone smart on their team.

Annabeth was getting really sick of not knowing anything, though.

So that's where she found herself at the moment: as a "defenseless" hostage. It was quite comical, really. Did these idiots really think that she would go quiet?

She felt one of her kicks come into contact with a kneecap and heard a satisfying grunt of pain from one of the thugs. Good, she thought, I hope that hurt.

Then, she was thrown onto the cold, stone floor and forced to hold her head up. The whole situation was so stereotypical that she wanted to laugh. But then she also didn't want to come off as more psycho than her captors, so she kept it to herself.

"This is quite interesting," a voice said, "The prideful daughter of Athena, reduced to a simple mortal's hostage.

The sack on her head was yanked off, so Annabeth spat down at the man's feet, glaring at him with a burning hatred. Taking a quick survey of the room, Annabeth found that she was being held captive on Polyphemus' island. The room was the main room of his cave; the one where she, Percy, and Grover further blinded the cyclops.

"If you had actually gotten me on your own, it might have been impressive, but having to use monsters is just pathetic," she said.

The leader growled and kicked her in the jaw. It didn't have enough power to break it, but it did cause her to bite through her tongue.

Annabeth spit out the blood produced in her mouth, dirtying the man's shiny shoes. The guy would have to do a lot worse than that to scare her.

"Hmm... I like your spirit. It's going to be that much more fun when I break it," he hissed, kneeling down to her eye level.

"I hope you rot in Hades," is all Annabeth responded with.

The guy laughed. ACTUALLY laughed. So, he was a crazy sociopath hades-bent on tearing down the natural order of the universe, Annabeth decided, how nice.

Ω ♆ Ω

I kinda really love this and I hope you did too. Now, to get into some unasked political shit: Love is love. I like all genders, and I still don't want to see any of them practically having sex in front of me. So just, accept yourself and others for who they are and move on. Is that so hard? Happy pride month & happy Father's Day!!

- your author

PS Remember to comment, like, and reblog!

other chapters :)

Ω ♆ Ω

Bonus scene!

The group was spending time in the dining room of the ship when all of a sudden, Percy remembered something truly horrifying. Like, beyond disgusting!

“Oh, my gods! Guys!!!” he exclaimed.

Hazel rolled her eyes and said, “What, Percy?”

“Charybdis is my half-sister! Ew ew ew ew ew EW EW EW EW!!!” Percy shouted his answer.

Everyone simultaneously gagged.

(Inside, Steve was starting to get seriously concerned about these kids’ chaotic family.)

#happy pride 🌈#pjo #fanfiction #fanfic #pjo fanfic #ao3 #the avengers #mcu #marvel #superheroes #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #wattpad #inkitt #webnovel

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write-a-bad-romance · 4 years ago

Text

Good in Red (Mozart x Isaac)

Pairing: Mozart x Isaac

Rating: T

Word Count: 3390

Prompt: Yandere, Gakuen AU

Ao3 Link: Here

Happy Halloween! I hope you're up for something a bit more experimental!

There was a downpour outside. That much Wolf could tell.

Lately, the white-haired youth found it laborious to roll off the bed and step outside. Not like there was anything to do in the living room.

The constant pangs in his head made it worse. Thank God the room he was kept in was just right across the bathroom. It was one of the few acts of mercy he was given in this otherwise appalling situation.

There was a water dispenser installed by the desk, with fresh mugs replaced daily. Lunch was... unusual, to say the least. Every day, there'd be a lovingly crafted bento box packed with snacks (and sometimes a carton of milk) left on the desk with a post-it note attached,

The cutely worded messages betrayed the sinister implications of Wolf's predicament. They were better suited for husbands leaving for the office or a child about to spend lunchtime for the first time in middle or high school.

It didn't fit the perpetually frowning boy, whose scent still lingered on the pillow next to his.

Wolf first saw him at the end of a recital, cherry blossom orbs full of wonder as the young conductor eye's swept over his roaring audience.

He was a friend of Leonardo, one of his violinists and a second grade. He was the president of the science club, and he confirmed Wolf's newest fanboy to be one of his members.

"A bit shy, that kid. But definitely full of potential." The Italian spoke between drags of sweet-scented cigarettes (like the chronic chain smoker he was, Wolf's nose curled in distaste) one afternoon. "He doesn't talk much, always standing by himself in the corner. But when he gets talking, boy. He's definitely going places someday, maybe even Todai*. Or MIT."

