#his sexuality is canonically fluid

[bayetea]

I'm gonna froth at the mouth over this in the tags so bear with me but reason #1278038 why the way rick went about breaking up jiper was bad: rereading her povs in hoo where she gushes over jason feels like even more of an unreliable narrator queer girl comphet psychological horror story

[sailorrhansol]

Amnesia | c.sc (m)

❀ Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader

❀ Summary: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another. 

❀ Word Count: 11,920

❀ Genre: Friends with benefits to lovers 

❀ Type: Smut, Angst if you squint 

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Recreational drinking, mild jealousy from both reader and Cheol, themes of self doubt/relationship doubt, light depictions of anxiety regarding ambiguous relationships, explicit language, Cheol and reader are both idiots, explicit sexual content including oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple stim, breath play if you squint, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of bodily fluids like spit and cum, multiple smut scenes, hair pulling, light spanking, sub-space adjacent feelings, being a lil silly goofy during sex sometimes, stupid ass nicknames at the end because I’m a millennial and I’m cringe sometimes. 

❀ A/N: This was absolutely not what I originally imagined when I wrote this fic - it was supposed to be angsty and frustrating and a lot of back and forth and instead I wrote two fucking idiots who obviously like one another just being down bad. I don’t know how or why I got here, but here we are. Also - Jeongcheol coming out with billiards content after I posted the teaser for this is fucking sENDING me, thank you for making Pool Shark Seungcheol canon. 

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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DAY ONE

You’re a goner as soon as you lay eyes on him. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face. 

Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says. 

Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan. 

He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt. 

It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though. 

“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”

“You have no idea. Wait until game night.” 

“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?” 

“Every Sunday. Do you like games?” 

Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.” 

“So am I.”

He grins. “I look forward to it, then.” 

Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism. 

Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group. 

Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap. 

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin. 

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.” 

“No, no, you are. Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.” 

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.” 

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.” 

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do. 

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.” 

“I’m down.” 

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back. 

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.” 

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.” 

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?” 

“What will you give me?” 

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful. 

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more. 

You already do want more. 

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment. 

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

-

DAY SEVEN

“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”

You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.” 

“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.” 

It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet. 

He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”

“You too.” 

-

DAY TEN 

Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :)  You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho  You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here

Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home  You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!  

-

DAY TWENTY THREE

You [11:10 PM]: Wyd Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad? You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!! Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad?  Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :) 

-

DAY THIRTY

You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”

“Are you hungry?” 

You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?” 

“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?” 

Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?” 

“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”

“Alright.” 

-

DAY FORTY THREE

He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.

Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.

Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.

So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.

Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out. 

At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control. 

Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine? 

Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot. 

Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar. 

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no? Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous?? You [12:14 AM]: No You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not  Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees… 

You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass. 

He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something. 

The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be. 

DAY FIFTY TWO

“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.” 

Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.

Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.

“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.” 

“I do have a shower.”

“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.” 

Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.” 

His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.” 

After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom. 

Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine. 

And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick. 

It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance. 

Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder. 

He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door. 

Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.” 

“Too bad.” 

Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck. 

“I was promised a shower.”

“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.

He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.” 

“Hmmm. I’m listening.” 

He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.  

“I’ll massage your shoulders…” 

“Hmm.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.” 

Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.

But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him. 

Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.” 

This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.

You always do. 

Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily. 

“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom. 

Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on. 

Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin. 

He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs. 

Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?” 

“Shut up.” 

Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door. 

“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.” 

It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing. 

Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist. 

Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves. 

A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns. 

Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth. 

Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.

As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy. 

He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”

“We’re in the shower.” 

He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.” 

“The only crime is pride.”

The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?” 

“Antigone by Sophocles.” 

“What’s that one about?” 

Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.

Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.” 

“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.” 

“The guy who fucked his mom?”

Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”

“Craaazy family.” 

“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”

“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.” 

Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”

Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh. 

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit. 

One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently. 

Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.

“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”

“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”

A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”

Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up. 

When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.

Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you. 

“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy. 

Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance. 

Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it. 

He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm. 

It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.

“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”

“My knees are fucking useless right now.”

“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.” 

You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come. 

“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily. 

Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.

“Good?”

“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.” 

“Yeah?”

“All good.”

“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.

He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance. 

Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.” 

Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin. 

He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.

That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him. 

Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.

When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you. 

“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.” 

And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass. 

He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you. 

For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish. 

Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”

“It’s cute.” 

“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.” 

He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.” 

-

DAY FIFTY SEVEN

“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”

“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”

“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”

“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.” 

Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable. 

“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.” 

“Alright.” 

“I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” 

You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.” 

He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.” 

Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?” 

That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”

-

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT

“Want to do me a huge favor?” 

