#forgot too tag this as an ask rip

[isjasz]

📸📸📸 (screenshot redraws :D)

[compacflt]

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

[phlurrii]

Hey! Sorry if this has been asked before, but I’m still a bit confused as to what Noe and Deca are exactly. I get that they are glitches, but how? And why? I never played the first games so perhaps this is where my lack of understanding comes from. I read the Wikipedia page about MissingNo., but would love to learn what your thoughts are behind them. Thanks!

So my take on them is basically personifying the glitches I was obsessed with as a kid! So we’re working with 3 glitches total here: Bad Egg, Decamark, and Missingno.

Bad Egg is how a Pokémon game stores or contains corrupted data in the simplest of terms, I used this in my story as something Arceus created to contain/remove real world glitches, anomalies, and laws of the universe defying happenings.

Eventually, Noe’s sentient ramblings and time spent with Bad Egg rubbed odd in one way or another, thus becoming a Decamark.

A Decamark, in their simplest explanation, is what appears when what should be there, isn’t there. Think entering a Pokémon battle in game, but you’re entire party is fainted via glitches/cheats, so a Decamark will be thrown out in its place!

I personify this by having it hatch from the Bad Egg, given when an egg hatches, somethings suppose to be there. Except, bad eggs can’t hatch a real Pokémon usually, so instead a Decamark appears. Given its from Bad Egg’s tho, it continues Bad Egg’s job. Thus when things that shouldn’t exist, aka anomalies, Decamark’s job is to correct/contain through eating them! Digesting them and using it to supply their own powers.

Missingno. is a bit more complicated and been explained better previously, so I’ll skip the brief summary about its in game counterpart.

So, my Missingno. on the other hand is a bit different, their original job/purpose hasn’t been revealed yet. However, after they appeared early, they were granted the same job as Bad Egg. Aka contains and eating anomalies to keep the world in check. Noe has a variety of different abilities due to the glitch being very fleshed out in the sense of what we know about it and the purpose it served.

The 3 of them are basically entities, not organisms, that exist outside the natural world to keep the said natural world functioning. Noe just happened to be related job wise to Meau and the two become besties, thus allowing for some shenanigans to lead to his current position. Him and Bad Egg/Decamark were never meant to both exist, so when they do funny stuff happens, like bad egg hatching ;D

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[andraxicated]

Absolute Threshold

Pairing: Sylus x f! reader

Synopsis: Sylus shows you how grateful he is that you'll carry his child

tags: nsfw | in this house we crave baby daddy! sylus | p in v | oral sex | pregnancy | dirty talk | every filthy shit my cooch can think of | nicknames | non-accurate pregnancy sex cause idk i'm not pregnant |

a/n: i came back from the dead pt. 500 and i totally forgot how to write.

inspired by the manhwa of the same name

Sylus—this man—never fails to give your heart somersaults in a bad way. The first one was when you thought you killed him by being forced to pull the damned trigger, and you thought his blood was on your hands now. The second one was being in the presence of meetings gone wrong where you swore he would've killed everyone in that room if you weren't there. And you can't seem to find a third one because it goes on and on. Living life with Sylus has put you on edge, and sleeping with him made the anxiety grow ten times bigger.

Especially when said man's baby is growing inside you.

You pace around the room, wearing nothing but his shirt and a panty just because it's comfy. Yet you know better than to let him catch you like that because you won't be leaving the bed 'til morning. You groan, clutching the pregnancy test and hospital results in your hand, wishing they would somehow disappear or just be a prank the twins did.

The door opens to reveal Sylus, just as expected, but with blood all over his body. The stench of blood hits you, and you fight back the urge to hurl at the wrong moment. You dash to his figure and shakily approach him, not knowing what to do but to stand uselessly as his scars slowly disappear and his wounds regenerate.

"Oh, you're here," he says as if he didn't know you came.

"Sylus. What happened?" you ask, your voice hoarse as tension dissipates from your shoulders. He rolls his shoulders and heads over to the bed, plopping down with his arms behind him. He smirks as his gaze scans over your figure, and you find yourself using your arms to hide your lower body. Sylus pulls you to him as he lays you down, adjusting your positions so your back faces his chest. 

“Just another day of being the leader of Onychinus,” he says as his finger plays with the band of your underwear. You prepare yourself for the onslaught of his fingers on your pussy, but he suddenly moves upward to grip your breasts under your shirt—his shirt. 

He inhales and sniffs at your neck, engraving your scent in his mind as he grinds on your ass from behind. You were about to lose yourself in his touch until you remembered what you came here for. 

“Sylus wait!” You sit up and fix yourself; the man behind you starts doing the same as confusion settles on his face. You turn and hold his hand, gulping down every nervousness that threatens to take over your mind. You knew you needed to spit everything out and rip it like a band aid before you spiraled with anxiety. 

Sylus waits for you to speak, but it's clear that his patience is running thin. He tsks “What is it now that you have to hold my hand? Were you that lonely when I left?”

You look at him and take a deep breath, trying your best to push everything out, and say, “Sylus, I'm pregnant.”

His stare blanks with silence, and suddenly he pulls you into his arms, his long limbs covering you completely as he gently pats your head. Something about his comforting touches brings you to tears. He pulls back to wipe at your face, kissing the tears away and showing his soft side that's only for you. 

“Do you want this?” He asks the important question with furrowed brows. And when you said “yes,"  that was the moment he allowed himself to be happy and break a small smile.

He shows his gratitude by whispering sugary words to your ears, kissing down your neck as he continues his earlier ministrations to your breast. He plays them softly in his large palms, making sure not to go too hard on your sensitive peaks. He growls as he imagines them growing throughout your pregnancy, hard on rising from the thought of your already perfect body undergoing changes. He thinks it isn't so bad after all.

“Sylus! Mmmh!” He swallows down your moans with his lips, hungrily devouring you. He feels like he can't get enough of you—a prize for all the shitty things he had to go through in this life. Even better that you came to bear the fruits of his cum releasing inside you.

He pulls away to give you a reprieve as you suck in all the air you can. Sylus’ crimson eyes were feral as he took in your pretty face. You looked like a debauched goddess, and he intended to make it a sight every day. 

“Sit on my face, kitten,” he commands with a gruff voice, and you snap your head in shock. Mouth open, unable to take in what he had said. You were taking too long to act, so Sylus decided to pull you on top of him, positioning you to slide off your underwear completely and baring your beautiful cunt for him to look up to. It was so lewd compared to the things you've done, causing you to clench at nothing, and you swore his eyes gleamed dangerously if he did catch it.

“Spread your legs more,” he says, and without warning, pushes your body on him to latch his tongue on your hole, his nose catching on your clit causing you to squirm in his hold and clench on the muscle flicking inside. Sylus felt you were tense, so he had to pull away and slap your pussy, giving jolts of pleasure as his words went from one ear to another.

“Relax and let me eat your pussy. You need to get stretched open.” He continues kitten licks outside the hole, stretching it open to make way for his tongue to taste your essence. 

You feel him deeply buried, his face lewdly pressed against your pussy; the feeling of putting weight on his face has you heating up in embarrassing pleasure. “No more! Nghh-stop!” 

“You say that but you keep grinding your pussy to my face.” He trails sloppy kisses into your hole like the menace he is to prove a point. “It’s like you're in denial that you get off on this.” 

"No, 'm not!” You whine, and Sylus just chuckles deep within your pussy, sending vibrations down your spine to which you arch. He flattens his tongue to lick two long stripes before french kissing your tight hole, pushing in two fingers as a surprise and to play with your clit. Your legs shake as you grip his hair, using his face like a toy to chase your high. His nose repeatedly bumps in you, a toe-curling addition to the pleasure building up.

You went jaw-slacked back arched as you cum on his mouth, Sylus enjoying the clean-up of the mess you made. His tongue was a little less wild as he left butterfly kisses on his favorite part of you.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand before letting you off and settling you down gently on the bed. Sylus smirks with his glistening face, shining with the juice that came out of you. He taps his crotch and raises a brow. “Do you want to suck me off?” You nod, and he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his fingers threading once through your hair like a master to his kitten. “Good girl, I knew you would say that." Then he presses the leaking cockhead to your lips, the mere action sending sparks throughout your body at how lewd your position was. 

He could see your ass up trembling due to your weakening legs as you started taking him in your mouth. The stretch was quite uncomfortable due to his large size, but the delicious feeling of his heavy member was enough to keep your head going. You direct your eye upwards at Sylus while making slow strokes, trying your best to fuel the expressions he was making. He had his sight locked on you, eyebrows together in pleasure,  making sure to take a mental picture of your lip circled on his cock and your ass up in the air.

'Fuck!” He groans and throws his head back, hissing as you try to take him all in and make yourself choke on his dick. Sylus wanted to push your head towards him and fuck your mouth roughly just as he used to, but he knows you’re in a delicate condition that requires less manhandling. So he resorts to light thrusts to help you take him in, making you tear up a little than full on sobbing with muffled cries on his cock.

Sylus could feel his high coming, so he pulled you away as you gasped for air and coughed. You engage in a messy kiss, spit stretching between you as he suddenly positions you above his raging member. It was red and angry, very eager to cum inside the pussy it belonged to.

“W-wait! I’m not sure-Hahhh!” You scream as his thickness penetrates your small hole before stretching out your walls. Your arms lay limp behind his shoulder as he holds your hips and starts to thrust upward to meet your spot. Your earlier wetness creates squelching sounds against his upper thigh, a reminder of the pace he set in destroying your pussy. 

“B-be careful!” You whine, trying to match his pace in going down on him, but he was far too vigorous in his actions that all you can do is moan prettily and take his cock. The girth and the veins graze on your wet walls as Sylus takes in a tit from your mouth, sucking like he’d get milk from it. You couldn’t help but comply with his whims, pushing his mouth further into you as you let him indulge and switch between the two mounds. He licks the sensitive buds and sucks lightly, finishing off with butterfly kisses that have you tightening in response. 

“Need to stretch you out for our baby.” He pants, pistoning his mushroom tip in a spot that makes your legs shake and your body keel over. “You can take it like a good kitten.” Sylus’ thrusts repeatedly hit your gspot, driving you to the edge every time you jolt upwards from the force. His dick slips out from the continuous ramming, and you whine, making an effort to grab the length and put it back inside before he does. 

“Daddy, please movee” You moan as he breaches your entrance once more, and Sylus lets out a breathy laugh as he watches your pathetic attempt to get filled. 

“You love cock that much?” He glances down at where he meets you and sees the way his dick disappears to make a bulge on your lower abdomen. His crimson eyes glow dangerously as he puts in more power in working you open, balls hitting your soft ass as you start to chase your high by synchronizing with him.

“Mhmhm! Only yours~Ah~” You slur over your words in a cockdrunk haze, trying your best to ride him despite the obvious exhaustion in your bones. You feel like passing out, but you fight to stay awake just to feel the warm seed that knocked you up in the first place. You just love Sylus’ cum too much, love how he only does it for you.

“That’s my girl. Letting me fuck her and cum inside raw just because she loves my cock,” he says in a low voice, his pace going fast as you tremble in his arms. Sylus could feel the release building up, ready to shoot his load into you. 

“That’s why you got pregnant.” He whispers, grabs the back of your head softly, and exchanges a small moment of eye contact before your lips gravitate towards one another. Teeth clash against tongues, and you feel yourself squeeze against his hard shaft. A few more seconds of hitting the sweet spot, and you pull away to prolong a moan with your mouth agape. 

“Hahhhh! S-so good~” 

Sylus growls loudly from the clenching of your walls as you savor your orgasm. Your breathing was light, and all your muscles relaxed as you coated him in your sticky release. You just let Sylus do his thing, fucking up into you with his fat cock as your head lays on his shoulder, your mind cloudy from his nonstop onslaught. When you caught sight of his sweaty face, it was very clear that he was starting to struggle because of his impending orgasm. 

Your hand suddenly went to his neck, squeezing a little just to see his face when he cums with your hand on his. Then, as his hips faltered to still, you whispered "cum" just as Sylus let out a guttural moan with his head thrown back and eyes closed. You let go of the pressure on his neck and flinched at his warm cum filling you up and dribbling down between your thighs. He thrusts softly at the last of its spurts, making sure you’re all plugged up with cum before kissing you and exchanging saliva. 

Between those kisses were giggles that came from your lips, and Sylus couldn’t help but mirror the smile on your face. He spanks your ass playfully before making you look up to him. “Who told you that you could touch my neck? You’re being a very bad kitty.”

“This bad kitty has to carry a child for nine months. You’ll live if I choke you a little.” You jest before giving him a peck and resting in his arms. His hand goes to your tummy and rubs it as exhaustion lulls you to sleep. 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring. Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses." He smiles.

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

Even early, the air is sticky, and the pond is cool and inviting. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet hair. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"Woah. What happened here?"

Ari leans over to tap her thigh. 

"Oh—" she looks down at the thick scar, "I got shot there."

"Shit. You've been shot before?"

She nods and he moves his hand. "That's your battle scar."

"Battle scar?"

He smiles, eyes gleaming. "It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she shrugs to feign indifference. "I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His smirk etches a light dimple into his cheek. Then, his eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I know all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't fucking in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top. Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

"If you say so."

T

Your thumb throbs in rhythm with the steady pump of Kyle's arms. Despite pressing it into your palm to dull the pain, the ache persists. You had nicked it while sawing off your hair, and now the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You were still lapping at the painful pulse when the three men arrived to the pond, carrying a neon orange inflatable raft. They want to test it out on the water before embarking on the 35-kilometer journey across the channel. 

It is the third day of their presence and you can honestly say you've grown more comfortable, given that Kyle has gone hunting with you a few times now. He is easy to talk to, along with Nereida. Price—however—doesn't seem intrigued by you, or maybe you are insignificant in comparison to the rest that is on his mind. That's fair. You don't all need to be friends.

They've been spending most of their time gathering food. Ghost has been helping Price hunt deer to skin and dry into jerky they can take with them. Nereida showed you a patch of wild strawberries she found yesterday, boiling them down into jams before canning them. By having food with them, they will save time from having to hunt along the way. In perfect conditions, it would be a straight path, and they could make it to the Swiss mountains within a month or two. But it won't be a straight path, and obstacles are bound to hinder them.

Kyle audibly growls and straightens, wiping at his percolated brow. "This chamber just isn't inflating."

"It must have a hole somewhere. Check the seams," Price says.

Ghost flips the half-filled raft over with ease, running his fingers along the PVC. "Here." He taps what must be a minuscule puncture because you can't see it from where you sit. 

They patch it up with the little adhesive they have. The unease is noticeable as Kyle keeps pumping in air; they only have enough to cover a few holes, if they come across more. Finally, the six-person raft is full and they toss it onto the pond. Just the sight gets you thinking of all the variables they have to think of on the open water: the weather, currents, temperature. You had a friend in high school who swam across it once. She didn't get even halfway but having to pulled out, vomiting, and near-hypothermia. Open seawater is different than a pool. Unpredictable and quick to change.

"It seems sturdy." Nereida winds an arm around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Don't worry about it."

"As long as it stays sturdy."

"It will," she assures him.

The cut has crusted over by the time evening settles and you have to will yourself not to pick at it. You find yourself alone with the horse, watching the sun set behind the trees, as everyone else eats. 

"You probably don't like being tied up here, huh? You'd rather be running around." The coarse mane engrosses your fingers. Cherry bobs her head and a wet muzzle brushes your elbow. It tickles and you smile softly. "I wonder what will happen to you once they leave," you whisper. "Horses can't fit in a raft, huh?"

"No, they can't."

A hand presses into her neck beside yours, the person's arm extending over your shoulder. You crane your neck at Kyle but his eyes are on the animal, thoughtful, brows lowered. You wet your lips and step to the side to bring more space between your bodies. 

"Not hungry either?" you ask.

Finally he looks at you, lips quirked at the side. "Nah. I had a big lunch." He stops petting her and crosses his arms, chin tilting. "Ever ridden a horse before?"

"Once or twice. As a kid."

His eyes almost lean dark green in the cast of orange light, but it must be a mere illusion. "Care to go for a ride?"

His eyebrow rises expectantly. You glance back at the cabin and then at Cherry. "Why not?"

He instructs you how to get on. You grip the knob of the saddle and flex your core, hoisting yourself with more strength than you've had to use in a few days. Kyle sits behind you and grips the reins after untying her. The last time you were on a horse was for a friend's birthday party; you trekked through a ranch on a white pony. Cherry is much taller than that one was, or maybe you're not fond of being so high up. You thread your fingers through her mane.

It is a silent ride at first as you try to ignore the sting on your butt, unused to firm leather seat. He must notice your discomfort because he tells you to relax and lean back. You do, until your spine brushes against his chest. It helps a little.

Cherry trots calmly through the trees, towards the circle of stumps that marks the east. 

"Do you think she will be able to take care of herself?" you break the quiet. 

"I'm sure she will be fine. Smart girl, huh, Cherry?"

The sun has disappeared but it isn't quite dark yet. "Are you scared?"

A breathy chuckle emits from behind you. He must realize what you are referring to—scared for the journey. "Yeah, always. I mean—I'm scared about Ari. He's the last family I got, and as old as he thinks he is, he's still young and naive. I still have to make choices for him."

"I was terrified of losing Joseph," you admit, and swallow. "He was so young and fragile. It felt like...like trying to keep an egg from cracking when your hands are made of stone. But at least I never had to take him to another country."

"That was your nephew? Joseph?"

You nod. 

"Tell me about him."