"Never seen him before, and I'm good at recognizing faces." Wolf's eyes scanned the cafeteria and spotted a female underclassman waving at him. He didn't return the gesture. "Is he a transfer student?"

"Try asking your best friend about him," Leonardo winked as he rose from his chair and gathered his tray. "His other best bud seems to be thick as thieves with the kid."

His name was Isaac, and he loved physics.

Wolf had no need to seek the freshman out himself. It was the school darling Napoleon who ambushed him after rehearsal one afternoon, a fidgeting redhead in tow.

Wolf had no patience for his type — painfully shy and ready to burst with a single poke. Wolf figured Napoleon was used to secondhand embarrassment as the bumbling schoolboy tripped on his own introduction.

I'm Isaac, and I love physics. The exact same words.

"N-nice to meet you." he blushed. "I've been coming to your recitals, you see. And I'm-"

Wolf zoned out on the remaining words as he expertly masked his growing disinterest. At least the boy seemed sincere.

The boy brought a sizable bouquet full of gladiolus and lily-of-the-valley. His face must have been burning behind the flowers as he presented them to Wolf.

"H-here." He thrust the bouquet in Wolf's face. "I hope this isn't too much."

He'd been given roses, chocolate, and even stuffed animals from secret admirers, boys and girls alike. But the straightforwardness with which Isaac gifted him the colorful array was novel.

"Danke Schoen." Their fingers touched as Wolf received the offering. Isaac was trembling. "You didn't need to go this far."

"But I- I wanted to!" The boy exclaimed with passion. Wolf was so astonished that he had no time to fight the red blooming across his cheeks.

Visiting the music room outside club hours had been Wolf's habit since his first year. It gave him time to practice and space to breathe new ideas into his compositions.

Before, there was nobody but him and the lustrous grand piano. Isaac became a new addition to his routine, unwelcome.

But only at first.

"Ah, Wolf-senpai. You're still here. Again," He would barge in at the end of every song, after unsuccessfully concealing himself near the door. "You don't ...tire, do you? It's after hours, and you're still fiddling with the piano."

It's the uneasiness in his voice that made the exchange endearing.

"And Leonardo should be looking for you by now." He smirked. "Don't you have science club?"

"Oh, there was nothing much, just a meeting and... stuff. I suppose you don't mind me intruding on your...uh, practice."

Wolf wanted to say he did mind. The line suited someone with a little more dash and charm, like Napoleon, better. The way Isaac stuttered and stumbled on his own words was amusing if only a bit awkward.

Few people could withstand Wolf's aloofness, and most would cower away after the slightest click of a tongue. There was a reason why he was dubbed the 'Ice Prince' by the school population.

The gratuitously assigned title always gave him and Jean (the other Cold Beauty of the School) a good laugh during lunch breaks. Except for the select few, no other person in the entire student body dared to disturb their exclusive, distant bubble of companionship.

Isaac was either admiringly bold or dangerously foolish for inviting himself into Wolf's presence. The music prodigy thought the effort was worth applauding.

Not that it was failing.

"I've got still got some sandwiches here. If you'd like, we can- "

" Sure, I've got some time to spare." Wolf smiled as he gathered his sheets. Isaac looked like he could drop dead on the spot.

"I didn't know you had this much interest in music," Wolf commented one breezy afternoon as they shared earphones on the school's rooftop. Without too much deliberation, he decided to let Isaac listen to his demos.

The boy was surprisingly candid with his critiques on Wolf's compositions, despite being a fanboy (which he refused to admit).

"I grew up on classical music," The boy replied. "Nan always said it contributed to my IQ or something."

Wolf held back a snicker. It was very much Isaac to drop hints of his own superiority, even behind a self-deprecating tone.

"I'm glad you did. Jean doesn't really listen to them. He's hopeless when I ask him for opinions."

Isaac dropped his fork onto the plastic food box with a loud clack.

"You talk to him too?" Wolf imagined Isaac drooping like a puppy. "Of course. He's your best friend."

Wolf only thought it was cute at the time.

"You're living by yourself?"

Isaac nodded as they walked side by side, cherry blossom trees in full bloom along the road. It was the start of a new school year, and Wolf had accepted Isaac's invitation to walk home together that day.

"You should try making unforgettable memories before you graduate." Jean urged him after hearing his best friend's recent development with his new best friend. "It's not often you get the chance to score with your favorite underclassman."