You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily. 

“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?” 

“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”

That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.

Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.

But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget. 

So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to. 

Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”

“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber” 

Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs. 

You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it. 

“I suppose I can be convinced.” 

“Oh? What can I do to convince you?” 

You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s- 

“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.” 

He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.” 

His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.” 

“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!” 

-

DAY NINETY TWO

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”

And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing. 

Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you. 

It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.

You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs. 

Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.

He wants to. 

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches. 

When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes. 

He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you. 

Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs. 

Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.

The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much. 

All it took was meeting you.

“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator. 

Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.

You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation. 

When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table. 

“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him. 

His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.

Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements. 

“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.” 

Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.

“This way, wifey.” 

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.

Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar. 

Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.

He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey. 

Seungcheol wants this. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you. 

Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you. 

The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd. 

His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.

You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.

Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss. 

When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants. 

-

DAY NINETY THREE

“Be my girlfriend.”

The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.

“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.

“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.

Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop. 

Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too. 

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.” 

“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”

His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.” 

“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”

He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”

“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.” 

Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving. 

Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status. 

The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky. 

“Gonna suck something else, huh?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?” 

“Huh?” 

He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”

You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body. 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You should have seen your face, though.” 

“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“No, but you should have seen your face.”

The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket. 

It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway. 

Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours. 

Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there. 

Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hi.”

Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire. 

Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch. 

You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.

“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?” 

“Fucking anywhere will do.” 

Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.

Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.

“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.” 

You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.” 

“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”

Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it. 

Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.

Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off. 

“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.” 

“You’re a work of art yourself.”

Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”

Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.

He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily. 

“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.

What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips. 

“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him. 

“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”

“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.” 

You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you. 

Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his. 

Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you. 

“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.” 

You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.

He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft. 

Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth. 

Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.

A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers. 

“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”

“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?” 

“Please give me something.”

He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”

“I can take more.” 

“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter. 

Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you. 

“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” 

You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you. 

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over. 

“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.” 

His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.

“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously. 

“Mmm.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?” 

Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.

Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.” 

You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.” 

Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are. 

You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping. 

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.” 

An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.

You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached. 

“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?” 

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.” 

With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little. 

He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself. 

You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you. 

A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you. 

It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours. 

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come. 

You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle. 

Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears. 

When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch. 

“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you. 

Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand. 

“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”

“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”

He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.” 

“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?” 

Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.

“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”

“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”

“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.” 

“Sure thing, wifey.” 

“Ugh. Is that our thing now?” 

“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.” 

A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.” 

“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.” 

You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.” 

“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.” 

“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.” 

“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.” 

“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.

“Sure thing, wifey. Sure thing.” 

-

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[ohnoitstbskyen]

I think you’ve said it before, but what are your sexuality headcanons for the Straw Hats?

Luffy is aroace, obviously, that's not so much a headcanon as hard actual canon. Like, even calling it "subtext" is giving it too much credit for subtlety.

Nami is lesbian as hell, and that's also basically canon, literally nobody can tell me otherwise. Jimbei is pansexual but demiromantic at best, his first love is the sea, and Franky is the most bisexual man who has ever walked the earth. If he ever meets someone more bi than him, he will self-engineer upgrades until he takes back the top spot.

Zoro is gray ace, I think, and Brooke is ace now but was probably some flavor of highly fluid queer, back when he still had fluids to be queer with. Chopper hasn't quite gotten to the point of exploring his identity yet, and I think he'll be a late bloomer in that regard. No idea where he'll fall.

I'm fairly convinced that Sanji is either a lesbian who needs to do some Gender about it, or a gay man who is not so much closeted as he is lost in a very specific fantasy of manhood where obsessing over beautiful women who he will never actually desire gives him access to masculinity untainted by, and powerfully in defiance of, the patriarchal example set for him by his father and brothers. Either way, he and Zoro are life partners, platonic or otherwise.

Usopp is like a kinsey 1, while Robin is straight, but in the gayest available way.

also I am a Frobin truther

[cheriden]

˙ . ˚ ₊ 「 txt most to least likely to have a corruption kink 」 ꜝꜝ

based off of this poll i did a while back, i got curious and could not stay silent any longer !!

these are according to my delusions please don't take them seriously

most

☆ SOOBIN

• the FREAKIEST member let's think a little guys • has canonically said a lot of questionable things, ik confirming his size kink doesn't equal corruption but look at that track record. moablr agrees with his top kinks right?? who else deserves number one but him • the type to place you on his lap and stroke your hair and caress your face to manipulate you into doing what he wants. • your sounds are his fuel, as he is to you. his hands are everywhere and his lops latch onto every surface of your body, trying to elicit as many noises from you as he can. • he's nearly euphoric when you grip so hard on his skin like you can't take it, babbling on about how it's too much for you • the idea of tainting you, your body and your innocence is the most appealing to him. how he'd make sure you wouldn't run to anyone else but him • the picture of his cum leaking out of you is forever etched in his mind; it's art to him