You rack your brain. "Well, he was seven. And he..." You smile to yourself. "He was the pickiest eater in the world, even when we were all starving. I could not get him to eat meat unless I practically burned it. And he liked to look at bugs. I did, too, when I was young. I used to dig up worms when it rained to show him." He hums a gentle laugh behind you. You find yourself lost in the thought of it for a second. "Sometimes I...I think about how once I die, there will be no one left to remember those little things about him. Then, he will be completely gone, you know?"

You don't know why you're telling him this. You shake your head. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We gotta talk about shit like that or else we'll go crazy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm already crazy."

"Probably." A deer passes to the left and Cherry startles, but he is quick to soothe her with a flick of the reins and a stern—easy. She settles. "Are you scared?" he asks after a moment.

"Of what?"

"Of traveling so far."

"Well, I don't know if Ghost..." you trail off, absorbing the tone of his voice. You stiffen. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean how we're all leaving in a month."

"Wait—stop." You grip his hand over the rein with more force than necessary, urging him to bring Cherry to a halt. You twist your spine and gape at him. "What are you talking about?"

He eyes you with a frown, and rubs his neck. "Shit. I thought he already told you."

"No, he didn't. Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat. "He, uh, agreed to come this morning, but only if we take another month to prepare and shit. Get his daughter ready, sort things out."

You try not tremble in anger as his words sink in, clenching your hands as your breath picks up. "Take me back," you breathe out, brain racing. "I want to go back now."

The ride back is silent. You feel shaken. Your nail digs deep into the nick on your thumb unthinkingly until there is a smear of blood over your fingers. The others are getting ready for bed when the two of you return, moon bright. You bite your tongue until Ghost leaves to his room, then you follow him, closing the door as gently as you can behind you.

He is halfway through peeling off his socks and stuffing them in his boots when you approach. "What happened to being a man of your word?" 

He looks up, resting his palms on his parted knees, looking far too relaxed for your liking. 

When he doesn't respond, you add, "You were supposed to tell me. You said you fucking would."

Your voice is low but harsh.

He stands, a calm understanding washing through his eyes. "I was about to tell you."

You throw up your arms but try to stay quiet. "Bullshit. You're just saying that now. You've had all day to tell me."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You think I can't handle it," you accuse, an ugly snarl on your face. "That I don't deserve to be apart of these conversations even after everything I have done for you, and for her. I saved her life! You get pissed at me for not telling you about stupid things, meanwhile you don't communicate something so important like we are leaving with them in a month to fucking Switzerland. Does Blue know? Or do you keep your own blood in the dark, too?"

He growls quietly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your gaze to his. His touch is firm but far from bruising. "I am not lying to you. I wanted to have a conversation right now, where it could just be us. And no—I haven't told her. How I explain this to my child is not your concern." There is a command in his voice that forces you to calm down some, but your breath is still warm through your nose. He moves his hand to gently thumb a strand of shortened hair off your forehead, staring at it for a second, before gripping your chin again. "There is nothing I think you cannot handle. Now, who told you about this?"

Blotches of red crawl over your cheeks. "It doesn't...it doesn't matter."

He is visibly unsatisfied. He taps his thumb against your chin. "Tell me."

"It was...Kyle," you concede in an exhale. "He assumed I already knew."

His eyes darken. "It wasn't his place to assume."

"He didn't mean to." You reach up to pry his hand off, and he relents, leaving your jaw feeling sore. You rub it. "Why a month?" You try to change the topic.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks away, jaw flexing. "She needs time. I want to prepare her for all possible outcomes. I still don't think she is ready, but that doesn't matter. There won't be another opportunity like this in the future. I have to make her ready." He sits down on the edge of the bed and sits his elbows on his thighs, collecting his thoughts before adding, "And the weather is a big factor. Just because we have means to get across the water doesn't mean it will happen safely. The current is most predictable in July and August. We will wait until then."

You mentally sort through everything he is saying, willing yourself not to linger on the fact that you are beyond scared. Scared to leave the place you have finally felt safe in. Scared to clearly be the odd one out again. A tag-along. Everyone else in this group has a loved one looking out for them. You have yourself. You don't know if you have Ghost, really—not when Blue is the one he loves. His allegiance can only go so far.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "A month, then. What about shelter? The nights will be our most vulnerable."

"We'll look for the safest places for the night. There'd be seven of us, so plenty of eyes to keep watch."

"And what if we run into a horde?"

"Well, we have plenty of ammo now for that." He flicks his eyes up to yours. "Thanks to you."

You nibble your cheek, palming your chest as if to calm your heart. 

"A month," he reminds you. "We will account for everything."

"Okay," you say again. There is a tinge of embarrassment over your outburst, but he doesn't seem fazed, as if you hadn't just barged in the room yelling at him. "Okay."

A click of his tongue. "Any more questions?"

"Not...not for now, I guess."

A few silent beats pass. The tension has left the room, leaving you with a wave of fatigue. Ghost must notice because he rises, gesturing to the bed. "Go on, then." 

The bed is yours again. Too exhausted to question it, you slip under the quilt, curling into a fetal position by the slanted ceiling. It's best to enjoy the warmth before you're back on the move. A week journeying through the woods was the worst you'd ever endured, barely surviving. Now, it'll be months, or however long it takes to reach the goddamn Swiss mountains.

The light flicks off. There is a groan in the mattress and heady warmth spills over you. Your eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some sleep."

You turn around to see him lying beside you, flat on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Together?"

"Clearly neither of us fancies the floor."

You flush, feeling his firm thigh brush against yours. "Just... keep to your side."

"I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

"I'm not," you mumble. "How do you even sleep in that thing, by the way?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't you think it's weird that Kyle has seen you without it and I haven't?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you, Simon."

"Don't recall giving you permission to use that name."

"What, only your old captain gets to use it? How close were the two of you, exactly?"

Teasing him feels better than you're willing to admit.

He grunts. A pillow is thrashed against the side of your face. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," you bite into the pillow.

Your instinct is to flinch closer to the edge, though it is difficult given the small size of the bed and the unnatural size of him. Your knees float off the mattress. Still, his sprawled-out position leaves points of connection. Your back, his elbow. Your feet, his calf. Small touches that do a surprisingly good job at soothing the mess in your brain.

You awake. Warm and rested.

Safe.

Morning light streams in, turning the backs of your eyelids red. Your face nudges forward until your nose brushes against fabric—a shirt. Awareness settles in slowly. Your toes stretch and brush against another set of toes. You realize you’re curled close against someone.

He’s still on his back, his right arm draped across your waist, fingertips resting on your exposed hip. Your breath hitches, and you do your best not to flinch. Your face is nuzzled into his chest, close enough to discern ribs from muscle. His steady breathing and gentle rumbles indicate he’s still asleep. You’re ready to peel yourself away when you notice your leg is on top of his, practically trapping him.

Fuck.

You stay still, devising a plan to extricate yourself without him noticing the position you're in. Then, in one swift motion, you leap up, removing all contact, and breathe hard as if ripped from a nightmare.

His eyes open and he swears. "Jesus. What was that?"

"Just a dream," you lie. "Sorry for waking you."

You jump out of the bed and practically run out before he can say anything; before he can realize how odd it'd be for you to have a dream when you haven't had one since... since staying in his room.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and grip the counter, knuckles whitening in the attempt to erode the feel of his warmth that seems to linger. A lump is forced down your throat as you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. When they reopen, you look down and lift your shirt, only to find the indent of strong fingertips brandishing your plush hip. Jesus. Your stomach knots and unknots. 

"You didn't like that," you whisper to yourself. You brush your thumb over the marks, gently at first, then palming them hard as if to erase them. You drop your shirt and look at the mirror. "You did not like that."

Before someone can stumble upon you talking to yourself, you comb your fingers through tousled strands and slip out. It seems most others are awake. How could you and Ghost have slept so long? Usually, the two of you are up with the sun. 

"Hey. Morning," you greet when you spot Blue on the porch, belly down, as she plays checkers with Kyle's nephew. She glances over her shoulder. Something in her bright eyes seems...off, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Hi. Is Ghost up yet?"

"Hm? Oh, uh—not sure. I didn't check, really."

"Okay." She looks back at the game and says nothing else. You feel as though she saw right through you. Or maybe that boy has told her everything. Surely he knows about Ghost's plans? Kyle had to have told him. Maybe that is why Blue seems upset, but like he said, it isn't your place to say anything. 

You are itching for a hunt. 

It feels urgent, for some reason. Like you want to get out of here before Ghost can be up, too. You find Kyle and he suggests that the two of you take Cherry so you can get go further south where he claims there is a meadow to look for deer. It is difficult to ride with him behind you and a bow on your back, so he wears it for you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"Awfully quiet this morning. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I talked to him," is what you give. "Last night."

"Ah. How'd that go?"

"It was fine. I mean, I am getting used to the idea."

"That's good. It'll be worth it, you know. Once we get there. Finally get to have a semblance of a normal life."

A normal life. You almost snort at the thought. 

The morning grows longer, and not even the haircut can save you from the sweat that gathers. You make it to the meadow after an hour of horseback that leaves your thighs bristling. He helps you down and ties Cherry to a tree. You wade through tall, bright grasses that sway in the humid breeze. It looks vaguely familiar, stirring something in your gut that has your boots frozen for a moment. 

Kyle looks back at you, noticing that you've stopped following. "Good?"

"I just—I think I've been here once before. When I was on my own. I came this way." Your eyes scan the surrounding trees, where the meadow feeds into the forest, and an a gnarly oak with distinctive branches catches your eye. "I definitely have been here. I slept in that tree."

You push into the meadow, shaking off the memory. Staying close to Kyle, you listen as he lightly shares memories from the military, careful not to startle any potential deer. He talks about his time in Afghanistan, mentioning that his brother was also there, but at a different base. Kyle didn't even know his brother had died until weeks later because he was out in the field.

"After Afghanistan is when I met Ghost the first time."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He was my lieutenant when I went to Russia. I was scared shitless of him at first. I mean, he had a bit of a reputation and I was only 22."

"He was good at what he did," you say.

"More than that. People said he was up to some shit outside of what he did, but that was just rumors."

You think you spot a streak of gold through the grass, but it is just a stalk of wild wheat. You look back at him. "What do you mean?"

"May have heard a thing or two about him killing a guy off-duty. Of course, unconfirmed, otherwise he wouldn't have been enlisted again."

He killed someone? Like actual murder? You're about to ask more, your mind flashing back to your face pressed against him an hour earlier. Then you spot a deer. Kyle sees it too and motions for you to stay quiet. Your boots are nearly silent as you draw an arrow, squinting to see clearer. There are three deer: an adult female and two fawns. You draw the string and aim for the adult, the easier target.

"I'll get the doe," you whisper.

"Gotcha."

The beady black eyes turn your way, and you hesitate for a moment. There's movement, a flash of grey, and the doe snaps her eyes in another direction. What is she looking at? Your brows furrow, arrow following her gaze, when the answer appears: a Grey launching toward the deer. The three deer run off, and you release the arrow, aiming for the Grey's head instead.

"Motherfucker. Ruined the kill," Kyle mutters.

You weave toward the corpse, surprised to see such a fast one alone, indicating a new infection. The stench is pungent, enveloping you in a thick cloud. You shudder. The Grey writhes, your arrow lodged in its neck instead of its brain. You draw another arrow and aim when a hand suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Twix," Kyle breathes in your ear.

"What?" 

You look away from the Grey and follow Kyle's gaze, your eyes widening in horror as you realize the terrible smell isn't from this single creature. It's hundreds. A dark, grey mist that unfurls through the trees. A growing chorus of agony as their tattered bodies collide—some limping, others hurtling forward in a grotesque dance, but all converging on the meadow.

[my-castles-crumbling]

suspense - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 465

“Okay, one more!” Remus grinned, gesturing to the unlabeled box still sitting on the counter, innocently shining under the fluorescent lights of James and Regulus’s kitchen. “Go on, Pads! I wonder who it’s from?”

He tried to keep a straight face, but inside, his heart was pounding. He wasn’t sure how Sirius couldn’t tell something was up. He felt as if he was sweating rivers, his hands shaking as he pointed to the gift, his entire demeanor slightly manic.

Because it wasn’t a normal birthday gift.

But Sirius seemed determined to do everything but finish opening his presents. “One moment, Moony! Gotta get another drink!” Sirius grinned, dragging James into the other room while waving his cup in the air.

It went sideways from there. James, who was not in on the gift because he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, started a rousing game of exploding snap with Sirius and six others immediately after pouring half a bottle of Ogden’s finest into his cup, resulting in a whole crowd yelling jovially at each other over a pile of partially-singed cards. While Remus tried to reroute Sirius’s attention to the gift, he was too immersed. 

After, they just had to have cake. And then order pizza. And of course Remus couldnt get too worked up about a gift without selling himself out, so he tried to stay calm. 

“Is the suspense killing you?” Regulus murmured, eyes roving over Sirius and James, who were sitting on the couch arguing with Dorcas and Marlene over pineapple on pizza. Regulus, of course, was the only person Remus had told about his plans.

“I think I’m going to have a heart attack,” Remus moaned, lowering his head to his hands.

But then, James got up to get a fifth slice, and came across the package. “Oi, Pads! You forgot this gift!” And with that, he threw the box to Sirius, who was sitting right in front of the fire, making Remus’s life flash before his eyes.

Thankfully, the other man caught it. “From a secret admirer, eh?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows when he couldn’t find a tag. “I wonder-”

But his voice stopped as soon as he ripped off the paper and opened the box to see the ring there. 

“Remus?” he mumbled, turning to find his boyfriend. 

But Remus was on one knee next to him, anticipation and fear bubbling throughout his entire body. “Marry me, Sirius,” he choked out, completely unaware of the way Lily clapped a hand to her mouth or Peter let out a sob. “I- fuck, I had this whole speech planned, but you took so bloody long to open the gift so just. Please, marry me.”

And Sirius, nodding eagerly, knelt down to meet him, pulling him into a kiss.

[woozinhos]

i forgot have i send this yet or not.

but wonwoo idol and reader idol (solo artist), she was performing and wonwoo got turned on mid performance, and when she's done she fuck her so hard still wearing her stage outfit

(i'm sorry about my terrible grammar, english is my second language HEHEHEHE)

Notes: im going to be redoing my tag list as I’m gonna start to commit and tag you all will make the form later :)

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers as you finished your performance, your body glistening with sweat. You took a bow, waving to the audience before exiting the stage and heading backstage. Wonwoo was waiting for you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"You were amazing out there," he said, his eyes raking over your body. You walked up to him, a smile on your face as you caught your breath. "Thank you," you replied, slightly out of breath from dancing. "Did you enjoy the show?" He pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to you, his gaze darkening as he got a better look at your outfit.

"Very much," he said, his voice low and husky. "Especially the outfit." He placed his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "You looked so sexy on stage, all those people watching you, but you're all mine." He pulled you closer to him, his body flush against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

"You're so possessive," you teased, knowing how much he hated it when others looked at you for too long. He growled softly, his grip on you tightening. "I have every right to be possessive when it comes to you," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine to look at, mine to touch, mine to have."

"And that outfit isn't helping," he added, his breath hot against your skin. He began to nibble on your earlobe, his hands slowly moving up and down your body, tracing the curves of your outfit. You shivered at his touch, your body responding to him immediately. "You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

“Let's get out of here," he said, his voice filled with urgency. He took your hand and led you towards his dressing room, not caring if anyone saw the two of you together. He pushed you inside and locked the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours. He pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his body as he continued to attack your neck with kisses and bites. You let out a soft moan, tilting your head to give him better access. He smirked against your skin, loving the sounds you were making.

"You're so sensitive," he said, his hands moving down to your thighs, slowly lifting your skirt up. He looked down at your exposed thighs, his eyes darkening even more with lust."I want to rip this outfit off of you," he groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "But I want to see you wear it while I fuck you even more." He leaned in and bit down on your shoulder, his teeth leaving a mark.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his hands moving to your ass and squeezing it roughly. You let out a gasp as he pushed your skirt and panties aside, leaving you completely exposed. He smirked at your reaction, his fingers tracing your bare skin. "You're already so wet for me," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He slowly ran a finger up and down your slit, teasing you and making you squirm.

"You're practically dripping," he said again, his finger now circling your clit. "So needy, so desperate for my touch."

"Do you want my cock, princess?" he asked, his finger now applying more pressure to your clit. "Tell me how badly you want it."

"Please," you whimpered, your voice shaky. "I want it so bad. I need it. I need you to fill me up and ruin me." His eyes darkened with desire at your pleading tone, his finger still rubbing circles on your clit. "Such a good girl, begging for me like that," he said, his free hand moving up to grip your chin. "You're going to get exactly what you want." He grabs the mic pack and throws it aside, not caring where it lands.

Without warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep inside you. You cry out as he enters you, your back arching against the wall. He holds you in place, his grip on your chin and hip tight as he starts to move, setting a rough pace from the start. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes fixated on your face as he watches your expression twist in pleasure. "You feel so tight and perfect around me." He begins to thrust harder, each thrust hitting deeper and deeper inside you.

"You were made for me," he growls, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Your body was made to take my cock and no one else's."

"Yes, baby," you moan, your words almost incoherent from the pleasure. "I'm yours, only yours." He smiles devilishly, loving how obedient you're being. "Good girl," he praises, his thrusts becoming faster and more intense. "Keep saying it. I want to hear you admit that you belong to me over and over again." You repeat his words like a mantra, unable to think of anything else but the feeling of him claiming you.

"I belong to you," you say breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm your little plaything, your toy to use and control."