"Sure. Good luck scoring with Napoleon, yourself."

Wolf barely took notice of his surroundings as he was led to a massive apartment building. Even he knew no student would be able to rent their 1DK* units on part-time wage and parental subsidy.

"You're not the only one with fat wads of dosh." Isaac playfully smirked as he opened the door to his apartment.

Wolf could feel his heart thumping against his chest as he took his first step into the threshold.

There was no window to the outside world besides the TV. His iPhone was stashed away somewhere in this godforsaken apartment, most likely dismantled beyond repair.

Wolf curled on the too-small couch as the sound of rain muffled whatever trite noises the TV made. These days, there was nothing to watch but variety shows and drama.

He had no stomach for anime. His jailer, however, would drag him out to eat dinner while watching his favorite series.

He'd laugh and talk to him as if this was normal. Wolf supposed it was, for the aberrant. Had he been a girl, the freak would somehow bring get his hands on a marriage registration form and force him to sign it.

Alright, that was harsh. But judging from Wolf's current circumstances, maybe his prejudice towards the other boy wasn't entirely unjustified.

He fell for his kindness, and his hormonal, teenage self drove sealed his fate. What he thought was a mutual exchange between two touch-starved boys turned into a one-way transaction with no way out.

Wolf laid down on his back. The shadows playing across the ceiling gave him a sense of deja vu.

He could still feel the weight of a warm body on his own and the scent of strawberries clinging to his black sweater. His eyes and head were full of nothing but Isaac, Isaac, Isaa-

If that afternoon felt like a dream, then this must be a nightmare. The next time he opened his eyes, he would be back in his own bedroom, Nannerl's voice waking him from outside the door.

"Where on earth did you manage to get that? You don't have a sister."

"Be still, "Isaac admonished, leaning so close that he was partially sitting on Wolf's lap. "You don't want me to smear this all over your face."

You're not answering my question. Wolf wanted to know why Isaac was able to produce a glossy lip tint from his bedroom. He'd seen girls at his school carrying that particular brand and type. It became en vogue several months ago, and he still remembered his sister saying it was a best-seller.

Why a schoolboy with no girlfriend kept one in his bedroom, he didn't know. If this were somebody else, Wolf wouldn't pry. But this was Isaac.

He needed to know more about him. Peel away his layers and uncover the many different faces no one else would ever see.

Wolf put up mock resistance as the pointed applicator (apple-scented. Curious.) drew closer to his lips. Knowing that struggling would only lead him into having one of his eyes poked, the taller boy decided to lay down and let Isaac finish the job.

He gently swept the tint over Wolf's lips back and forth until he was satisfied. He reared back to look at his handiwork adoringly.

"Ah, as I thought, you look perfect in red." Isaac was quick to don back his signature frown. Only this time, there was a furious blush spreading across his cheeks.

Wolf said nothing as he pulled Isaac's tie until dry lips crashed on his lacquered own. The younger boy was just as eager as he was, an inquisitive tongue slipping into Wolf's welcoming mouth.

"I haven't seen you as often lately." Isaac caught him one day in the shoe changing area. "Been going somewhere?"

Wolf smoothly fought his desire to brush back Isaac's bangs from his forehead. "I'm now a third-year, and I'm attending the university prep class. I need to devote my time to studying."

"Is that why you're hanging with Leonardo-senpai all the time in the library?"

"What do you think? Of course," Wolf rushed towards the exit. He had no time for Isaac's nagging. "My parents have high expectations of me, you know."

"But what about your music?"

Wolf stopped in his tracks and turned toward the panting boy. "What about it?"

"I thought you got a recommendation from a music school somewhere. Why do you need to spend all your time studying?" the redhead yelled, his outburst a rare display of candid emotion.

What's with this naivety you're suddenly showing me? "My portfolio alone won't be enough to get me into a good school. I also need good grades to help me pass. I thought that's obvious, especially to you."

No high-achieving student like Isaac would suddenly fret over having to achieve higher grades to get to a reputable university.

I thought you wanted to get into astrophysics yourself? Does it not require outstanding grades?

"Isaac, what-"

"Then, does that mean you'll stop going to the music room and play like you used to?" Isaac strode to catch up with Wolf. "Does that mean I can't come and see you anymore?"

Wolf reached out and grabbed Isaac's sides, unaware of the attention they drew from bystanders. "If that's what you're worried about," he sighed. "We can go on weekends when I'm able. How does that sound?"

He didn't like the slight trembling of Isaac's lips. Here, he couldn't kiss it away. Not if it meant risking becoming the topic of gossip among students for many months to come

Wolf's phone vibrated for the fifth time over the last twenty minutes.

"Are you not picking that up?" Jean pointed at the device, eliciting a groan from its owner.

"That's just Isaac. Ignore it." The white-haired youth snatched his phone and switched on silent mode. "He's just a lot clingier lately."

"Why don't you block him? I'm sure this is not the first time." Jean regarded him calmly, his eyes focused on the problem that they were in the middle of solving. "Doesn't it bother you too when you're studying alone?"

"That's a little too harsh, even for Isaac." Wolf threw the phone over his head, and it landed on the bed with a soft thud. "Besides, weren't you the one shoving me towards him?"

Jean tapped the butt of his pencil against his lips. "I didn't expect it would turn into anything like this."

"Like what?"

"That he'd turn out to be this... possessive." Jean selected his words carefully. "I'm surprised you even let him go this far."

Wolf sighed. His friend was right. Nobody had ever driven him up the wall quite like Isaac. "He's always been lonely," Wolf concluded, violet orbs focusing on the mechanical pencil he was twirling. "I can't just leave him alone, can I?"

"Even so," Jean murmured. "I can't bear to see you like this. I've seen you approached by admirers before, and you turned them down all down without trouble."

What's so different about him? was the real question he didn't ask.

"He's... entertaining, to be honest. Makes you want to take care of him." Wolf explained, matter-of-factly. There wasn't a single tinge of red on his cheeks. "But, to be honest, his clinginess does irk me a bit."

Jean came over to ask help from Wolf for his math homework. He wasn't here to listen to him drawling about his (honestly hopeless) love life.

Wolf brought his attention back to the workbook they had abandoned. His brows were knitted in thought.

"You think it's a good idea to call it quits with Isaac?"

After a while, the rain finally quieted down, nearly lulling Wolf to sleep. Losing himself to slumber was the easiest, least painful way to deal with this hallucination-gone-horribly-real.

There was light rain on the day he asked Isaac to talk in a cafe not too far from here. Wolf remembered it like it was only yesterday. There was the posh interior, girls from the nearby Catholic school giggling at them, the aftertaste of the cafe au lait he ordered. He could vividly picture the delicately plated apple pancake in front of Isaac, piping hot and enticing.

He would never forget phantom tears prickling in the corner of Isaac's rosy eyes.

Everything considered, he did what he'd always done: tell the other they needed to part ways, calmly explain the reason why, and set boundaries. "I won't be answering your calls or messages, and I won't be waiting around for you after school."

"I will no longer be visiting the music room. You won't find me there."

Unexpectedly, the boy only heaved a sigh and shook his head. No screaming or begging involved.

"I see. I had a feeling it would turn out this way." He continued to finish his dessert silently.

Perhaps it was out of genuine love (or even pity) that he brusquely offered to walk Isaac back to his apartment building one last time. Wolf didn't consider himself a poor judge of character, so it must be his heart winning over his head.

And what a blunder that was.

He nearly collapsed onto Isaac's side, barely listening to the boy fretting and calling to him in distress. "Senpai, what's the matter? You look pale. Let's get you inside so you can lie down."

The unwitting Wolf was led straight into his awaiting den.

Wolf awoke to the sound of the front door unlocking and a quiet I'm home, followed by some shuffling and other sorts of ruckus the clumsy boy caused.

Footsteps approached the couch he laid on. His heart no longer throbbed like crazy by now whenever the other came near.

"I'm home, Wolf. Why didn't you answer?"

His boyish voice used to be the reason why he was drawn to Isaac. But now, it only made his skin crawl. Wolf seethed and averted his eyes as far away as possible from his 'guardian', wishing he could regurgitate his lunch all over the plush carpet.

"Are you still sulking? Don't be. It doesn't become that lovely face of yours."

If you weren't drugging me daily, I would have strangled you.

"Were you lonely without me? It can get pretty dull as dishwater 'round here." Wolf tried to distract himself from the hands, grabbing him and propping himself up. " 'suppose it's about time I get you a keyboard to play. It'll be like the old days."

I wish I never let you inside the music room that day.

Cold fingers combed through unruly silver locks. "This is all 'Leon's fault. Bummer. He insisted on waiting for Jean-senpai."