He throws his head back in pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with even more force. "That's right," he moans, his voice filled with dominance. "You're my toy, and I'm going to use you however I want." He can't stop looking at your body, admiring the way the outfit hugs your curves and accentuates your every move.

"I can't believe how good you look," he says, his eyes trailing over your chest, watching it bounce with each thrust. "I'm going to make sure this is the only thing you wear for me from now on."

"You're getting close, aren't you?" he says, his breath hot against your ear. He reaches down and starts rubbing your clit again, knowing exactly how to make you come undone. You moan loudly, your body tensing up as the pleasure builds up inside you.

"I can feel you clenching around me," he groans, his movements becoming sloppier as he nears his own climax. "You're going to cum on my cock, princess. I can feel it." You can barely speak now, your words coming out as gasps and moans. "Please, please let me cum," you beg, your nails scratching down his back. "I need to cum so badly, I can't hold it anymore." He smiles devilishly once again, satisfied with your begging.

"Cum for me then," he commands, his fingers continuing to work your clit in tight circles. "Let go and cum all over me." You let out a scream as you finally reach your climax, your body trembling with pleasure as you clench around him. He grunts as you cum, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge as well. He moans loudly as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm. He leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily as he catches his breath.

He slowly pulls out of you, a mixture of his cum and your juices dripping down your thighs. He gently kisses your forehead before picking you up and carrying you over to the nearest couch. He looks down at the mess on your thighs, a smirk forming on his face. "Look at the mess you made," he teases, his hand trailing up your leg. "You made such a big mess, and you're going to have to clean it up." Mingyu's loud banging on the door interrupts the moment, startling both you and him.

He sighs, annoyed by the interruption.

"Damn it," he mutters under his breath. "I guess I have to go." "Hurry up!" Mingyu shouts again, his voice even louder than before. "You're taking too long, and Wonwoo's about to go on!" You laugh at Mingyu's impatience, and he chuckles along with you.

"Looks like our fun is cut short," he says, setting you down on the couch. "But I'll definitely be finishing this later." He kisses you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips against his. He holds your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, a soft smile on his face.

"Bye, princess," he says, looking at you one last time before turning to leave. "I'll see you after the performance."

[nubiawrites]

chapter 3

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. Kissing. Thigh riding. Dry humping. 18+

Summary: Upon finding that the development process of her script moving along, Iriye gets more than one greenlight when Aaron and her go over the script.

Notes: Remember how I said this was a slowburn? It still is but you get a little treat for being patient. If you want to be tagged to be notified, like, reblog or reply to this. Let me know what you think!

MASTERLIST

It had been a trying three weeks, waiting to hear what the studio would say about the latest draft. But Iriye was more worried about what the woman in front of her thought than a bunch of studio execs.

Iriye paced a little as she watched Tamara read the last few pages of the latest draft of the script. For as long as the two had known each other, her friend still reading anything of hers filled her with nerves, excitement, and wonder. Not out of fear but knowing that whatever she wrote was safe with her friend. 

“How do you do it?” Tamara asks, putting the pages down. Iriye smiled at her, shaking her head.

“You’re flattering me too much,” Iriye took a sip of her water, her friend moving to sit up.

“It’s never too much flattering when it comes to you. As someone who remembers the short film scripts you were begging your professor to accept when you had the chance to write anything, I have always known how talented you were and how you would keep growing in that,” Tamara spoke into Iriye. “You are magic. You’re that girl,”

Iriye giggled. “Okay, I believe you. But tell me again, one time for the one time,” She joked. Tamara shook her head. 

“You’re an alien superstar. Especially after all those notes those white people gave,” Tamara shook her head. “That’s two hours of my life I will never get back. Two hours I could have spent looking at self-tapes for actresses,”

“With great power comes great responsibility. RIP Uncle Ben,” Iriye chuckled.

Tamara chuckled just as Nelly came into the office, practically bubbling with excitement.

“We got it!” Nelly practically screamed. “Did you check your email?”

Iriye pulled up her phone and braced herself as she clicked, seeing an email from Davis.

“The execs are very impressed with this draft. We’re sending it over to talent,” Iriye read aloud, the biggest smile taking over her face.

“We going to Hollywood, y’all!” Nelly yelled out. “Let me get the bottle of champagne we’ve been saving,”

“Not so fast! We’re not greenlit yet,” Tamara pointed out before Nelly could run to their mini fridge.

“And you’re not allowed to pop any more bottles within a twelve-foot radius of us. I’m almost lost an eye,” Iriye reminded. “But did you lose one?” Nelly said. “If I can’t do that, what can I do?” 

“You want to send over the script through the studio system to Aaron,” Iriye asked. “I know you love any interaction you can have with him,” She teased.

“You say that like I’m not passing notes between you and him,” Nelly admitted.

“Passing notes?” Tamara chuckled. “I need to hear more,”

Iriye rolled her eyes before settling back on the sofa in Tamara’s office.

“You want the truth or what I'm reading between the lines,” Nelly sat beside Iriye, sending her a playful side-eye.

“Anything you have to say for yourself, Iriye?” Tamara asked. Nelly pretended to hold a mic toward Iriye before the latter swatted it out of her face.

“It’s nothing! He asked for my number when we had lunch,” Iriye mumbled.

“You guys had lunch together? Where the hell was I?” Tamara asked. 

“Having lunch with some film bro,” Nelly shot out. “What? I manage your calendar,”

“It was just the both of us discussing film stuff. He wants to work with us,” Iriye shrugged. “It was friendly but professional. Trust me,”

“Then why did he say in his email to call any time?” Nelly mentioned. “I think you two forgot I was cc’ed on that email,” 

Iriye shook her head. “I’ll go send that script,” she said, trying to leave, but Nelly pulled her back down to sit.

“Aaron is fine. You can admit that right,” Nelly asked.

“She can. She's just trying to be professional,” Tamara chuckled.

“Aaron is handsome. There, I said it,” Iriye huffed, seeing the twinkle in the two other women’s eyes. “And he smells good, too,” She said before she rushed out of the office. Hopefully, that would tire them over, even if she heard Nelly’s calling out the word bitch.

After calling it a short day at the office, Iriye had gone home and spent the rest of her afternoon vibing to music as she looked over other scripts she had put on hold when tackling the feature Lanoire Productions wanted to take on first with their deal. Paradise Lost. A black rom-com with influences of the nineties and two thousand films that bonded Tamra and herself into a sisterhood. It wasn’t a dream deferred any longer. 

Just as Iriye was laughing at a line she wrote in a pilot, her phone began ringing. She looked over to see an unknown number appeared on her screen. Lowering her music, she hit the talk button, preparing to tell them they had the wrong number.

“Hello?” Iriye asked, holding the phone to her ear.

“I’m guessing you didn’t save my number,” Aaron spoke through the phone, his voice running over Iriye like scotch.

“I swore I did,” Iriye lied. She had been distracted, her brain trying to come up with excuses. “Are you calling to give me shit about it?” A deep chuckle rolled through Aaron’s chest, sitting in the seat in his trailer. “I come in peace as I always have. I got the script, and I wanted to see if I could come over to the production office to talk to you about it,”

“Too bad I’m not in the office,” Iriye admitted. “I gave myself the rest of the day off,”

“Good for you,” Aaron stated. “Since I got the script, the execs are ready to go. You should be proud,”

“I am. Thank you,” She said. “But I can’t celebrate until they give us the green light, which means attaching some talent. And from what I’ve heard, you got some competition,”

“Competition? If you don’t want me, say that,” Aaron stated.

“Boy, stop,” Iriye let out. His chuckle rang through the phone. “Shouldn’t you be shooting something right now,”

“Lucky for you, I wrapped for the day,” Aaron said. “I’m about to pack up and head out,”

“Lucky for me?” Iriye rolled her eyes at this man. “How so?”

“Well, I wanted to talk more about the script. I read it during lunch, and I wanted to discuss it some more,” 

Iriye sat up, moving her laptop off of her lap. “You read it during lunch? You must have had a long lunch,”

“I’m a quick reader when something captivates me,” Aaron admitted. “I want to discuss this more because I have so many questions. Maybe I can pick your brain over dinner if you’re up for it,” He asked as he smoothed out his pants leg and waited for her to say something.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m already lounging around. I don’t think I can get myself together to go out,” 

“Then I’ll come to you,” Iriye chuckled at Aaron’s words. “Send your address. I’ll pick something up and bring it over,”

“Aaron,” Iriye breathed, looking at her place. 

“Have you eaten?”

“No,” Iriye admitted.

“Send me your address. And if you have any allergies,”

“I don’t,” Iriye bit her lip. “Check your phone. And honestly, please do not bring anything healthy. I earned it today,”

“Got it, Miss Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his deep voice making Iriye’s stomach nervous. She said goodbye and hung up, her head falling to the back of the couch. 

“What the hell,” Iriye spoke aloud. She moved to get up, figuring he would be here within the hour. Iriye wasn’t playing when she said she had been lounging around, wearing booty shorts, no bra, and a baggy shirt. 

Iriye went to her room and stripped her clothes to change into high-waisted jeans and a concert t-shirt, tucking it into her jeans to make A Victoria Monet concert t-shirt look more hip.

She went to her bathroom, pulling her goddess locs out of her ponytail. She shook her locs out and grabbed her makeup bag, looking in the mirror.  If her mother could see her now, trying to make herself up for some man she hardly knew… she would at least be proud.

Iriye put on some mascara, forgoing foundation because she wasn’t about to do all that for an hour with Aaron. They were going to eat—that was all—eat and talk. She found a lip gloss that was not too much and swiped it on her lips.

She looked at her reflection; her brown skin still looked good from the skincare routine she did earlier after she watched her face. She looked at her foundation; Fenty-four twenty would have to wait.

Iriye quickly swept her place to make sure it looked good, stacking books she had strewn around and fluffing the throw pillows. As she moved to put her shoes on the shoe rack, she nearly tripped over them.

After more nervous tidying up, she went to the little bar cart in her kitchen and decided she needed a shot of something strong to quell the nerves. She grabbed a glass and poured a shot. 

It was a matter of time before there was a knock at her door, and she headed to the door, shaking the nerves out, and opened it. 

“Hey,” Iriye breathed, seeing Aaron standing in her doorway, hoodie and glasses on. He had to lean down some to come into her doorway. 

“Hey,” Aaron put his backpack down, and Iriye took the two takeout bags from him. “I got Chinese. It felt like a safe bet,”

“You made a good choice, Mister Pierre. You might earn that conversation about Paradise Lost after all,”

Iriye placed the bags on her coffee table, trying not to watch as he turned to take his shoes off, his ass hugged nicely by his khaki pants.

I am no better than a man. Iriye headed to the kitchen to grab some forks and plates. When she returned, she saw Aaron pulling out all the take-out containers, so she moved to sit by him.

“Is this all for me?” Iriye joked.

“For us. I didn’t know what you wanted or liked,” Aaron stated. A genuine smile came over her face as she looked at him.

Once they finished their feast, Aaron pulled the script and a journal out as Iriye moved the take-out containers out of the way. 

“I hope you know you’re not getting any of that kung pao chicken leftovers to take home,” She muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” He stated, and Iriye had to ignore the nerves he was causing. Aaron opened his journal as Iriye returned and peeked to see what he had written.

“That’s a lot of notes,” Iriye chuckled. He let her see more of it, and she caught a whiff of cologne again, clearing her throat. He looked over at her, his greyish-green eyes bright and beautiful. “Okay, hit me with it,”

“Isaiah is probably the most raw character I have ever read in a script before,” Aaron started. “His passion. His being. Everything about him… I was hooked within the first few pages. But by the end of Act One, I was rooting for him,”

As he spoke, Iriye was caught in his words about how he could grasp the character entirely. It was hard enough to focus on his actual words when she noticed how sharp his jaw was or the veins on his hands. 

“But this character… he’s so lived in. So real. You really outdid yourself, Iriye,” Aaron praised.

“Thank you,” Iriye felt the wall she was desperately trying to keep up with him coming down a little. But she needed to put some space between them. “You want a drink?” Aaron relaxed back on the couch as she moved away from him.

“Yes, I’ll take whatever you’re drinking,” Aaron said.

Iriye headed to her bar cart and began making them a whiskey sour, feeling like she could kill even more nerves with liquid courage, especially if he were going to seduce her with how insightful he was in talking about Eric and the story of Paradise Lost.

Iriye brought back their drinks, and Aaron thanked her as he took his drink.

“Cheers to you and this getting greenlit,” Aaron held his glass up to hers. She tapped her glass to his and took a sip; the liquor burned, making it slip easily down her throat. 

“Like I told Nelly, we’re not greenlit until talent gets attached, and the execs are cool with it,” Iriye explained. 

“You’ve been saying that for weeks. It’s going to happen, Iriye. I always keep my word,”

Iriye just shook her head at Aaron’s words, watching him take another sip and lick the liquor off his lower lip.

“Can I admit something?” Iriye asked. He nodded. “I went down a rabbit hole of your previous roles,”

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting that,”

“Neither was I, but if anything, Nelly is to blame,” Iriye pointed out. Aaron chuckled. “She sent me a clip from Foe, and I have Prime, so I decided to watch it,” He nodded along, listening to her. “That’s the only one I watched. I didn’t want to get you even more stuck in my head,”

“Can I admit something?” Aaron responded. “Nelly sent me the short films you and Tamara have made. I wanted to know more. So she sent me a few,”

“Of course she did,”

“Nelly is always at the scene of the crime,” Aaron chuckled, Iriye joining in. “But I can tell why she is so passionate for Lanoire. For Tamara. For you. You’re an artist. You care about your work. It’s breathtaking to me. You’re breathtaking to me,”

“Breathtaking on paper. We gotta see it on film now,”

“You will. I already told my team I want to sign on for Paradise Lost,” Aaron stated. 

“Stop playing,” Iriye shook her head, taking another sip of her drink.

“I’m serious, Iriye,” He replied.

Iriye blinked twice at Aaron, looking at her with a slight smirk on his face. His smile grew as Iriye realized he wasn’t joking. She downed the rest of her drink and stood up, needing to pace and calm down.

“You good?” Aaron watched in concern.

Iriye just continued pacing as she heard his words. 

“No, not really,” Iriye stated. Aaron got up and moved to her, stopping her so she could face him. He saw her deep brown eyes, a sense of fear running through them as he moved to cup her cheek, her so aware of his rough hands on her cheeks. “What are you getting out of this?”

“A chance to bring something beautiful you created to life. The script is something I’ve never gotten to do before. To be a part of that would be an honor,” Aaron said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly, and she felt herself calming down.

“You’re nothing like I expected,” Iriye closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and smelling his cologne invading her senses.

“Good,” Aaron tilted her head. Iriye opened her eyes, seeing him staring her down intensely. She was so drawn to him as he surrounded her senses.

Iriye saw the thought flicker across Aaron’s eyes as he looked down at her lips and felt him lean close to her. His head touched hers, her hands traveling up his arms to grasp him.

“Aaron,” Iriye breathed and he pulled her close. “We shouldn’t,”

“We shouldn’t what?” Aaron repeated, tempting her to say it. 

“This… We can’t do this,” Iriye trailed her hands to his on her cheeks. She was trying to find the urge to pull away, but it went all out of the window as he was warm and present with her.

“What’s stopping you?” Aaron brushed his nose against hers softly. “Give me three good reasons,”

“One, you’re tipsy,” Iriye pointed out.

“I only took one sip,” Aaron said, one of his thumbs slowly reaching her chin.

“Two, we don’t know each other well,” Iriye stated, not even caring if his thumb traced over her bottom lip.

“I want to get to know you. I’ve been showing it for the past couple of weeks,” Aaron reminded her. With every email and chance, he had to chat with her. 

Iriye had to keep a clear mind, but it was hard when he was so close to her. Her hands trailed down to his side, resting there to try and focus herself.

“Three, we’re going to be working together now. So, it would be completely unprofessional. A total conflict of interest,” Iriye was trying to stay firm in her decision, but it was going out the window as he pulled her closer. Her body was pressing against all the sinewy muscles that made Aaron.

“It would be wrong,” Aaron nodded. “Does this feel wrong?” He pulled back, his hands moving from her face to her waist, where they stayed politely, brushing against the little sliver of skin between her shirt and jeans.

Iriye was ready to say fuck it so badly. He hadn’t kissed her, frustrating her as much as it turned her on.

“No,” Iriye admitted.

“As much as I want you to kiss me first,” Aaron’s hands went to squeeze the softness of her sides. “I don’t want to compromise your resolve. So if this helps,” He leaned down, and those full bow-shaped lips pressed softly against hers.

Iriye was shocked. How could he be so tender, his lips pressing softly against hers? He was waiting for a reaction because he got one from her. She kissed him back.

The softness that was shared between them was beginning to become intoxicating. Aaron trailed his hands up her arms and placed them around his neck. The movement had her breast pressing against his hard chest, and though she wasn’t trying to make it sexual, a sensual whimper escaped her.

To her surprise, Aaron pulled away first. He took a deep breath as Iriye realized she was in a daze, her arms around his neck. She was about to unwrap herself from him when he stopped her.

“No,” Aaron breathed, the command light on his tongue. He pulled them back to the couch, moving to sit. He pulled his hands off of her body to take his glasses off, setting them on the coffee table. But Aaron again placed his hands on her hips, looking up at her. The hues of his eyes darkened with lust, and she liked it. Liked him having to look up at her from her seated position.