Isaac squeezed himself into space next to Wolf's rigid figure. The elder closed his eyes as an arm snaked its way around his waist. "Yeah, we couldn't exactly run under heavy rain."

Wolf's eyes were fixed on the screen. Would there ever be a chance of his face showing on breaking news, a shot of his parents crying over their missing son, or interviews with fellow students from his school?

Anything but the white noise the darned TV emitted. Or the unwanted hand now caressing his burning cheek.

Poor sod looked like he was missing you for real. Napoleon invited him to walk home with us because he 'couldn't bear to see him in distress." His voice dropped into a whisper. "But if you ask me."

"They're prolly trading making out in some dark alley because Jean-senpai can't stand being alone," Isaac mocked. Every syllable pouring out of his lips made Wolf's stomach churn. "I take back what I said about him missing you. He just wants dick in him, thinking it'll help him get better."

The plastic remote clattered on an uncovered part of the wooden floor. Wolf wanted to pry away his imprisoner's claws from his shoulder. Fingers that used to radiate heat all over his skin now left nothing but disgust in their wake.

"He likes to pretend he's all prim and proper when really, he's just an attention-seeking slag." The venom was so palpable and potent in his voice that it made Wolf overlook the fact that the bastard was muttering directly against the back of his neck. "I don't get why you kept putting up with him, that fraud."

Nobody else would ever be this genuine to you, Wolf-senpai. So the boy mumbled to him every night before sleep.

All sheepish pretenses were thrown and cast aside as conveniently as changing clothes. Wolves were affectionate creatures, the young composer once read.

But they're still wolves.

"I don't know if you'd be fine with electric keyboards," Isaac sighed into his hair. "If I had more money, I'd buy you a real red piano — the polished kind that looks like a toy. Ah, I used to see them all the time at a toy store when I was a kid."

Isaac's delirious rambling convinced Wolf that he wasn't the madman. That this was real and that there was no waking up from this long, bad dream —

Wolf violently shut his eyes as Isaac drew him closer, tighter. To Wolf's impaired senses, Isaac's words were losing to the sound of rain. There was a downpour outside.

" I found a picture of you from when you were in middle school. You were already stunning, sitting in front of your family's white piano." He went on. "It's always white, grey, light blue. Ever thought that you'd look perfectly good in red?"

Glossary:

*1 Todai: short for Tokyo Daigaku or Tokyo University. Basically Japan's most legendary university. *2 1DK: a Japanese term referring to an apartment unit with two rooms with a kitchen and dining space separated from other areas. The D stands for "Dining" and K stands for "Kitchen".

I originally planned this to be a shorter fic from Isaac's perspective, but I switched to Mozart's instead and got carried away.

#ikevam fanfic #ikemen vampire #ikevam mozart #ikevam isaac #mosaac #mozart x isaac #riri tries ikevam

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Part About Being Human

Characters: Castiel x Angel!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, fluff, skinny dipping, brief oral fem recieving

Request by anon: Can you write a fluffy Cas x Reader where she is his best friend and they are both in love with each other. He is the careful and overthinking angel she is the girl who just wants to live in the moment. One night they go skinny dipping.

Summary: You’ve lived with humans for centuries, and you can’t ever think about going back to Heaven. When Castiel shows up, you have to show him how good it feels to be human.

Squares Filled: childhood friends @castielspnbingo // fools rush where angels fear to tread @as-the-saying-goes-bingo // castiel for my frist card of heavenandhellbingo // kissed to be quiet @spnfluffbingo // new years resolution @spngenrebingo // “whatever you lack in talent, you make up for in confidence.” @spnquotebingo // non-canonical relationship for @trope-bingo

Author’s Note: This is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine. If you have any requests, please send them in!

Heaven has always been a “one-track mind” and a “black and white” kind of way. There is a set of rules every angel is supposed to follow, and if you don’t, then you’re cast out. Most habitable planets have and follow the same kind of rules, and they become so boring to live by. It’s fine for the first couple millennium, but then it gets kind of boring and predictable.

God entrusted his angels to serve Heaven and to follow those strict rules. Heaven always comes first, and it didn’t matter if you had other priorities in your life. You went where the archangels sent you, you did what they asked of you, and you did it without complain.

There has to be something more out there, something that challenged its people and didn’t tell them what to do and where to go. There had to be someplace in the entire universe that held creative imagination to a high standard. For a while, you never found it. You searched high and low for it, but you always came up empty. It made you question whether or not such a thing existed until you found Earth.

Such a small planet in some tiny solar system lying in a galaxy that is barely out of its diapers. Such a tiny and insignificant planet, and they defy all the rules. Upon first discovering them, your heart soared at the thought of being able to creatively express yourself--to be who you are instead of being who someone else tells you to be. Heaven is exactly that--you don’t get to be who you are. They program you into being perfect soldiers, but that’s not who you want to be.

You want to be able to talk with your peers without the fear of being judged by them, you want to be able to do something without your four older brothers reigning hell down on you for disobeying your father, and you want to be able to find love and joy and humor and sadness and grief--something you can’t ever find in Heaven. Everyone’s Heavens are perfect little sanctuaries that protect them from the horrors of their own lives. You won’t find what you’re looking for in there--and you’ve gotten in trouble for popping into people’s Heavens before.

Humans have a silly way of doing things, but what makes them so unique is that they are imperfect. Everyone in Heaven is perfect--no scars to tell people where they’ve been and what they’ve been doing. Humans are flawed to the T, but that’s what makes them so special to be around. They cherish life because it ends. They find value in happiness because of sadness and fear. They crave thrills and adventure because their bodies are built to withstand so much, yet, they don’t know that. Human souls are so valuable and pure, it’s amazing what each person does with them.

Humans have come a long way since they were first created, but they still have such a long way to go. They won’t ever be perfect, but that’s why you love them so much. It’s also the main reason why you left Heaven to hide on Earth to be with the humans. You pretended for centuries to be like one of them--talk, act, love--just so you can feel like you belong to something.

There are bad ones that filter through every once in a while, but you’d rather be here than on Heaven a million times over. There is just something so powerful and heartwarming about being surrounded by imperfect beings. It really makes you question what God has been doing, and what kind of plan he has for the angels. Even now you can see angels are heavily flawed because the system is flawed.

There is a flawed system down on Earth regarding the demons and monsters that Eve unleashed onto the world. They are the diseased little insects that have been infecting the world from the very start, but you try and do your part to make it a better place without outing yourself to the rest of your friends and family. The only one you want to know you’re down here is Castiel.

He’s the only person you absolutely love out of your entire friends and family from up there.

He’s a good soldier, and you fought beside him in many battles, but he’s also the only one who gets and understands you. He’s seen the flaws up in Heaven, but you’re the only one who had the balls to leave and do something about it. He stayed, and you wish to your father he would come down here and find you.

You’ve prayed to him before in hopes he would change his mind and come down here, but you hadn’t heard anything from him in a while. He’s your best friend who you love with all your heart, and he’s not down here experiencing this with you. You’ve been everywhere on this Earth three times, and it would all be better if he were by your side. You’ve hunted with hunters from all over the world in fighting their monsters, and the ones you actually like are the Winchesters.

They know you exist and how you’re trying to hide from Heaven, so they kept your secret all these years. Then Dean died, and that’s when Castiel finally made his appearance. He’s the one who saved Dean from hell and learned you were here from Sam. Sam knew how much you missed him, so he spilled the beans just a little bit.

While the Winchesters traveled around the United States, you stayed in one place: New York City. While most people would say it’s a dump and has dirty people and things, you think of it as a place where creativity flies high. You don’t think you ever met a group of more independent people than in New York City. You used your angelic powers to get yourself a penthouse suite in the Big Apple just so you could watch the humans live their life all around you.

And now Castiel is here, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Castiel!” you rejoice and hug him tightly.

“Y/N, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. Michael wants you back.”

“Michael can sit on his ass and wait. I cloaked myself. I didn’t want to be found, that’s why I prayed to you al the time in hopes you’d join me down here.”

You’re sitting inside a cafe in one of the corners, just watching as humans ordered, talked, and laughed with themselves and other people.

“Why Earth?”

“That seems to be the question that everyone asks these days. Why Earth? Humans are so messy and imperfect and animals. We’re so much above them that they don’t even have any kind of value or worth.”

“Exactly,” he nods.

“But that’s exactly why they’re so special. How old are we, Castiel? Megaannum, that’s how old. We’re millions of years old, and we still have millions more to go. They see the value in life because it ends. For some, it lasts 70 years and others, 100. But it ends, and that’s why they cherish it. They’re reckless and rash and impulsive, but they’re the best judge of characters. I’ve learned that living down here for a few centuries. I’m not human, but it’s not such a bad thing to learn to be it.”