“What do you want right now, Iriye?” He asked her. Talking was too much for Iriye. She needed to show. She let her legs slip between his as he sat on the couch, straddling his thigh some before leaning down. She used one hand to hold onto the back of the couch while the other hand trailed over the nape of Aaron’s neck. She softly dragged her nails and heard a groan vibrate through his chest. “I’m going at your pace,”

“I want… if I do what I want right now, we’re going down a road we can’t come back from,” Iriye whispered. “But I want to. I really want-” Before she could even say another word, Aaron took control and pulled her down till her jean-covered core hit his thigh. “Aaron,” She gasped.

“We’re already here. Trust me, I don’t think I wanna go back now,” Aaron stated. Iriye raised an eyebrow at him. “Take what you want from me,”

Iriye swallowed as she settled onto his thigh. His thigh was muscular and pressing against the seam just right. She gave an experimental rock of her hips, a breathy gasp coming out as Aaron held her hips still in his hands. She felt a bit uncoordinated as she still had one leg pressing between his crotch while the other was on the couch. She paused for a moment, pulling back before she properly straddled him.

“Is this okay?” Iriye let her weight rest on Aaron, and he let out a groan as her center met his. God, it shook her to the core.

“Yeah, much better,” His British accent became more assertive in his voice with those words. Iriye watched him as she rolled her hips forward, seeing the breathy groan he let out. She discovered he was vocal quickly as she began a pace, moving her hips deliberately to see what sounds he made.

When Iriye knew she was doing something right as she ground on Aaron, his hands would flex or grasp her hips.

“Stay right there,” Aaron begged. Her face was pressed against his temple as she ground, the pressure delicious as it caught her clit, and she felt her core growing wet.

“Yes,” Iriye whimpered. His right hand trailed up to cup her ass cheek, and she looked at him shocked. He pushed his hips up against her as he pulled her down onto his throbbing bulge through his khakis.

Iriye had to suppress the cry that left her lips by kissing him, and the two of them began to move their hips in sync, their kisses matching just as close. Her hands moved to cup his neck and cheeks as she worked with him to dry hump him. But there was nothing remotely dry on her side.

Aaron licked the seam of her lips, and Iriye gave him entrance, his tongue licking the roof of her mouth. 

“Shit,” Iriye moaned into his mouth. That movement alone made her wonder what it would feel like to have him doing that to her lower set of lips. He pulled away with a grin.

“It feels good, doesn’t it,” Aaron trailed his lips down her chin and neck. She nodded, letting her nails dig slightly into the nape of his neck. She felt him retaliate with a nip to her neck and her breast pressed into his chest, nipples starting to strain her bra. “God, this isn’t even enough,”

“I know,” Iriye moaned, riding Aaron a little faster as she wanted to chase the feeling deep inside her. One that would quell her momentarily with a release. Aaron kept up with her pace, cupping her ass cheek harder as he moved her more.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?”Aaron grunted against her neck. Iriye nodded. “Take it. I know you want to. Use me,” He leaned back, studying her face. He wanted to take in every sign of her impending pleasure. Seeing he was serious, Iriye rolled her hips even faster. 

Aaron’s moans and groans just served to turn Iriye on even more, especially feeling his bulge against her core. She rode him harder, her clit catching on the inseam of her jeans, and she pressed her head into his neck as she felt the telltale signs. She was close and about to cum in her jeans from dry humping. As immature as it probably was, this was the hottest thing to happen with the opposite sex and her in a while.

“Just like that, Iriye,” Aaron groaned. 

“Aaron…” Aaron gripped Iriye’s ass harder and whined. It took him lifting and gripping her ass so close to her core, causing her to cry out, her body shaking as she came. She didn’t even have time to cry out fully as Aaron pressed his lips against hers and ate up every single whimper and moan. She was sensitive, but he helped her by keeping moving till the waves subsided and the tingle in her stomach subsided.

Iriye felt the kisses Aaron and her share become pecks and his length hard against his pants. 

“Fuck,” Iriye said as she realized he didn’t get off. “I didn’t mean to be selfish,”

“I wanted you too,” Aaron said, his voice deep and strained. She kissed him again before hiding her face on his shoulder.

As the haze of lust came down from her, Iriye had to ask her: What the hell did I just do?

@bluewatersfairy @coquitobby @honeysilkandcinnamon @insaneevanity @meleekabenjamin @theogbadbitch @slowlysteadycoffee @ashanti-notthesinger @thisbeautifullifeofmeandyou @mysticalbiscuitalien3 @irishmanwhore @alonahh @grooveoftiro @gabriellalover @ovohanna24 @ticalsstallion @strawberrymoon45 @hi888888sworld @msuncensered @yurfavdealer @honeys-archives @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theunsweetenedtruth @blackpinup22 @niggaronnn @aritannahrocks1300 @htnqueen305 @333symone @appelle-moi-si-tu-te-perds-numb6 @bombshellbre95 @wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter eight

“i want everything i asked for.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: ‘fuck it, do him scared!’ or whatever the saying is, no plot cuz y’all have had enough of that, pheromones are putting in work cuz you have heart eyes, y’all are touch-starved and pent up, half-transformation demon alastor (i hope that makes sense lol), implied demon alastor, little bit of angst or even hurt/comfort at the end? 🥲 smut: clothes ripping, scratching, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight degradation & praise kink dynamics, blood play & biting, handjob, orgasm denial, cream pie

word count: 6.6k *maniacal laughter*

author’s note: it wouldn’t be right to start this off without a formal apology for the cliffhanger and then, subsequently, the publishing delay 🥲✨ this ended up being more of a labor of love than i had expected; i just seemed to have such bad luck, this week of all weeks. thank you for your patience, and i hope this makes up for it! @hazelfoureyes one of these days i’ll have some more for you, but until then darling, you ever so kindly ‘asked’ me for smut so… 💅🏻💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

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Alastor meant for it to be chaste, really he did. And while he had desperately hoped for acceptance, the ardor with which you returned the kiss was unexpected. The grip of your hands around his wrists was fierce, pulling him in; fingers like sticky fibers against the patch of bare skin nestled between his gloves and the cuff of his shirt. 

So you were hungry, too… He couldn’t help but smile against your mouth at the thought. 

Finally, his luck was turning around.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you offered your help to Alastor, a kiss was the last thing you ever expected. 

Actually, you had been fully prepared for him to hurt you somehow, whether it was his intention or not. He had gotten upset so quickly, you assumed it must have been residual animosity from the meeting with Valentino that he could no longer contain. The more you thought about it, you truly understood how degraded he must have been by the whole affair, filling you with a guilt you worried might never go away. He needed a victory.

So offering your help was the least you could do.

But you never could have imagined the way he took your face in his strong hands, holding you with such care despite the intensity roiling off him in his half-formed demonic state. The strain on his face as he struggled to compose himself, his eyes switching back from black with red dials to that familiar searing red. The storming hunger you saw in them, half-lidded, as he closed the gap between you…

Your mind was practically rendered blank, running on instinct; the warm ache throbbing between your hips quickly taking up any remaining space that was left.

His mouth was softer than you expected but his press against you was firm and wickedly practiced. You felt him smile against you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the resulting gasp being the perfect opportunity for Alastor’s tongue to snake into your mouth. If your eyes hadn’t already been closed, they would have rolled to the back of your head. His tongue was soft and big and hot, his movements steady and filled with purpose; not a drop of wasted effort. You could only hope to keep up…

It was such arduous work keeping your hands at his wrists, floored by the intense desire you had to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t know your limits here. He was still riled up — if anything, you had heard his antlers grow — and you didn’t want to make any wrong moves.

So you put all your longing into the grip of your fingers and mouth, your mind wandering on the feeling of him. Large, elegant hands cupping your face like glass. His body looming over you, offering shelter you were more than willing to accept. His mouth so hot against yours it would leave you feeling cold once it was gone. And he smelled so good this close, smoky and verdant like a bonfire on a crisp autumn night. 

Your thighs rubbed together from the pulse radiating there, and he let out a small groan against your mouth as your nails absently dug into the skin of his wrists. The sound of him simultaneously made your legs weak and fanned the flame between them. His voice had always been nice — he didn’t build a career for himself on the radio for nothing — but you felt a growing fear at the aspect of never hearing something like that again after he was sated; knowing that no matter what it would haunt you for eternity. 

I really am so fucked…

He was pecking now, his breath and teeth and tongue ghosting over your swollen mouth and face as he feverishly placed multiple at a time. You wanted to reciprocate so badly, whether with your lips or hands, but it was clear he needed to ravish you first so you stayed put in a shocking exhibit of will-power. But when you felt the tug of his teeth against the corner of your jaw you couldn’t stop the shaky moan that escaped you, not even noticing how your hips rolled on nothing but air.

That’s all it took. 

Alastor pulled away and gave a quick kiss to your hands before dropping them to take up the torn fabric of your collar. He gave it a sharp pull, tearing your dress straight through to the waist; the sound ringing out in the quiet of your room with the promise of what’s to come. You were too stunned by the suddenness of the action, but the look on your face must have really been something if the expression you were seeing on his was any indication — ravenous and wild. 

Your chest heaved with quickening breath, heartbeat kicking and head empty as you felt all the blood in your body rushing down. Too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, you dared to bury your face in his chest, grateful to be just tall enough to reach. Mortifying as it was, it was all you could think to do. 

Though safety wasn’t the only thing you found, pressing in so close to him like this, your throat going dry at the feeling of his arousal against you. No amount of time or experience could have prepared you for this, for him. You were beginning to think that there would be nothing left once he was through with you.

Just need a minute…

Mercifully, he let you. Even going so far as to cradle you against him, cupping the back of your head with his left hand. You relaxed into him, a hot puff of air leaving your mouth to soak into the fabric of his clothes. Alastor’s pleased hum in response vibrated against your face, and you brought your hands up to grip the lapels of his coat for fear of crumbling at his feet.

As you steeled yourself, he didn’t desist from his poking and prodding at your exposed back with his free hand. It disappeared briefly, followed by the faint sound of something falling to the carpet before the air was ripped from your lungs at the touch of his hot, bare skin against yours. You whined into his chest as your back arched against his palm, your fingers nearly ripping through his coat with the force of your grip, earning a gruff and sinister chuckle from him. Being able to bask in the feeling of the rumble in his chest against you was a lovely consolation, though. And just under that… his heartbeat. 

His hand against your back regained your attention then, scratching and massaging at its leisure; nails tracing indistinguishable shapes along your skin. Traveling up and down your spine at first, then your shoulders and, finally, the back of your neck where he paused. 

His message read loud and clear: time was up. 

Alastor pulled you away from him with a gentle firmness, managing to handle you delicately despite his clear desire for haste. You could see it burning in his eyes with no intent to extinguish any time soon. He was so mystifying like this, you couldn’t help but drink him in. Stately, powerful… beautiful. It felt impossible now to have ever been afraid of him in this state of half-transformation. He didn’t seem to mind the admiration, soft smile and lust-heavy eyes radiating with ego.

His antlers look so handsome when they’re branched out like this…

“Shouldn’t you have offered to take my coat by now? I’m your guest, aren’t I?” he teased as he swiped your dumbstruck mouth with the pad of his thumb. The filter dipped in and out over his quiet, low tone of voice, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core and cheeks as you fought the urge to nuzzle your face against his bare hand. How had he already reduced you to this? “But I suppose I haven’t been well-mannered myself. Just look at what’s become of your dress.”

His face was smug as he played with the decimated fabric, fingers dancing across your exposed neck and shoulders before pulling down the long sleeves. They had been the glue, apparently, your dress falling past your hips with ease and into a heap on the floor in near silence. Goosebumps pricked your skin as you stood before him in your underwear, already feeling naked as he took you in. You noticed him focus in on your shoulder and neck, the draw of his eyebrows confirming your earlier suspicion that he had left a bruise.

“It’s fine, it didn’t hurt,” you lied self-consciously, unable to keep the nerves out of your voice. It sounded like an apology. He hadn’t meant it and in the grand scheme of things was a bruise really so bad? It would be gone before you knew it.

He didn’t seem convinced, a sound of disapproval coming from behind his closed lips before a smile took its place. “Hmm… if you say so. Perhaps a kiss to make it better?”

Alastor wasted no time leaning down to place his mouth there, and you sighed as the heat of his wide, wet tongue swiped over it before he closed his lips with a small smack. As he nuzzled in — kissing, licking, sucking, nipping — your shaky fingers took to the task of unbuttoning his coat as he had suggested. The action earning you a growl and a bite, not yet enough to break the skin but taking your breath away all the same; the fire in your belly now flickering up into your chest.

Once the coat was loose you ran your hands under it, starting near his waist to travel up his chest until you reached his broad shoulders. Was he the one who was so hot, or was it you? It was impossible to tell. You used the top of your hands to start working the coat off of him, and he paused from his effort at your neck to assist with removing his arms from it before tossing it off to the side — his remaining glove along with it. You caught sight of the saliva glistening around his mouth and chin before he resumed his station and didn’t even try to hold back the soft moan that escaped you.

What was the point?

With a snarl — that was the closest thing you could think to call it — his hands hooked behind your knees and hiked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him for purchase as you gasped. Alastor’s mouth found yours again and you held his face to keep steady as you hunched over him, tears forming at the corner of your closed eyes from the relief of being able to touch him this time.

This kiss wasn’t as poised as the first had been. It was hurried and open-mouthed, messy and deep. Not enough, not enough, not enough. You broke away this time, seizing your opportunity to explore his face with your lips as he had yours. His claws bit into the flesh of your ass as your mouth latched onto his neck, sucking at the pulse you found there. The resulting buck of your hips from the action and the moan he let out only pulling another from both of you.

You didn’t even notice that he had been walking until you were suddenly tossed onto the bed, his body immediately caging you in beneath him. You hooked your legs around him as he ground into you, your cry of pleasure from the friction echoing off the walls. He did it again and you whined, squirming, his hands on either side of your head as he leered down; red eyes glowing with satisfaction.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took a moment to take in the sight before him, feeling his eyes glitch as he roamed over your flushed face, but made quick work of grabbing it with one hand to pucker your mouth before returning to explore it with his tongue.

It surprised him how much he was enjoying this; kissing you with abandon, somehow never scratching the incessant itch despite his efforts. He captured your bottom lip with his teeth, resiliently managing not to bite straight through it as you moaned into his mouth.

“Alastor…!” 

His name was a song on your breath, scorching down from his ears to his cock, all of which reacted with a twitch.

One string loose. 

How many more would he need to cut before you went slack?

Who had bound you up like this in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been him. On the contrary, he was so eager to see you torn open and bare, stripped of all the little secrets tangled like knots on your tether to him. Always keeping your guard up around him wasn’t only irritating… it was selfish. And there was only one of you here allowed that luxury. 

Still, this was quite the consolation prize, seeing you surrender to him so easily. He had barely gotten started and you were already making such a pretty face for him; a new favorite, even. Your little pout that normally inspired vexation looked sweet like this, swollen with his kisses. It was an image he would soon not forget, being so much better than what he had imagined.

Your scent had truly blossomed now, dizzying him with the potency of its floral, nutty musk; just a hint of sweetness underneath. It complimented his own smoky, green, and bitter scent so well. But Alastor was ready to make his next new discovery, his hips finally lifting away from you as he gave you a final peck on the mouth.

“Hmmm, delicious as your mouth is, there’s another place I’m quite eager to kiss.” He could feel the wickedness on his face as he said it, unable to contain the static that flared around him as you breathed out a curse, body trembling.

Alastor made a slow descent, teasing you with licks and bites and kisses to draw out as many moans and whimpers as he could from you. Such music you made for him. Only for him. It was a good thing he had already resolved to avoid sleep as much as he could in the future; he wouldn’t get much anyway with the sounds you made ringing in his head like church bells.

He could see the damp soaked into your underwear before he even touched them, already intoxicated by the smell and heat wafting off your core. He’d have to be careful here… not an easy task, but he’d manage. The self-advised warning did little to stop him from tearing the garment in half with ease, enjoying the wide-eyed look you gave him as you quickly propped up on your elbows from the sound.

“I’d apologize for frightening you, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it,” he said, holding your gaze as he palmed your bare sex, thrilled by how wet you already were. You were having such a hard time keeping your composure, serving only to egg him on. He hummed and continued, almost surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, “You don’t seem to mind, though… how lewd.”

Your head fell back with a loud whine, arms giving out so that you were flat on your back again; face scarlet as his fingers moved against you, collecting your arousal. His dick throbbed against him at the sight, leaking onto his skin and clothes. He couldn’t help the hiss that spilled from between his teeth when he tested you with his middle finger, tight as you were wet.

“Oh my… it’s been a while for you too, hm? I’m honored,” he cooed, relishing the way you whimpered and clenched at his words. “I do worry how you’ll fare… Contrary to the restraint I’ve shown so far, I must warn you… I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.”

Your eyes shot open with shock, and with that he removed his finger and brought it up, putting the entirety of it in his mouth to suck you off as you watched. His eyes closed in pleasure, groaning as his tongue lapped up every bit of you, savoring every second. Clean and tart… like a ripe summer cherry. He couldn’t stop the bit of drool that escaped the corner of his mouth, the rush of saliva incensed by your taste coming on too quickly to swallow it all.

Alastor was breathing hard through his nose, a fresh wave of hunger — he wasn’t sure what else to call it — trembling through him with a fierce burning need. His smile and voice were sharp, static fraying as he spoke, “Hmmm… My imagination wasn’t even close. Aiming to please, dear?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

His fascination with licking you off him would be your second-death. Not only that, but you hadn’t expected him to say any of the obscene things that were spilling from his mouth, let alone the way you were responding to them. You had been subject to dirty talk before and enjoyed it (if done well), but… there was just something about it all coming from Alastor that set your veins on fire.