“You sound like God,” he sighs.

“Yes, I do. The only difference between me and Him is that I actually lived among them instead of creating them. He may have created their structure, but they evolved from it and made it better. This is a new year, and I want to try new things. I want you to stay with me here, Castiel. I want to be human with you.”

“We’re not human.”

“No, but we can act like them. How about I make you a deal. You come camping with me for a whole week, and if you decide to stay with me, then that’s great. However, if you decide to go back home, then I won’t blame you. All I ask is that if you do, don’t tell them where I am. They’ll make me come home, and I already found a new one. I’ll still aid and help if and when Heaven needs me, but it’s not right now.”

“What’s camping?” he asks in confusion.

“Oh, Castiel, you’re going to love it! It’s where humans go into the woods and bring camping gear and tents and sleeping bags and non-perishable food while being in touch with nature!” you gush.

“Like animals.”

“You can be so stoic sometimes. Let me take you camping. It’s, like, the most human thing I’ve seen. Well, apart from eating and sleeping and showering. It’ll be so much fun!”

“Can’t wait,” he sighs.

His words express excitement, yet his tone expresses the complete opposite. Just he wait because this is going to be the best camping trip ever.

“You’ve been hanging with the Winchesters, I can tell. It’s why I brought this fancy-ass tent. You don’t need sleeping bags for this because there are air mattresses inside of it. They’re pretty sturdy actually. Great for sleeping.”

“We don’t sleep.”

“Exactly,” you smirk.

You’ve always had a crush on your fellow angel, but you never did anything about it. There are a lot of angels in Heaven making relationships with one another. It’s the most human thing you’ve seen them do. You’ve always hoped you and Castiel would be together one day, but then you left and you hadn’t seen him since. Maybe you can start something with him down here, and he would want to stay.

“What are we supposed to do now?” he asks.

“Now we set up the fire. It’s going to get dark soon. It’s my fault for leaving so late. I try not to use my powers down here. I’ve figured out how to live without them.”

“I could never,” he mutters, but you choose not to comment on it.

Castiel stands there as still as can be while you try to get the fire going. You want to be human, but you haven’t figured out how to everything they can do. Like building a fire, for instance. It’s a lot harder than it looks. Castiel can see you struggling, and he just snickers at your attempts to get a flame going.

“Whatever you lack in talent, you make up for in confidence.”

“Shut the hell up,” you laugh and give in with your powers.

You start a fire instantly despite not needing the warmth. It’s mostly to sit around and watch the fire embers bounce off Castiel’s face. You’ve never seen him in this kind of light, and you can only imagine what color blue his eyes would be against the red of the flames.

“We can start doing things tomorrow, but you need different clothes. It’s hard to do anything with a trench coat and suit on. Let me help you,” you state and walk over to him.

Your hands slide up his coat so you can push it off his shoulders. He watches the emotion in your eyes as you do so, so you know he sees just how much you want him.

“I can manage on my own.”

“You’re still so stiff. Let me help you with that. There’s a reason why I picked this spot. You want to know why?” you ask and step back from him.

“Why?”

“Because there is a lake, and I really love swimming. Care to join me?”

“Isn’t is tradition to wear a swimsuit when doing things like this?” he asks as you lift your shirt over your head.

If it’s possible, he gets stiffer at the sight of you in just a bra and shorts. Not just his body, but his cock as well. Jimmy Novak’s cravings must be getting through somehow.

“It is, but there’s also your birthday suit,” you smirk and finish undressing before his very eyes. “Care to join me?”

“I’d like that,” he says in a much lower voice than normal.

You turn with your back to him as you walk into the lake by your campsite. Castiel doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he knows he wants to do it with you. The crush you have on him is exactly the kind of crush he has on you. He’s had it ever since you two were children. He never thought relations between angels were allowed until most recently. If he’s going to do anything with anyone, then he’d rather do it with you.

As soon as he’s naked, he walks into the lake to be by your side. While you don’t have sexual cravings as your angel grace prevents it, your vessel’s cravings do shine through. Castiel is a lean and sexy man, and she definitely likes what she sees.

“Do you like the way the water feels on your skin?” you ask as you swim closer to him.

“It’s nice, yes.”

“You’re still tense. Would you like me to help you relax? I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way,” you chuckle.