“Alastor, please, it’s embarrassing,” you pleaded through gasps, watching through half-open eyes as he licked away at his hand. You felt as if you had a fever, your face was so hot, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead with sweat.

As if falling on deaf ears, he merely proceeded to give a sharp tug to his bowtie, removing it in one go before unbuttoning his shirt. Something about the harsh way he pulled his shirt from the belted waist of his pants made you dizzy, but you felt a scream die in your throat watching the way his shoulders and chest moved as he freed his arms, with just the slightest flex of his abdomen; your eyes unable to resist following the trail of hair below his navel that disappeared under his belt.

You had made peace with your budding attraction to him — it was easier that way, considering your near-constant state of proximity — but this felt like being tossed directly into the fire.

Burning at the stake.

As he towered over you, you took in the large, pink scar lacerated across his chest from left shoulder to the right side of his ribcage. There had been mentions of the battle against Adam and his Exorcists within the group; how terrifying it had been, how brave everyone was. The loss of their friend Sir Pentious, who had died trying to help protect them against Adam. That was when the conversation normally tapered off, the grief still too close at his loss, but also because of what led up to it.

From what you understood, Adam had been Alastor’s appointed target to handle. One he was unmatched against, if the scar was any indication. A killing blow he had managed to survive. You hoped the pity you felt wasn’t making its way into your gaze as you looked at him, knowing he’d dislike it. Still… You sat up with hands stretched out, the instinct to touch and comfort him too strong to fight. But he pushed you back down, a shadow coming over his face as he bent over you. 

“Patience, sweetheart. I still owe you a kiss.”

You didn’t have time to process the dismissal before he raked his nails on your skin as he dipped down, your back arching up to meet them as you breathed through the small sting of pain. A splash of sobriety hit you as you felt the heat of his breath hovering over your cunt, your stomach tight as he moved closer, a wanton cry as he finally lapped at you with his tongue; a slow, wide, firm sweep from hole to clit. Sealed with a kiss, as promised.

You shuddered and gripped the duvet as if your life depended on it. The image of him nestled between your legs making your brain short-circuit. His eyes were shrouded with a predation that should have terrified you. So why did it thrill you instead?

 “Oh my god…”

That wicked grin of his…

“Last I checked, Hell is the absence of God. Let’s try again, shall we?” 

He hiked your legs over his shoulders, looped his arms around to grab the top of your thighs, and pulled you to his mouth. You saw white as he didn’t hesitate in setting a voracious pace, his tongue dipped into you — long and thick — as his nose pushed against your clit with every open-and-close of his mouth. His chin providing a pleasant hardness that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

He was incessant. 

Sucking, prodding, licking, and swallowing; a starving man who may never eat or drink again. Your hands found purchase on his antlers, a bit smaller now but still looming, earning a moan of approval into your heat that blossomed in your chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet smacks and a harmony of throaty groans from him; keening, breathy moans from you. Both unabashed.

In between breathing his name, words were tumbling from your mouth that you couldn’t register, too lost in the feeling of him on you. Not just your pussy, but your legs, too. His hands gripping your thighs so fiercely as your hips rolled against his face that you hoped for bruises. A keepsake. It was impossible to know if this would ever happen again.

You hadn’t even realized you were slipping away from yourself until he pulled back with a sharp gasp, finally coming up for air, jerking his antlers from your hands. The lower half of his face shimmered with a blend of your arousal and his spit, the sclera of his eyes gone black, dials taking the shape of his red irises. Again, your arms reached out, shaking from the effort as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Kiss…,” you barely managed to say, dizzied as you were.

Alastor obliged, climbing up to your open hands as you pulled him down to you, unable to find the strength to meet him halfway. He flinched as you ran your tongue over his left cheek, licking up some of the mess there as he wiped at the other side with the back of his hand. The taste of your combined fluids sent a jolt of pleasure through you and you moaned through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that followed. The laugh that escaped him was sinister but sent another wave of warmth through you all the same.

He rewarded you with a finger, followed quickly by another. And before you knew it, another. Pumping in and out of you with a delicious stretch and a maddeningly consistent pace before they curled, teasing your spongy core as his thumb circled your clit at the switch; the sudden onset of your orgasm had your body trembling under his touch.

“Ohh… mm, fuck…! Hmmmnn… Ah—! Alasto—ahh!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” His voice was rough but soothing. A crackle of static melded into your moans and the wet sounds of your cunt, and he gave his head a violent shake as if to clear it. There was nothing but a growling need when he spoke next. “I’ve got you, don’t fight it. Let me see how pretty that sullen face of yours looks when you cum…!”

It was all too much. Just the intensity of his eyes on yours boxed in between your hands holding his face could have sent you over the edge. But his words again, that pet name… 

The tether snapped so viciously you were fairly certain you passed out for a moment, your vision gone black as you screamed. Only to be brought back to consciousness by Alastor’s fingers slowly riding the wave of your orgasm, no longer stroking with purpose — you were clenched around him so tightly his previous pace would have probably injured you both — but with a languid solace. Graciously accepting every roll of your hips into his hand as you moaned his name and gasped for breath.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

God, it was so fucking satisfying to see your face twisted up, eyebrows knit and your pouty lips salaciously framing your open mouth as you cried out for him. Another perfectly shattered expectation, much like the rest of this experience had been. He didn’t even mind that your eyes were shut. The consolation being the glimpse he caught of them rolling to the back of your head before they were out of sight. That, and, this would only be your first. He was determined to get at least one more out of you before this was over, truly unsure how much you could handle.

He was surprising even himself, speaking to you in the manner he was. He enjoyed a good tease, but he couldn’t recall going to this extent before. Perhaps it was a result of the pheromones, but he simply couldn’t seem to help it. The reactions it was pulling from you were too exhilarating to deny himself… and by extension, you.

His static was filling the air, buzzing with the energy of a lightning storm as he sucked you off his fingers once more with a snarl; his free hand sloppily undoing his belt before giving it a freeing tug, desperately hard erection weeping slightly at the bit of alleviation. As the realization that he was preparing to enter you sunk in another ripple of goosebumps pinpricked his skin, causing him to bite down on the inside of his lip from the sensation.

The taste of his own blood came with inspiration.

Alastor tucked back some of your damp hair before bringing his face down to meet yours, swiping at your lips with his blood-coated tongue. Testing the waters. Your eyebrows drew together and you stretched underneath him, as if waking from a night’s sleep, before blinking your eyes open. He watched as your tongue responded with a quick prod of what he had left there, and felt his smile grow when you let out a hum of content.

He would never tire of being right.

“I thought you might like that, my little killer… Have some more,” he whispered against you. Giving your lips another rough lick before taking your mouth again, groaning into each other as your tongue soothed his still-bleeding lip.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Something about this kiss was different.

There was a fierceness this time that hadn’t been there before, no doubt spurred on by the blood pooling in Alastor’s mouth. It had been shocking to taste at first but then… you found that it wasn’t too bad. Diluted with saliva, it was almost sweet, and you relished the way he enjoyed your tasting of it.

Your hands traveled up to the back of his head, gently scratching the prickly velvet of his undercut with one while the other pulled at the hair on his crown. His hiss into your mouth made you moan with another jump of your hips, and you felt him shift over you then; vaguely aware of the sound of him unceremoniously tugging down his pants before he took your hand from his crown and brought it between you.

The gasp that escaped you was sharp, your hand instinctively wrapping around his length as he guided you through stroking him. He was so hard, wet, and heavy, burning to the touch, but distant alarms were ringing about your ability to take him all. It scared you how much you wished to try.

His moan of relief was another keepsake, the sound of it so soft and pleading in your ear that you nearly sobbed from your desire. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like, making a sound like that, and found yourself jealous of the skin of your neck he was hiding in. You stayed like this for a moment, his hand leaving you to work on its own as he cradled the opposite side of your head to lick and kiss your neck between gasps and moans. With a final nip to your skin Alastor pulled back, the mattress dipping as he put all of his weight onto his forearm to the right of your head as he adjusted himself.

“Don’t close your eyes,” was all he said before pressing into you, the tip of his cock already threatening to overwhelm you as it teased your entrance. 

It was not an easy task, your eyebrows drawing together in such a way that it nearly blurred your vision. You whined between closed lips, doing your best to breathe through the sweet stretch of him finally entering you. Despite his direction, he didn’t seem to be doing much better; sweat beading on his forehead over furrowed brows, kiss-swollen mouth open with panting breaths. Flushed cheeks. Even in the state he had reduced you to, you were trying to sear the image of his lust-strained face into your psyche.

He was rocking his hips slowly, allowing you to adjust to him with each little thrust as your arousal coated him, easing his advance; breathy moans collecting between you in puffs of steam, joining the two of you together in all the places you weren’t touching. 

All the while, your eyes were locked on each other. Had anyone else ever seen his the way they were now and found them beautiful instead of horrifying? You moaned as you stared at him; taking in his large, elegant antlers and sweat-damp hair, reminding you of the bedhead you had seen the other morning. His handsome and sinister face. He could easily tear you to shreds — and in a certain way, he was — but you were overwhelmed at the amount of care he had shown you so far, even with his earlier warning. 

His thrusts were building in sharpness, parting you with a tantalizing push-and-pull until he finally bottomed out with a growl. You cried out from the fullness he gave you, already twitching around him despite his stillness as he gave you both a moment to try and catch your breath. 

Alastor peppered your face with kisses and licks as you relaxed into him, testing you with a shallow thrust that had you biting down on your lip. Another. Another. Another. Until your mouth was hanging open, your hands traveling up to hold onto his triceps in your need for stability and to keep him close. Suddenly you felt him leave you completely, not even able to process the emptiness before he slammed back into you with a harsh grunt that made you squeal; writhing as he pressed up into your cervix.

He must have really enjoyed that, because he did it again. And again. And again. Settling into an excruciatingly blissful pace, his hard length massaging knots out of your body you didn’t know where there. Your legs instinctively hooked around him, nails digging into the flesh of his arms as you gasped and whined.

“So — ah..! Good… Alastorrr…!”

“Fuck!” he hissed between gritted teeth as your hips bucked, brows knit tight as he shook his head as if to clear a fog. 

You didn’t know he was actually trying to keep something at bay, the additional inch of growth in his antlers lost on you in your current state.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor’s hips stuttered for a moment before muscle memory guided him back to rhythm, desperate to regain the ecstasy that was torn from him. It had been a close call, but he managed to keep the switch from happening. Though the monster inside was still there, clawing at him just below the surface. 

He felt as your hands moved from their place on his triceps (which he had quite enjoyed) to settle on his chest, your fingers delicately tracing his scar. The line wasn’t steady though, perforated by the impact of his thrusts, which you were handling with a surprising welcomeness. 

It was almost…

There it was again, lying in wait; that ravenous, goading shadow roiling inside of him.

Take the risk…

Could he, though? Composing himself was practically second-nature, after all…

Say it!

Alastor exhaled, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He allowed himself to relish the sound of your cry and the blissed out look on your face, which in turn provided a moment to steel himself before continuing, “I didn’t think you’d be this greedy.”

“Fuuuck…! Alast — oh my god…!”

A fresh wave of your arousal flooded over him as you desperately rolled your hips to meet him, but the intention had been to make you climax — and judging by the way you were spasming around him, you were close. Not drive him to his own at the sight of your glowing eyes, just as they had that day in the alley.

He had miscalculated.

With an agonizing force of will he pulled out of you, harsh breaths straining his lungs as he got off the bed to hastily remove his pants and shoes. He groaned through the ripple of adrenaline that was tearing through him, heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum, the feeling of it causing his hair to stand on edge. Fuck. He wouldn’t be able to hold it off… not this time.

“What’s wrong?” Despite the question, your voice was still so thick with lust that it made his back hunch over.

It was taking all he had not to wrap his arms around himself in what he knew would be a useless attempt at containment. Even breathing was painful. The air saturated with the smell of sweat and sex and Valentino’s goddamn pheromones!

I really am going to kill that son of a bitch!

“Alastor…?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Burning at the stake.

It had been a good way to put it.

He had been burning you alive before dousing you with ice.

What had gotten into him? What had gotten into you? No one had ever said something like that to you before and received anything but a slap in the face. Greedy… The word made your heart stutter, some of the blood from the lower half of your body traveling back up to your face. Was it true? 

Embarrassment was beginning to sober you up. Had you gone too far? It seemed strange that you had, considering the words came from his mouth and not yours. Fuck, all of this had started because of him. How else had he wanted you to react? Or was he ashamed of himself? 

Was he regretting this already? 

“What’s wrong?”

You watched as his back arched up like a spooked cat, the force of his breathing revealing the ribs and notches of spine under the skin. He looked like he was in pain… Maybe the scar on his chest wasn’t as healed as it seemed? You climbed off the bed and made a timid approach.

“Alastor…?” 

He flinched at the touch of your hand with a hiss, the shock of his reaction making you trip over yourself and fall back onto the bed. He kept his back to you when he spoke next, the absence of his filter making you shiver in pleasure and worry.

“You remember what I told you earlier, yes?”

I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.

How could you not remember that? 

“I do,” you answered, just above a whisper.

He straightened himself then, still turned away from you and managing to look regal despite his trembling. “I need you on all fours… and you must promise not to turn around. Do you understand?”

It was a question that didn’t leave room for any response other than yes. So you just positioned yourself on the bed, facing your headboard and gathered the pillows there underneath you for support. You had just finished settling when you felt his weight dip the mattress behind you, heart in your throat as he ran his nails down your spine before slipping his fingers into you.

You both sighed as he pumped you, filling the room with that familiar lewd sound between breaths. Stoking the embers of your stolen orgasm with every drag, until he removed them completely. You whined at his absence, the tightness in your belly teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain as you heard him shudder through stroking himself. His free hand resting now on your hip.

“Don’t get comfortable. If you cum facing away from me I’ll never touch you again.” His voice was tight with effort, the filter over it harsh and pocketed as he adjusted himself behind you, the grip of his hand on your left hip promising to bruise. 

To your shame, the threat alone almost made you, a graceless moan tumbling out from your chest as you barely managed to nod your head in confirmation; your cunt flexing around the words echoing in your mind. The obscene sight of it drew out a sound from Alastor that could only be described as animalistic, earning the plump skin of your hip a few punctures as he thrust into you, bottoming out.

It was a brutal pace, his cock nearly leaving you with every thrust before plunging back in. He still had one hand on your hip while the other grabbed your shoulder, the slapping sound of your skin meeting quickly overpowering the gasps and moans falling from your mouths.

“Haahhh… nnghh…! …fuck!”

“Alastor…”

You felt him twitch inside of you at the sound of this name before he practically shouted, “Again…!”

The blush burned down from your face into your chest, but you complied and whined his name again. And again. Until it seemed to be the only word you knew.

“Ohhh, fuuuck…,” he hissed, followed quickly by a snarl.

You could’ve sworn you heard fabric tearing before a green glow reflected off the lacquered wood of your headboard. Alastor’s huge silhouette taking shape as it intensified; invoking the image of a nightmarish spider more than the deer demon you knew. You closed your eyes and buried your face in the pillows you had gathered, refusing to turn around despite your instinct to do so. And even through the fear, you still felt your orgasm building, the battle to keep it at bay quickly turning against your favor. 

“Alastor… I… I can’t… I—”

The words were stolen as he suddenly bit into your shoulder, his mouth so wide you felt his teeth sink in from shoulder blade to collarbone. You screamed into the pillows as his hips stuttered, until there was a final thrust so deep it would have pained you if it weren’t for your throbbing shoulder. His seed spilled out hot and thick, fueling the aching fullness inside you as he grunted into your flesh; teeth still latched to you as if making a primal claim.

Hot tears fell down your face as he rode out his orgasm behind you, unsure if they were caused by the savage bite to your bruised shoulder or lament over the deprivation of seeing his face. But you had done as you were told, managing not to turn around or climax. The bite he was now nursing with licks and sucks and kisses providing plenty of distraction.

Almost too much…

As he tried to catch his breath, you could feel him shrinking behind you as he pulled out, his slick torso laying flat against your back as he lapped up the blood dribbling from the bite. And in between his kisses that traveled from your shoulder to your tear-stained face, his hands were petting you with such a tenderness it only wrought more tears. 

His soothing whispers of shhh, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve got you, I’m sorry ringing in your ears as he brought you to lie down, cradling you to him as he caressed your face with his hands that inflicted such pain and comfort… protection.

For what seemed like hours, the two of you laid in silence, looking into each other’s eyes as his thumb stroked your cheek. Until finally you buried your face into his chest, hands over his heart.

And slipped into shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: phew! we fucking made it y’all… i truly hope it was worth the wait. but i do want to announce here that i will be taking a little break. i know this one was already late, but it kinda took a piece of my soul lmao since we only have two more chapters i need to make sure i have all my ducks lined up to wrap this with a pretty little bow. thank you for your patience and love, i really do appreciate you. and i’ll see you on may 5th 💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmic-lavender

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

birthday sex

pairing: jill valentine x reader

tags/cws: lingerie, oral, thigh riding, overstim, sex toys, jill is a tease and a menace

summary: reader and jill are dating and reader doesn't know what to get jill for her birthday and ends up deciding on surprising her by wearing a lace bodysuit

a/n: div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.5k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Buying Jill a birthday present is impossible. Whenever you ask her what she wants, her answer is always, 'I don't need anything, I have you, and I'm more than happy with that', and you’d persist if her compliments didn’t fluster you – they always do. But as her special day gets closer, you become more and more fixated on that one thought: she deserves something special. 

You decide that if the only thing she wants is you, then you'll wrap yourself up like a present and - the realization hits you. You've never worn lingerie in front of Jill - or anyone, for that matter. You’d always thought it’d be such a hassle to go out and spend so long trying things on for them to be taken off immediately if and when you first get to show them off.

And you’re proven right about the hassle. You spend hours (and a fortune) at Victoria's Secret one afternoon, and come home absolutely exhausted after you find the perfect lace bodysuit (and take advantage of the store's 5 for 35 dollars sale on panties).

You're even more exhausted the next day when you have to figure out how to put the garment on without an employee guiding you - you pray it'll be easier to take off, or you'll have to let Jill rip it off of you. Which wouldn't be all that bad, come to think of it.

Your tiredness subsides – or is overwritten by desire – when Jill walks in dressed in her typical office wear, which never fails to turn you on. As does everything else she wears.

You greet her at the door, a little giddy about the surprise you've planned for her. It’s not that you’re not always happy to see her, you’re just usually half-asleep on the couch after your own long work day. 

Jill notices your unique excitement and gives you a look of suspicion - intrigue, too, and asks, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," you say, sarcastically adding, "Oh, except for your birthday. I almost forgot."

"I'm sure you did. It's not like you've been asking me everyday for the last three weeks how I want to spend it."

"I know you probably want to relax a bit first since you've had a long day at work, but I do want to give you your present."

"I told you not to get me anything."

"You'll like it… I hope."

"Now I'm really curious."

"Then, follow me."

You take her hand and lead her to her bedroom. You have her sit on the bed.

"Stay there," you say, "and close your eyes."

"Fine, but I swear to god if it's some sort of reptile or tarantula-"

"Not even close."

Though her eyes are closed, she can hear your clothes hitting the floor, and her lips curve into a smile, knowing what's to come.

You walk towards her, close enough that she can touch you. You take her hand and guide it over the fabric and she hums in satisfaction. "So far, I'm liking my gift."

"Open your eyes and see the rest."

She does, and you see that rare full grin of hers that makes you want to jump with joy (though, your mind is a bit preoccupied with the thought of what she might do to you in the coming moments, so if you equate arousal and joy, then yeah, you’re feeling pretty fucking joyful).

"Take a seat, beautiful," she says, patting her lap.

Jill has you right where she wants you, straddling her thigh, ruining her good pants since the lacy panties do little to cover up your wetness. It's not like you could hide it from her anyway. It's painted all over your face— lust.

You lean in to kiss her, but she grabs your cheeks before your lips can touch hers.

"Ah-ah," she says, "my birthday, my rules."

She coaxes you to nod with her hand still cupping your face.

"You're not even gonna kiss me?" you whine.

"If I kiss you, then I have to close my eyes and right now, I want to see you."

"It's only fair if I get to see you too."

"I'm right here, baby doll."

She knows what you mean, but you have no rebuttal. The fact of the matter is: Jill looks hot with or without her clothes on.

"Maybe you should give me a reason to take off my clothes," she says. "Why don't you finish what you started?"

Her gaze points you towards the wet spot on her thigh.

Desire surpasses embarrassment and you place your hands on Jill's shoulders for better leverage as you slowly but steadily grind against her thigh.

"Look at me," she says, lifting your chin. "As much as I love your gorgeous body, I wanna see your pretty face too."

If only there were words to describe her beauty, maybe, then, you'd be able to use them. You’re speechless, but not quiet, your mouth is occupied by breathy moans.

Not because she's nice, but because she's impatient, Jill hoists you up and strips down to her underwear. Before she places you back where you belong – straddling her thigh – she finds the buttons at the crotch of your bodysuit and undoes them, leaving your glistening slit on display.

She coaxes you into your first orgasm of the night with her sultry voice and her hands on your hips, guiding you.

You'd be an idiot to think it was over.

It's orgasm after orgasm until you're crying, begging Jill to give you a breather, begging her to take her clothes all the way off, begging her to let you touch her.

But no, she holds a vibrator to your clit and tells you you're a good girl for taking it. Those two words "good girl" have you wrapped around her finger(s), which pump in and out of you, over and over again.

"Jill, I can't," you say after the umpteenth time she's sent you over the edge. "It's too much."

"Am I hurting you?" she asks with genuine concern.

"No, it doesn't hurt… I'm just sensitive."

She hums in understanding, in momentary surrender, as she removes all stimulation.

You sigh as relief washes over you, but it only lasts for a second before it turns back into need. It's like she's trained you, reduced you to the aching feeling in your core.

You watch as she cleans the toys she used on you with the same meticulousness that she does with her weapons (the ones that aren't used against you). She's only half-focused, peeking at you in her periphery. You have the same power over her as she does over you. She cannot suppress her desire anymore.

"Fuck it," she mutters, placing the vibrator on the bedside table and climbing into bed with you.

"Fuck me," you say.

"That's the plan," she says.

The next conscious thought you have is how soft her lips are despite the fervor in her kisses.

"Can I go down on you?" you ask, giving her your most irresistible pleading face.

She's usually reluctant to let you take control in that way despite the fact that it makes her cum the hardest. It feels like she's baring her soul to you when she lets go of control in those moments.

"Promise I'll take good care of you," you say. "And we can stop whenever you want."

If there is one thing she feels for you, it is love. And what is love if not trusting another person with your whole heart?

(If there is one thing you feel it is honored to be trusted and to trust in return). 

"Okay," she says, and lies down.

You let her take off her own clothes – what little is left on her body.

"You're so beautiful," you say.

"Shut up," she says, flustered, vulnerable, but most of all insistent that you are the beautiful one in the relationship. It might be the number one thing you argue about.

"Make me," you say, and the words may be cliche, but they have a near perfect success rate.

She shoves your head between her thighs and moans when your tongue swipes along her folds – groans when you pull back to say, "I want you to let yourself feel good, give yourself a birthday gift."

"I was," she whines – a rare sound, one she must’ve learned from you, "but you stopped."

Your apology is muffled against her skin, but your touch can say more than words ever could.

It's her natural instinct to push you away when she nears the edge, feeling vulnerable knowing you'll get to see her, feel her, taste her, in the most intimate way possible. So, when you know she’s about to cum, you grab her thighs, firm but gentle still, and keep your face buried between them.

She barely has time to grab a pillow to muffle her moans. You’d already gotten enough noise complaints from your neighbors, it’s common courtesy at this point. 

It takes her a moment to get her bearings straight as you've managed to completely wear her out, and you consider making a joke about her age showing, but you don't.

Instead you say, "happy birthday."

To which she replies a mumbled, "thanks" as she hoists you up so that you're face to face.

And you fall asleep on her chest before you can say anything else.

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 1

Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late uploading today, but I went to bed early last night and forgot to schedule this.

Oops!

But! Welcome to what I've been calling Steve is a History Nerd agenda. We see in season two on Steve's essay for colleges that he can link his grandfather's military service with his prowess on the basketball court.

It is also surprisingly well written. *shakes fist at the Duffers stop telling us he's stupid and then showing the opposite, please! Let him be smart, too!*

Summary: The Renaissance Fair is finally back in Hawkins after three year absence (Starcourt was built on the fair site and after the fire it was bulldozed back to it's original field). Everyone is excited, even Steve to everyone's amazement. But Steve is hiding other hidden depths as he offers to help the kids make their costumes for the Fair.

Lucas is struggling with being both a nerd and a jock and fears the judgment of his friends. Steve sets out to help him overcome those doubts to be himself.

Tagging the untaggable: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Nobody expects Steve to be excited for the Renaissance fair. Dustin, Will and Lucas spend hours plotting bribes, schemes and out and out manipulations to get Steve to agree to take them. Even Robin expected him to side with her about the dust and the filth. Eddie expected him to be dismissive of the fantasy aspect of it.

Boy were they all wrong.

For it was Steve to bring up to the group after a rather successful D&D session.

In his hand was a bright pink flier and a wide grin on his face.

“Guys! The Ren Fair is back this year,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “I’ll finally be able to show off that tunic I’ve been working on.”

All heads turned to Steve in shock.

There was a cacophony of questions.

“Since when did you know how to sew?”

“What do you mean back? I didn’t even know Hawkins had one to begin with!”

“You want to go to the Ren Fair?”

“Why would you want to spend all day in the heat and dirt?”

Steve looked around at all off his friends in shock.

“Guys, I love the Ren Fair,” he muttered. “Didn’t you guys know?”

All their jaws dropped.

And Eddie? Eddie felt an icicle to the heart at the sight of Steve’s hurt expression.

“You’ll pardon the peasants, my liege,” Eddie said, bowing grandly. “I’m afraid we have all be harboring under the delusion that Ren Fairs were beneath your notice.”

Steve blinked at him a moment. “But I love that stuff. It’s the history and sword fights and jousting. It’s the like medieval Olympics. It’s the romance and chivalry of knights fighting for a fair maiden’s hand. It’s getting to dress up in fancy clothes and rip into turkey legs like a savage. What’s not to like?”

Dustin frowned. “Who here knew Steve liked history?”

Robin and Nancy raised their hands. They looked around waiting for me people to join them. But they stayed down.

Steve ducked his head and scuffed the floor with the edge of his sneaker.

“The ex-girlfriend I’ll buy,” Dustin continued. “But Robin didn’t become friends with Steve until after he graduated so how did she know?”

Robin blinked at them owlishly. “You mean you guys don’t know?”

Everyone looked around each other and then shook their heads.

“Steve was in my AP history class my junior year,” she said as if this was know fact.

“You do know that AP stands for advance placement, right?” Mike asked.

Eddie smacked the back of his head. “She was in it, dude. Don’t be an ass.”

Steve looked up at him and smiled a little.

Good, Eddie thought. Nothing like a little Mike violence to cheer up Steve.

“He wrote an essay for early placement college exams,” Nancy said. “He didn’t get a chance to turn it in because of our second go round with the Upside Down, but it was really good. It needed a little neatening up with the actual writing, but the history was solid.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks.”

Dustin looked skeptical. “What’s your favorite part of history?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I liked hearing about my grandpa’s time in the US army during WWII, but that was more because he made it interesting. But I really like the Industrial Revolution. Or rather the first Industrial Revolution. There have been four. The first one was from 1760-1840 and featured heavily in the textile movement.”

The room was silent.

“Why textiles, Stevie?” Eddie asked as the silence grew awkward.

Steve lit up like a child at Christmas morning and he began talking about the British textile movement.

“What the hell?” Dustin huffed, breaking into Steve monologue.

Steve ducked his head again and blushed. “Just because I’m not interested in science and fantasy doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” He straightened up. “And yeah, sometimes I get things wrong. But everyone does at some point. In fact I get a hell of a lot more flack for my intelligence than Eddie does and he repeated his senior year twice!” He took a deep breath and then ran his fingers through his hair.

“No offense,” he said waving to Eddie.

Eddie looked up at him with earnest eyes. “None taken. I concur.”

They all looked around at each other in shock. Like they hadn’t realized that they had done that.

After a few moments, Steve put his hands on his hips and pointed at all of them.

“So do you guys want to go or what?”

Eddie sat back with a smile as everyone roared their approval.

*

“No corsets,” was Robin’s only firm and fast rule for Steve when it came to dressing her up for the Ren Fair.

Steve looked her up and down. “Why on earth would I want you in a corset? Have you looked in the mirror?”

“Uh...” Robin said. “Is that a trick question? Of course I have. I don’t what that has to do with saying no to corsets though...”

Steve rolled his eyes. “In order to give you the curve you need to match the proper silhouette you would need to be cinched to hell. And as this is supposed to be fun.”

He grabbed her hand and started hauling her toward his car.

“Where are we going?”

“Thrifting!” he said with glee.

It took three different stores and a stop at the mall to get everything he needed.

“Give me three days,” he told her when he dropped her off at her house. “And I think you’ll like what I come up with.”

Robin eyed him warily. “If you say so.”

Steve laughed.

He crashed the next D&D session, showing up early to pick them up.

“What is everyone wearing to the Ren Fair?” he asked with a note pad on his lap and wagged the pen in his fingers.

“You want us to dress up?” Mike asked, eyes wide.

“Why not?” he asked with a shrug. “I’ve made my costume and currently reworking some thirfted threads for Robin’s outfit.”

Eddie blinked. “You made your costume?”

Steve shrugged again. “Yeah. I like sewing.”

There was suddenly an uproar and he held up a hand. “I can’t make you a full outfit before the Fair, but I can make over already made clothes to make them more historical. And maybe for next year I’ll have the time to make something special for everyone.”

Dustin eyed him suspiciously. “Like what?”

“Like tailoring pants to a tighter fit,” Steve explained “adding a sash or belt, turning old coats into vests and cloaks, things like that.”

They still weren’t sure how that would work out.

“Now I talked to Joyce and Claudia,” he continued. “And they’re both willing to help out in making sure everyone has something nice to wear. That includes Max and El.”

“Are the fair maidens joining us?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Joyce is doing El and Will, Claudia is doing Dustin and Mike, and I’m doing Lucas and Max. Eddie said he already had a costume, so I didn’t have to worry about him.”

Eddie grinned. “You better believe it, pretty boy.”

Steve ducked his head and blushed. “So we’re all going thrifting with a $5 limit for each of you. But I wanted to brainstorm some ideas of what you wanted to go as so we don’t waste time wandering around.”

Everyone started shouting at once and it took Steve a good ten minutes before he got everyone calmed down enough to get what they wanted. Dustin wanted to go as a hobbit, but Steve had to nix that one.

“You don’t want to go running around the grounds barefoot,” he explained with a wince. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Stevie on this one,” Eddie said. “You guys have never been but there is all sorts of stuff laying around. It’s not indoors and the pathways are dirt lined. Think the state fair. It’s more like that then going to comic book convention.”

Dustin grumbled but conceded the point. Steve got them to decide on... well not quite peasant gear, but more rough around the edges than what Steve would be wearing.

Well, all but Lucas. He didn’t want to wear what they were wearing but he refused to say what he did want to wear.

So Steve dropped him off at home last.

They pulled into his driveway and Steve turned to him. “Do you not want to dress up? Because I won’t make you.”

Lucas picked at the loose string on his sweater. “It’s not that. I just remember the last time we did a group costume and they all thought I should be Winston because I was black like he was.”

Steve frowned for a moment. “The Ghostbusters, right?”

Lucas nodded. “I knew if I brought it up they’d shoot me down again.”

“So what did you want to go as?” he asked.

Lucas huffed out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid pipe dream anyway. Especially since you have to make Max’s dress and Robin’s costume, too.”

He opened the door to get out, but Steve reached over and slammed it closed.

“One, Robin’s costume is almost done,” he said counting out on his fingers. “Two, do you really think your girlfriend is going to want to wear a dress? And three, let me be the judge on what’s too much for me, okay?”

Lucas huffed a laugh at his second point. “Yeah, that was dumb of me.”

“So what is it?”

Lucas looked down again and heaved out a sigh. “An elf.”

Steve’s mind was whirling with the possibilities. “What colors?”

“What?” Lucas asked, not sure he heard Steve right.

“What colors would you want it to be?”

He pulled out the notebook and scrambled for a pen. Lucas pulled a pencil out of his bag and handed it to him.

“Uh I was thinking of a light blue and with a silver trim?” he said hesitantly.

Steve sketched something out. “Like this?”

Lucas leaned over to look at the drawing. “A little shorter so I’m not tripping over it and maybe those puffy pants?”

Steve adjusted the drawing and Lucas nodded.

“Yeah, like that.”

“All right,” Steve said. “I know exactly what to do and how to do it. It won’t be perfect because I don’t have time to do it right so I’ll be doing a lot of cheating. But yeah, it’s doable.”

Lucas gave him a hug. “Thanks, man.”

*

Steve called the one person he knew he could help him.

“Eddie,” he said the second the other man picked up. “I need your nerd connections to do a huge favor for Lucas.”

“Wha’cha got, big boy?” Eddie asked with a grin.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any Trekkies would you?” Steve asked chewing on his bottom lip.

“That depends, Stevie,” Eddie replied, “what’s the need?”

“Pointed ears.”

Eddie hummed. “I’m assuming you’re thinking Trekkie because of Spock and that’s a good thought. But I’m guessing since we’re going to the Ren Fair our stalwart ranger is wanting to be an elf?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Do you know anyone who can help?”

“Better than that,” Eddie said. “I know where to get the ears in the right... shade?”

Steve perked up. “Oh? I’m guessing Jeff?”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said with a soft smile. “I’ll give him a call and then call you back.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve breathed. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, doll.”

****

I am so excited for this, guys. You have no idea. I'm little history nerd myself and this really fun to play around with.