“What would you do that could help me? Don’t you get nervous or anxious in situations like these? Like you don’t know what you’re--”

You cut him off with a kiss to the lips. He’s shocked, to say the least, but he doesn’t not like it. His vessel is popping up through the cracks in more ways than one, and he’s not sure if she should roll with this or end it.

“Don’t think, feel,” you whisper and wrap your legs around his waist.

His cock springs to attention the more your hands and lips are on his body, but he knows exactly what to do. He’s been to Earth before, and he’s observed this kind of activity before. He’s never participated it in personally, but he knows what to do and where to put it.

“This is new,” he mutters lowly.

“Do you like it?”

“I do.”

“Then let me do more of it,” you grin.

Your lips move from his down to his neck to find that one spot that would have made his vessel soar with pleasure. The water sloshes around you two, but you don’t pay any attention to it. Instead, you’re focused on the thing that’s poking at your center. You’ve come to learn a lot about your body and what it can do and handle. Right now, you can handle a lot more than this.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” he pants.

“You do, Castiel. Take me back to the tent and have your way with me. You’ll know what to do,” you encourage.

You attach your lips to his just as his hands grip your body tighter. He begins the trek back to the tent without ever letting you go. You two drip water everywhere, but you can’t seem to care right now. He lays you down on one of the sturdy air mattresses before detaching his lips from yours.

“I’ve seen many people do this,” he mutters as he kisses down your neck and chest.

“And now you’re doing it yourself,” you moan when he takes a nipple into his mouth.

The noises you make and the way your body arches fuels him to go down further. It’s like the more skin he exposes to himself, the more he knows what to do. He’s not listening to the angel side of him, but the human side of him. Every angel has one, and the longer an angel spends away from Heaven and other angels, the more it pops out.

“Your body is exquisite,” he praises as he descends down your body.

“I can say the same thing about your mouth,” you chuckle-moan.

By the time he reaches your pussy, he knows exactly what to do. He licks one broad stripe up your center, and his vessel goes crazy with the need to be inside you. Castiel’s tongue is warm and wet, but there is time for that later on. Right now, all you want is to feel him inside you. You’ve waited a long time for this moment, and you’re not going to waste another second of it.

He kisses up your body and locks his lips with yours as he grabs the base of his throbbing cock in his hand. He rubs the tip over your lips a few times just to spread your juices around. Humans say this part hurts, but he knows you’ll be able to take the pain. He slides himself in inch by inch until he bottoms out, holding your hands in his by your head.

“Shit, Castiel, you feel so good inside me,” you moan.

“Who knew you could be this tight,” he chuckles.

He gains a surge of confidence that allows him to pull out and slam right back in. Your back arches the moment of impact, and your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. No noise comes out of it because your body is just in complete shock at what he’s done. He can see how much pleasure he’s giving you, so he does it again, making sure to hit that one spot guaranteed to make you scream.

“Fuck!” you cry.

He doesn’t waste any more time and pistons in and out of you. Out of all the humans you’ve been with, Castiel is the one to come out on top. Nothing is better than angel sex because it can withstand a whole lot more than human sex. Castiel’s hips snap to yours aggressively, and he grips your hips to hold you in place. If he’s going to do this, he may as well do it right knowing you can take a lot.

“Play with my clit, Castiel. I’ll come easier with that,” you guide one of his hands to the bundle of nerves at your center.

“Like this?” he asks and pinches the bundle.

“Yes!” you squeak and moan louder.

He pinches and rolls your clit a few times as he thrusts go harder and deeper in you. Both stimulations are enough to cause the coil inside of you to get tighter and tighter. It’s going to snap soon, and you express it through your words.

“Feel that tightness in me, Castiel? I’m going to come if you keep that up,” you moan.

“Then come,” he simply puts.

Your body comes on command, coating his cock with everything you got. He didn’t know it himself, but he was also close. Feeling your release all over him caused him to shoot his load into you. He never knew sex could be this fun, otherwise, he would have done it a long time ago.

“That’s the best sex I’ve had in a long time,” you laugh.

Castiel pulls out of you and watches as the mixture of yours and his releases drizzle down your thighs. He lays next to you and looks at you as if you are his world.

“You’ve had sex before?”

“Castiel, it’s the best part about being human.”

“I’d like to learn more,” he says seriously.

“You know, I am going to wipe all that tension out of your body until you’re just like me,” you grin and bounce back rather quickly.

“Y/N, no one can be like you.”

“I take that as a compliment because Castiel, there is so much more for you to learn,” you grin.

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