Just a heads up. We WILL be addressing Mike's casual racism from the Ghostbusters scene because I don't like that it's never been addressed.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @artiststarme ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

[bluewxrld07]

She's All I Wanna Be (Trevor Zegras)

Trevor Zegras x Reader - Instagram AU

Warning(s): Angst

Summary: Based off Tate McRae's song She's All I Wanna Be :)

dixiedamelio just posted a photo!!

liked by charlidamelio, mileycyrus, trevorzegras, and 1,250,542 others

dixiedamelio Inner Miley Cyrus Bangerz era.... oh and pc to Z

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user1 ok but her suit slays

user2 anybody else notice she didn't tag Trevor? Little sis if you ask me

user3 We all know they're together at this point. They just don't want to rip the bandaid off

user2 Right? We all know he dumped yourusername to be with Dixie. He's just trying to avoid confirmation

charlidamelio 🦆

addisonrae Bod goals af

trevorzegras 😳

trevorzegras sorry still in awe of u

user4 He doesn't even try to hide it

yourusername just posted a photo!

liked by jackhughes, yourbff, jamiedrysdale, colecaufield and 1,475,998 others

yourusername you want the girl with the small waist, and the perfect smile

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user1 She's always been so gorgeous I am obsessed w/her

user2 Glad to see a model who has the same body type as me owning it 🥰

user3 Yeeesshhhh Trevor's loss

user4 Why would she post something like this when her body looks like that? It's actually horrendous 🤢

user1 This is what healthy looks like first off? Second off she's a gym influencer who heavy lifts? What's your talent? Tell me her confidence levels are annoying you without actually telling me fr user4

yourbff Currrrves for daysss

yourbff Hottie w/ a body??!

jackhughes Bestie looking fine as always

yourbff um jackhughes bye she's my bff get your own bff since your last one has a trashy looking type jackhughes Shhhh don't expose me like that we don't claim it

trevorzegras just posted a photo!

liked by charlidamelio, dixiedamelio, alexturcotte, and 1,045,609 others

trevorzegras Obsessed w/ u

tagged: dixiedamelio

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user1 well this wasn't on my bingo card

user2 omg isn't that Charli's sister? I forgot her name. What does she do???

user1 I'm dead, you really clowning her lmfao user2

user3 So much prettier than what's her face

user4 I miss yourusername

user5 It's the fact that she's back to her darker hair? Anyone finding that a little weird?

dixiedamelio All heart eyes for you 😘

yourusername just posted a photo!

liked by yourbff, jackhughes, tatemcrae, gigihadid, and 2,649,913 others

yourusername if you say she's nothing to worry about, then why'd close your eyes when I said it out loud?

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jackhughes Bring me my matcha latte

yourusername I'd already be there if someone didn't drop it, so we're getting you a new one jackhughes yourbff It wasn't my fault the door didn't announce its presence..... jackhughes only you'd blame the door yourbff

user1 Literally love this girl

user2 Kinda crazy Trevor posts Dixie right after yourusername posted. He also never posted her, so what makes Dixie so different lmao

user3 what’s crazier is that Dixie literally just dyed her hair blonde and cut it so short, to now having dark hair and extensions 🤔

yourbff You look sooo good

yourbff IM obsessed w/ YOU

user4 The shade lmfao crazy

dixiedamelio posted a photo!

liked by noahbeck, charlidamelio, tanamongeau, trevorzegras and 3,146,098 others

dixiedamelio thanks vanity fair for the fun day 💅🏼

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user1 ohhhh boy…

user2 Yeah it’s scary how much she’s tryna look like yourusername

tanamongeau Wow Dix ballsy as fuck lmao

yourbff interesting.

user3 SO glad yourbff sees it too

user4 Dixie can try to look like her, but she won’t ever be able to lift like her. Bet she can’t lift anything over ten pounds

jackhughes just posted a photo!

liked by yourbff, colecaufield, l_hughes03, yourusername and 5,973,899 others

jackhughes We can lay on her and she still doesn’t feel a thing. Probably could lift us both with her eyes closed

tagged: yourusername, colecaufield

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user1 I’m living for Jack being on her side during this lmfao

user2 The SHADE LMFAO JACK

user3 Let’s see Dixie try to remake this photo bahahah

yourbff Pretty sure you all fell asleep like that too

yourusername we did lmfao

colecaufield comfiest I’ve ever slept

jackhughes 10/10 recommend

yourbff Writing out the yelp review rn

l_hughes03 I call top next time

yourbff just posted a photo!

liked by tatemcrae, yourusername, colecaufield and 1,347,856 others

yourbff I was just as amazed as Tate was when y/n lifted me onto her back. Carrying me on her back as well as she did with her last relationship. Stupid boy making her so sad

tagged: tatemcrae, yourusername

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tatemcrae That last line in your caption sounding a little familiar 🤔🤔

tatemcrae But also me next, me next!!

jackhughes I walked in on this

l_hughes03 I walked out on this

colecaufield I wanna be in on this

yourusername you’re all a pain in my ass on this

yourbff We just love you ok

*liked by yourusername, jackhughes, l_hughes03, colecaufield and tatemcrae*

user1 This friendgroup is what I strive to have in life

user2 Dixie kicking and punching air rn

*liked by yourbff*

dixiedamelio posted a photo!

liked by charlidamelio, trevorzegras, jamiedrysdale, alexturcotte and 4,137,980 others

dixiedamelio all mine plus bff

tagged : trevorzegras, alexturcotte

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user1 Girl keep him lmfao nobody gonna steal him like you did to yourusername

*liked by yourbff*

user2 Nah man not Alex bro rip 🥲🥲

trevorzegras all yours ❤️

charlidamelio He wanted someone he could show off whenever you go out

dixiedamelio I’ll wear a tight mini black dress with all my friends around 💅🏼

user3 ohhhh she PETTY petty

user4 Her and her sister wanna be besties with Tate and yourusername so bad omfg it’s a headache

*liked by yourbff and tatemcrae*

tanamongeau I think I’ve seen similar posts like these somewhere….🤔

yourusername posted a photo!

liked by jackhughes, tatemcrae, yourbff, trevorzegras and 7,247,113 others

yourusername I’m all she wanna be so bad

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user1 OH NOW THIS WAS A TWIST

user2 Not her turning the lyrics around to call out Dixie oop

tatemcrae lyric change approved ����❤️

yourusername 🥰💅🏼

yourbff kind of like this version better

tatemcrae Glad I’m not the only one

jackhughes Permission to call you mommy after seeing this post?

yourusername denied

yourbff denied

tatemcrae denied

l_hughes03 Wow you got rejected more than me my Freshman year at Umich jackhughes

colecaufield The better looking ex

user3 It’s the fact Trevor liked the post too I’m dead

*liked by yourbff and yourusername*

[theo4eve]

A very stray (chaos) kids Christmas |Extra member AU|

It was Christmas.

 The tree was set up with various decorations, ornaments and even money. Some try to take some for themselves but ultimately get caught. Most of the members were already at min, lix and yullie’s dorm. 

Some wander around, some baking cookies and decorating, some lending a hand for cooking in the kitchen.

Byul, Minho and Jisung are in the Kitchen, cooking up a storm (a piece of cake) 

 “Yullie hyuung!” Jisung pleads, a pout on his face as he uses his puppy eyes against him in hopes of the taller man giving in

“No you are not having dessert before food.” Byul grumbles, stirring the soup he was making for dinner as he avoids looking at him and falling for his trap “Now shoo, you’re washing the dishes if you keep this up.” 

“Eh??” The quokka-like man-child gasps before turning away, huffing as he goes over to try and steal some sweets despite being told not to.

 Seungmin, Felix and Innie are decorating and making the sweets. 

“Hyung, that does not look like Chan hyung at all.” Jeongin mumbles, “He has more abs.” He proceeds to draw on some lines which represent the chocolate bar like abs Chan is known for. Seungmin furrows his eyebrows before adding some grey hair slyly “Chan is half 58 next year” He says in English, a menacing grin etched on his face.

“YA!” A cry comes from the other side of the dorm.

The three giggle and continue teasing the other members, making horrible portraits of them on gingerbread men.

Changbin, Chan and Hyunjin decorate the dorm. Tinsels framing the windows and wrapped around the tree. Presents that range from big, small, lengthy, short. Wrapped or in a gift bags.

Chan takes a peek into a gift bag, that's labeled for Bin "What's piggy?" he mumbles to himself. Only to be startled by a pair of cold hands slip under his shirt.

"You're going to be on the naughty list, hyung" Hyunjin huffs, glancing into the gift he was peeking at.

"So are you." The older man grumbles "Why're your hands so cold?? It's warm inside.." He grabs ahold of them, warming them up

Changbin immediately gasps as he witnesses the scene, storming over to them. He takes the taller man with a protective, pouty expression, taking his hands into his own. "My wife is cold? Binnie will warm you up" He giggles, blowing onto his hands.

-

Soon enough the sweets are made and decorated, put to the side. And the smell of food draws everyone to the dining table. The cooking racha of the day serves food.

"Thank you for the meal" They say in sync before digging in, letting out pleased hums and compliments to the chef.

"Let's watch the Grinch after this" Someone speaks up, earning a few nods but some shout after one another "Superman!" "-That's not even a Christmas movie!", "Home alone!" "-WE FORGOT KEVIN!" Felix shouts.

They eventually decide on a movie..

"WHERE ARE MY PRESENTS?"

"THAT'S MINE!"

"WHY DOES FELIX HAVE SO MANY GIFTS??"

"Because he's an angel. Duh." Hyunjin replies with an eye roll.

".. Why do I see panties on the Christmas tree?" Byul mumbles, very confused yet used to the shenanigans.

Minho smirks to himself proudly.

"I'm opening my gifts!" Han shouts, ripping the paper with no care. Everyone else joins in and starts unboxing their own presents.

"I wanted robux guys.." Jisung pouts jokingly.

"Roblox money? Really?" Byul asks, unimpressed "You definitely missed a gift."

"What?! Did you get me some?" Han squeals, "I love you hyuuuung!" He squeezes him in a tight hug

"Ya! What about all the other gifts we got you?!" Minho scolds

"I love them too! Don't attack me! It's Christmas-"

"AAAHHHHH"

AN: Merry Christmas and a happy new year, to my lovely readers! this is not proofread btw

Tag list: @dean-a-mean-tae, @galaxy4489. Reply, send an ask or dm me to be added!

Back to Byul Kim's masterlist

[pinkroseblooms]

Boy Toy, Pt.2

Sugar Baby!TojixSugar Mama!f!Reader

Summary: Something's changed in your dynamic lately; Toji makes it clear the night you unknowingly push him towards desperate measures to ensure you keep your promise. AU without sorcerers and curses, etc, forgot if I mentioned that in the previous part. wc: 4.3k a/n: warnings and tags include smut, rough sex, creampie, breeding kink, dubcon, threats of forced impregnation/kidnapping, yandere!Toji, possessive behavior, toxic ass behavior, emotional manipulation, jealousy, sub/dom elements, sort of pet play(ngl I'm not sure?) reader is pretty twisted as well, lots inappropriate stuff, I'll add more later if I need to. Enjoy!

Nothing really changes the next few weeks; in the aftermath of your attempt to cut ties with Toji, you’ve found it fairly easy to return to the previous “arrangement” between the two of you. The only difference is that Toji is more...affectionate?

Granted, he’s never been shy: when the line between client and employer had been crossed, Toji became quickly accustomed to invading your personal space pretty much any time the mood struck him. Whether it was sweeping you up in his arms to pin you against whatever nearby surface was stable enough to rail you against or just giving your bottom a playful pinch, Toji would strike without warning or care for your busy schedule. For the most part, you had no complaints, as long as Toji was mindful to not leave marks that couldn’t be easily covered. As for non sexual contact, it was almost always you who initiated hugs, chaste kisses, hand holding, etc. Toji allowed it, welcomed it eventually, but it was rare for him to be the one to initiate unless the physical touches were leading to sex. 

“You smell so good.” 

“You need to shave.” You chuckle softly as Toji nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble leaving a slightly red mark as it itches the skin. “I should smell nice; because of someone I had to wash up again.”

After you finally managed to pry Toji off you, you had hopped into the shower while he stayed lounging in the bed, feeling too lazy to do more than wipe himself off with the shirt he had practically ripped in two to take off earlier. You were sitting in front of your vanity, having planned out your outfit ahead of time and now you were trying to decide what to accessorize with while Toji offered such helpful suggestions as, “don’t wear panties” and “are you sure you don’t want to go again?” 

“Whatcha getting all dolled up for?” Toji asks absently, pressing slow, sensual kisses down your shoulder. “Come back to bed. Let’s stay in tonight.”

“You say that like that isn’t what we do most nights.”

“You hate going out more than I do.”

“As true as that is,” You conceded lightly. “I still have obligations: the current CEO of Kamo invited me to dinner to discuss some proposals about shipping their products through us. You can eat without me, I’m planning on taking advantage of the free meal.”

“That’s my girl.”

One of your family’s company’s most influential associates cornered you after that morning’s meeting for a separate one on one dinner to go over the plans. You can grin and bear it to keep things genial, tedious as it all is. Choso Kamo is a little less rigid when he’s not around a group of people and you suppose he feels more relaxed speaking to someone he’s more familiar with. 

“But ya know, I could just kill him for you.”

“Did you run out of your allowance already?” Your eyes drift from your face in the mirror to where Toji has returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “I told you, if you want more for betting, you’re on your own.”

“You can afford it.” Toji replies with a shrug, not making any move to slip his boxers back on. “I didn’t actually: what makes you assume I blew through the cash already?”

“Because, it sounds like you’re fishing for a job. Anyway, I don’t need you to kill anyone.” You dab a dot of cream over the faint dark circles under your eyes. “Not at the moment.”

“I heard this guy is into some shady side deals. Is he dangerous?”

“Allegedly. Anybody who does get their hands on incriminating evidence always seems to go radio silent.” You apply a touch of red to your lips. “He could be a problem if I offend him during our meeting, but he’s smart enough to know his place; as long as I don’t directly challenge what authority he believes he has over me, our negotiation will be smooth sailing. He’s not the type to try anything.”

“No worries, he’s not gonna try shit with me there.”

You raise an eyebrow at Toji’s smirking face. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m your bodyguard: shouldn’t I go along and, ya know, guard your body?” Toji’s eyes travel down your shoulders and back to your ass; you’re perched on the cushioned stool in front of your vanity. He loves watching you get ready, at least, he usually does. “I wouldn’t wear that clingy dress to a business dinner.”

“Which dress would you wear?”

“Cute.” Toji snorts. “When are we leaving?”

“I’m leaving in an hour and a half. Do I really need to explain why your presence would be detrimental to this occasion?” You absentmindedly fix your hair, mentally debating on wearing it up or down. Luckily the marks Toji had so savagely left had mostly faded; nothing that a little makeup and a strategically placed necklace wouldn’t cover. “We plan to discuss business, and that’s all.”

“I’d be going as your chaperone; he’ll probably have a couple men of his own posted outside the restaurant.”

“We’re meeting at his place.”

“His place.” Toji repeats flatly, easy going smirk falls. His eyes are boring holes into your head and you don’t need to glance in the mirror to know.

“It’s not the first time he’s had me over for a meal; he’s never made any inappropriate advances or threatened me.”

You sound bored as you explain all this to Toji, but it isn’t doing anything to pacify him. Why are you adamant about not having him come with you? He doesn’t need to be at the dinner table, he could stay outside the dining hall or sit in the car. It wouldn’t be the first time, even if it’s been a long while since you’ve had Toji play the role of hired muscle. 

“How long have you known him?”

You pause to think. “Technically since we’ve been children, but we’ve never been particularly close. Our families' companies have always worked in tandem together and now we end up working together every now and then. He’s my age, give or take a year.”

“Good looking?”

“Yes, I’d say so.” You turn around slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to leave me for my colleague?”

Toji doesn’t find much humor in your attempt to get him to crack a smile. 

“What if he does make a move? If you turn him down, isn’t that bad for business?”

“I highly doubt it; that’s really not Choso’s style.”

“Sure sounds like you know him well.”

“My point is, there’s nothing to get worked up about. I’m going to a business dinner, not a battlefield.”

Toji is vaguely familiar with who Choso Kamo is and his family’s reputation, but their questionable business dealings isn’t what’s making his hackles raise.

When he escorts you to social events, Toji can see what he suspects you don’t pay attention to: men and women alike seem to hold their breath when you speak to them directly. Their eyes linger, they don’t seem to even be cognizant of their own behavior. Men in particular will cast scornful looks Toji’s way, the bravest make snide comments under their breath only to wither under his own cold gaze. 

It’s entirely possible that part of your allure is due to being so scarce in public: you only grace a function with your presence if it’s absolutely necessary or if it would be considered an affront to refuse the invitation. You’re not exactly a people person and you’re not actually as good at reading people as Toji: you prefer everything cut and dry; you’ve managed to get along by charisma more than anything else. Toji has noted that you’re a person people want to be liked by. They want your approval. Choso Kamo isn’t an exception. Toji recalls on two separate occasions the imposing man peeled himself away from his solitary position at his table to greet you and you alone. He’s the only one who holds Toji’s stare and returns it with a look of utter contempt.

Blind as you might be to it, Toji’s perceptive eyes can see how the man practically bounds over to you, eager gaze trained on your polite, but kind smile, the way his paw-like hand grips yours ever so carefully when you ask Choso about his brothers and make small talk. Choso wants your approval and Toji would bet a cool one million it’s not all he wants from you.

“Hey big guy, why don’t you order in something special for yourself for dinner?” You sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, lean your head against his shoulder and run one of your hands up and down his forearm. “What I want you to do is stay here, all warm and cozy in bed, while I handle all this boring work stuff. There’s absolutely no reason you need to concern yourself with Choso Kamo or anybody I might need to have these silly, boring dinner meetings with. Do you understand?”

“How often do you expect to be called out this late for ‘business dinners’?” Toji whips his head around, a deep frown marred his handsome features. “Don’t condescend to me; I’m not a fucking idiot.” he pulls his arm away from your comforting touch. “Shit, why don’t you just go marry the guy? He’s obviously the better fit: rich, got his own business, bet your family will fucking love him.”

“Oh for goodness sakes, I am not listening to this-”

“Sit down.” Toji easily pushes you by your shoulders so you plop right back down onto the mattress. “Don’t walk away from me. I already told you, if you think you can go behind my back and mess around with other men, you’re dead wrong. You get that lumbering jackass on the phone and cancel tonight because I’m telling you you’re not going.”

You stare up at him strangely. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“No, I mean,” A half smile of bewilderment comes to your lips. “I thought you were teasing, but…are you actually jealous?”

“No.”

You give Toji an unimpressed look. “Then why are you throwing a tantrum?”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum!” Toji barks, red faced and fists clenched; he’s itching to hit the pillows or the wall. He can’t remember the last time he had gotten this angry. “I’m just pissed.”

“Maybe, but I think you’re also worried.” You reply coolly. “I never even considered Choso before…but you know, he is my type. And he’s very agreeable when he’s not moody, reliable…I’m sure he would be a lot easier to train than another rabid dog I know.”

“I know what game you’re trying to play, little girl.” Toji leans down at the waist, arms on either side of you on the bed, as if to emphasize how much bigger and stronger he is. “You’re really pushing your luck.”

“Says the man with the gambling addiction.” You glance down between Toji’s legs. “Is that your way of trying to distract me?”

Toji follows your eyes; he hadn’t even noticed. He’s hard as a rock.

“I wonder what did it for you: was it pushing me down? Barking orders at me?” You reach up to poke Toji’s scrunched up nose. “Or did that talk about training do something to you?”

Toji doesn’t have to look down; he felt his cock twitch. You kiss his nose and put your hands on either side of his face.

“I really don’t intend on adopting another puppy anytime soon. Please Toji, be reasonable; I’ll only be gone for a few hours, you’ll barely miss me.”

Toji doesn’t say anything, but continues to scowl. He can hardly bring himself to think about it, but you’re wrong; he misses you every time you have to leave the house. Sure, Toji can spend his time however he likes with the allowance you give him and a house stocked with food and entertainment, but it doesn’t take long for him to get bored and sluggish. When you have to leave the house and don’t need him to escort you, Toji finds the things he used to get so much enjoyment out of have lost some of their charm. More and more lately Toji finds himself curling up either in your bed where he’s surrounded by your scent or napping on the nearest couch to the door. He hates how the click of the front door lock sends a wave of relief crashing over him, how a little voice echoes in his head “she’s home, finally” but Toji can ignore it while he’s busy stealing your breath away with kisses and clawing at your business casual clothes.

Besides, what if while he’s away at the track or the tables, you come back early? You might see he’s not there and decide to go back out or take on some other task thinking Toji’s content being left to his own devices. Maybe on one of those days you’ll stop at a cafe or a bar and you meet someone? 

“You’re the smartest dumb person I ever met.” Toji chuckles softly in spite of how irritated he still feels. “Everywhere I go with you, there’s all these people and they’re all better suited and they all want you. It’s constant. You know how exhausting it is, knowing there’s all these assholes out there waiting to snatch you up the minute they see an opening?”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“And you’re wrong. I will…that much.” Toji tells you firmly. “Miss you. I don’t like you going out. Even if I get to go with you, I hate it ‘cause I gotta see how they all look at you. I didn’t used to; fuck, you made me proud. You make me proud,” he corrects himself quietly. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

You look conflicted and Toji is hopeful; he’d like to avoid using force on you, even if he does get a kick out using his strength on you and handling you like a ragdoll. But this is different. 

“Baby, why don’t you reschedule? Say you’re not feeling good and can’t make it tonight, any excuse.” Toji smiles roguishly as he slowly presses you down onto the bed, straddling your hips so you can feel the full weight of him and how hard he is. “You look too good dressed up like this…makes me wanna lock you up and keep you all to myself.”

“I suppose…I could speak with him over coffee. Something more casual.” You move up the bed and sigh as a spark comes back to Toji’s cold eyes. “You really are a scary guy, Toji.” 

“I just don’t want to share you.” Toji rocks his hips, dragging the tip of his cock over the soft material of your dress; drops of precum stain the fabric. “So, so pretty.”

“Toji, I just got this!”

“Buy another.” Toji grinds against your thigh and gropes one of your tits roughly. “I’m gonna rip this one off anyway.”

You gasp as Toji makes good on his promise, his hands gripping the front of your dress and pulling it apart down the middle. The seams pop and the fabric tears right down the middle, revealing the matching lingerie set you had been wearing underneath; Toji curses under his breath.

“That’s what you were wearin’ underneath?” he asks incredulously. “Was this meant for him?”

“Of course not. I was going to surprise you when I got home.” You scolded him tersely. “Honestly, you have no tact.”

“Guess you need to train me better.” 

Toji kisses you hard, not giving you much time to react as he forces his tongue into your mouth and starts grinding himself into your still covered pussy. You don’t fight it when Toji takes your wrists in one hand and holds them over your head; he’s not letting you go anytime soon. You’re too busy rubbing yourself back on him, loving the feel of his cock desperately trying to fuck you, like he can’t even wait for you to take off the panties. 

“From now on you have to always tell me where you’re going and who’s gonna be there.” Toji’s demanding tone is a bit undermined by the way he’s groaning at the sight of your nipples poking through the lacey bra. “No late night meetings. And I don’t want you alone with him.”

“Choso wouldn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit. He’s probably a bigger freak than I am.” Toji pinches and rolls your nipple in his free hand. “I should fuck you while you call him.”

“Toji,” You say warily. “I thought we talked about this: you know I love you. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Please, try to not let your temper get the best of you: I have a job to do and if you act up too much-”

“What?” Toji asks mockingly; he’s already pulling aside your soaked panties and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Come on, I’m dyin’ to know. Am I being a bad dog?”

You’re about to retort, but then Toji bends down, eyes locked on yours as he runs his tongue up your cheek with a slow, wet lick. You stare at him slightly taken aback but that turns into shock when Toji slams his cock into you all at once.

“Fuck!” Toji hisses. “So fucking tight…come on, tell me baby, tell me how you’ll punish me!”

But the second you open your mouth, Toji is thrusting; his hold around your wrists is painfully tight and he’s able to keep your thighs spread by pinning one down with his other hand. You cry out every time he slams into you, making the whole bed shake and the headboard slam against the wall. 

“Think he can fuck you this good? Huh? You think he could make this pussy cream like I can?” Toji huffs and puffs, not slowing down even as he lowers his head to suck and rolls his tongue around your nipples, one at a time, making them shiny and wet with spit. “Got me trained to only want to fuck this pussy now anyway.”

“Too much!” You whine as Toji lets your hands go only to hook your knees under each of his elbows. “Toji, so deep, it’s too deep!”

“But babyyyyy, I have to.” Toji groans almost as if he’s exasperated with your protests. “I gotta breed you.”

“Wha-what are you…?”

“Uh huh. Nice and deep, gonna make sure all my cum takes.” Toji kisses your forehead with a twisted grin. “I’m going to fill you up and make you a mommy now.”

“What?!” This is the most panicked he’s ever seen you. “I don’t want kids! I’m on birth control and-”

“They can only prevent so much. I’ll keep you tied up for a while,” Toji traces his fingers along your trembling lips. “I’ll keep cumming inside you, all night, every day, over and over. I’ll even destroy the pills if I have to.”

“No!”

“But I thought you loved me? It’s the only way I can think of keeping you…I mean, unless you were willing to do something else to make things a little more official?” Toji slows down his thrusts and looks down at you with a shit eating grin. “Ya know, something that shows other people you’re taken.”

“Something…?” You can barely breathe from exertion and confusion. “Official? Wait, are you saying you want us to get married?”

“Sounds fair enough, yeah? You already promised you would take care of me from now on.” Toji sighs and brushes hair out of your face. “Think of it this way, I get to put a ring around your finger ‘cause after all, you already put a collar around my neck.”

“You know, some people propose with a ring prepared and flowers, not threats of forcible impregnation.” Your voice is hardly more than a whisper. “Toji, I love you, you big idiot. If you wanted to, why not just ask me to marry you?”

“‘Kay, then…will you marry me?”

“I can get the papers ready tomorrow.” You ever so carefully put your hands on his shoulders lightly before moving in to hold him. “If that’s what it takes to put your mind at ease, consider me your wife. I’ve always considered you mine; honestly, do I have to collar and tag you to get it through your head? I have no plans to let you go, not unless you decide you want to leave.”

Toji chews on his lip as you hug him and give his neck butterfly kisses; suddenly he’s feeling anxious and tongue tied. Toji thought you might put up more of a fight: he knows what he is. He knows the disgusted looks thrown his way are warranted and he made peace with that years ago. If anything, it would be poetic justice for you to leave him high and dry, abandoning him without so much as a second thought. 

You have to stop this. You think you’re taming a stray and making him a house pet, but Toji knows exactly what he is. If you keep indulging him this way it won’t settle his mind; every day is already a battle to not do exactly as he said he was going to do, keep you restrained and locked away from the world. Fuck the money, fuck your work, fuck everything you want and everything Toji believed he wanted. To hell with it all. What’s one more selfish, cruel act? 

“Call him now.” Toji says suddenly, voice almost inaudible. “Call him and say you can’t make it because you forgot you had plans with your fiance.”

“Okay.” You nod. “But, um, I need to get my phone.”

“Actually, after we’re done.” Toji repositions your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist and his front is pressed flush against yours. “I still want to cum inside.”

“Okay, just be good.” You pet his hair, pushing his bangs off his face. “Can you be good for me, Toji? You were making me feel really good before; I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do it.”

Toji can’t keep his eyes off your face; he’s panting, a drop of drool slides past the corner of his mouth, running down his scarred lip as you moan underneath him. He’s touching you with less force, but now he’s focused on rubbing your breasts and clit in tandem while you squirm on his cock. You’re giving him a great show; he wishes he had his phone out to record you, a little something to keep him company during those long hours you’re gone.

“Gonna fuck my pretty wife. Gonna make her pussy a mess…” Toji inhales as you clench impossibly tight around him. “You like that? You like getting your pussy ruined by me?”

“Yes, yes, I want it!” You rock your hips, squealing as Toji latches his mouth onto your nipple and rubs your clit faster. “So good, feels so good getting fucked by my…my husband…ah, Toji!!!”

Toji looks up at you with wide eyes; you’re too lost in your orgasm to notice. With high pitched cries, your whole body shakes from the being touched in your most sensitive places at once. He can feel your slick run down his twitching cock; after a few seconds, you’ve calmed down enough to breathe properly and look down at him with a tired, loving smile. 

“Cum in me…it’s okay, I want it.”

Toji’s pupils are blown wide as he starts thrusting again, considerably slower, but with just as much force as before. He slows down the closer he gets to cumming, only to pick up the pace and hike your legs higher over his hips, then his shoulders. You can’t even scream now; all you can do is dig your nails into the sheets and let out the sweetest most adorable little kitten like mewls Toji has ever heard. He knows you’re tired and sore and need to rest soon, but part of him just doesn’t want to stop. 

“Baby, stay with me. Almost there, gonna cum so fucking hard.” 

Toji hisses as your hands grab his biceps, gets even harder at the way your nails dig into his skin; he’s slick with sweat and from the combination of your pussy dripping in his lap and what he’s pretty sure is his own precum steadily leaking with every slam of his hips.  

“Almost there, I need ya to, shit, just call me that again, come on baby, c’mon-”

“My…my husband.” You say with a shaky breath. “Want my husband to cum in me, please!”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Toji shudders at the wet slapping with every time he thrusts, your desperate pleas tempting him to keep ravaging you until you’re passed out; he’s babbling now, voice hoarse and so loud it’s a wonder he can speak at all. “Yes, take it, just like that, take it all, gonna cum, take it all baby, fuck!”

“Good…good boy…”

With a long, low groan, Toji doubles over and has to struggle to not drop his entire body weight on you; he wants to see your pussy get filled first. 

It’s dripping. Past his aching cock, past your puffy pussy lips, Toji’s cum drips onto his balls, down to the sheets in a little puddle. He came so much, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could taste it or if he ended up breeding you by accident anyway. All the better for him.

“Mine.” Toji rasps, arms pulling you in close, even as you weakly protest at his sweat drenched body and the mess; he pays no mind, in fact, he looks almost delirious as he grins at you.  “Hey…since I was a good boy, do I get a treat?”

[carlsangel]

LUCKY

carl grimes x reader

(you’re immune.)

tags: angst but then fluff !

masterlist here!

When the apocalypse started you’d lost all your family and were on your own for what felt like ages but you eventually found someone who made you feel safe and her name was Natasha. She was a stranger but she used to be a mother and had lost her son at the start. She’d protected you like you were her own; like you were blood.

She was everything to you, but she left too soon. She was attacked by a walker and you did everything you could. You got bit in the process and got so choked up over the fact you knew you’d die within the next twenty four hours, you let Natasha get swarmed. You ran away as fast as you could, basically sobbing. That night after finding shelter you patiently waited for the infection to take over. You couldn’t take the easy way out, you were too scared. Nothing happened for about two days straight when you realized, you might’ve just been lucky.

Ever since Natasha, you swore to yourself you’d never let anyone you cared for die like that again and you’d make sure of it with your immunity. Granted you could still get ripped to shreds but you knew you’d never let it get that far. Not after seeing what happened to Natasha.

After that, you traveled long and far, eventually finding yourself at a large gated community with a sign at the front that read “Alexandria Safe Zone.” They had let you in very kindly. You struggled to bond with anyone there, most of them had been there since the start and never had true experience in the world around you. Except Carl.

He, to you, was the most normal of all of them; your definition of normal at least. He’d seen it all, his whole group did but he was different from his group. He’d grown up in the apocalypse just like you. It wasn’t just a part of your guys’ lives. It was all you could really remember. It almost makes you feel bad for his baby sister. She’d never know what the world was really like.

So you two grew closer. You’d go out into the woods to ensure you’d never forget. You read comics, listened to music, anything that you could think of. It never occurred to you that maybe you should tell him about your immunity. You hadn’t told anyone before and you knew if you kept bonding like you were then he’d figure it out himself. You didn’t want to take the risk of him telling someone else, you don’t know what would happen to you.

You tried to ignore the topic as much as possible, you only have ever worn long sleeves and did whatever you could to ensure they would never see it. Carl had just assumed you were mostly comfortable that way so he never mentioned it.

One morning the two of you decided to go out to the forest to read. Although you’d heard talks of a horde of walkers that were supposed to travel through that day, you didn’t really listen. The communities horde tracking system wasn’t always accurate as it would usually be a couple days ahead.

You guys walked through the forest, your hands interlocked as you looked for your spot. You approached your fallen log and you settle into the ground as Carl begins to dig through a large black box filled with anything to entertain you both. “What do you wanna read?” He asks, focused on rummaging through the pile of comics. “I’m fine with whatever. Maybe Deadpool if you want.” You reply, also digging through your bag for the pretzels you had packed for you two.

He finds the comic and sits back next to you and you lean into his shoulder while you read. You loved this, reading with him. His presence helped you forget everything you wanted to. Losing your family, watching Natasha die, getting bit. Everything washes away when you’re with him. You focus on the comic for a while until you heard the irritating noise of walkers nearby. You completely forgot the warnings you’d heard this morning.

The both of you stand up and Carl tosses the comic back in the box. You look around to see that there’s a small horde. On a regular day you would go hide in the hallowed tree trunk behind your log but the walkers had already noticed you. “Shit. We’re just gonna have to take them.” You tell him. He pulls his knife from his belt and you do the same, preparing for the next step.

You handle a few, unfortunately not quite easily. Some of the skulls weren’t too soft and also you got quite a bit of blood on you. You handled about six of them, Carl handled 9. There was one final walker that you handled before you two could take a breath. You turn to Carl with a content look, almost proud of the work you accomplished. He nods and you’re interrupted by another walker which seemingly came out of fucking nowhere.

The walker pushes into Carl and your immediate instinct is to pull it off of him. You grab the walker just below its neck and before you know it, its teeth plunge right into your forearm. You didn’t know it but Carl’s heart completely shattered. His eyes went wide and he helped get it off of you. Your knife shoves into its chin and it’s finally dead.

You let it fall to the floor and for some odd reason, tears begin to flow from your eyes. It was too close of a call but you’d survived, Carl had survived. You were relieved; relieved that you’d saved someone from the fate Natasha had faced.

“Y-you’re bit.” He mutters. You look to him and wipe your tears, smiling slightly. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. How could you be smiling? “Why…what’s there to smile about?” He asks, his voice still quiet. You roll your sleeve up from your other arm, showing your old bite wound. He steps closer to see it and he gently runs his fingers over it.

“I-I don’t understand how’s that…” His voice trails off and he looks back to you for any answers.

“It’s from a while ago. I’m immune. I know I should’ve told you earlier but I didn’t know how, I didn’t know what people would do to me.” He looks back down at your arm before his hands move up to your shoulders. “I would never do anything to hurt you…I wouldn’t let anyone do anything to you.” You nod knowingly and look back at the floor as your tears continue to flow. “Why are you crying? You’re gonna survive.” His hand moves up to wipe your tears off.

“I guess I was just scared of losing you.” You explain. He tilts your chin up to look at you before kissing your forehead, leaning his on yours afterwards.

“You’re not gonna lose me.”

a/n: yall it felt like going to WAR to get this shit out omg i literally couldn’t finish writing it for the life of me bc i’ve been soooo unmotivated BUT I FEEL BETTER NOWWW so i’m down to take even more requests i think i have one left in my inbox that will be worked on today and tmr and will probably be posted tmr :> THANK U ANON FOR THE REQUEST IT WAS PERFECT!!! (sorry for the ending being so shitty fhndnfnfnfn)