☆ TAEHYUN

• always talking abt how cute members are when they cry... a lowkey freak but i see you • loves every facial detail you make when he eats you out: the furrow of your eyebrows, the parting of your lips, your back arching into the air when his nose presses against your pussy. • snarky and manipulative, more forceful in his methods and takes a meaner approach than the rest • will degrade you so so much and then love bomb you afterwards, sometimes both at the same time and he loves watching you cry over it. • will shove you around on every surface, dragging you around almost as if you were pliant in his hands. • calls you angel, would love o knock you down to his level • he smirks when your moans get pitchier, hips losing rhythm before he ruins your orgasm by pulling out, entering immediately afterwards. he loves the way you ball up and writhe against him, clinging onto him.

☆ BEOMGYU

• he's not aware of the fact that it's actually a kink, moves based on his gut feeling • i don't think he would think abt it as often but like it would be activated with a catalyst event of some sorts. it's the small things, you look up at them sparkly-eyed, unconsciously pushing his buttons all at once. • i don't think he would think abt it as often but like it would be activated with a catalyst event of some sorts. it's the small things, you look up at them sparkly-eyed, unconsciously pushing his buttons all at once. • like it's almost primal for him, for his body to act on his own • wet and sloppy kisses all over your face, loves when you're covered in his bodily fluids, smearing his spit/cum all over the skin it stained.

☆ YEONJUN

• calls you every petname and obscenity in the book, alternating depending on how desperate or eager you are for him. You can never tell which way he's gonna call you, sometimes the lines get blurred om whether it's mean or a praise. • he laughs when you grind into his hips with your clothing still on, refusing to verbally admit any form of want for him. he's too much of a tease since you won't tell him what he needs • he wants you to know what you want, to expose you to as many things as he can, especially in regards to your sexuality. • he also thinks your a flower, but in a sense that with his help you'd bloom. he'll care for you and nurture you, mold you into what he believes is your most happy and satisfied you. lust is normal, and he wants you to open your eyes to it.

☆ KAI

• thinking abt it is hot,,,, so hot,,,,, but they're all freaks and on a scale i wish he was higher but alas 😔 • he makes it look like your exploring unexplored territory together. secretly, and maybe he'd even have a hard time admitting it to himself, he knows exactly what he wants out of you • it will take him a while before he can be sure about corrupting you, but when you do things so cutely, unknowing of how he's looking at you or thinking about you, it builds up until one day he just stops restraining himself and does whatever he wants. • what he wants, is dollification! he will dress you up and praise you, making a mess out of you with all of his hand-picked clothing on, only to tear it all down. • he loves to see you work for his satisfaction, watching you try your hardest not to gag around him or lose rhythm when you're on top of him.

least

back to navi!

[frzntrx]

And also he was getting all the girls for once and Loki's flattered but also unsure what to do with himself because he's not used to all the attention and then it unleashes the beast (as in hes insatiable once he realizes hes hotter than Thor, at least atm) and Thor's just like wait WhAT the FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!?!?!?

I feel like the worst few years of Thors life pre thor 1 were those few years where loki hit puberty first and shot up in high which meant he was taller and consequently made a ton of jokes about being the “bigger brother”

[targaryen-dynasty]

THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs. 

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore. 

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed. 

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around. 

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his. 

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something. 

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out. 

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles. 

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat. 

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor. 

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards. 

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm. 

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut. 

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk. 

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit. 

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following. 

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all. 

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?” 

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.” 

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine. 

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins. 

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment. 

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs. 

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before. 

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos. 

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands. 

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother. 

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness. 

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much. 

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.  

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part. 

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours. 

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back. 

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms. 

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes. 

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more. 

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight. 

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you. 

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words. 

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles. 

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks. 

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned. 

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either. 

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size. 

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum. 

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest. 

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips. 

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him. 

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm. 

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him. 

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice. 

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat. 

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features. 

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you. 

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths. 

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him. 

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

[venus-haze]

Damned If You Do (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You're almost certain Bo's getting tired of you. You're not so sure how much longer you can prevent the inevitable, but a slip of the tongue in a moment of desperation proves to be your salvation.

Note: Female reader but no other descriptors are used. I missed writing for Bo! I might be kinda rusty, but I hope y’all like it🖤 Please read the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Canon typical violence. Prolonged captivity and isolation. Stockholm syndrome (some basement wife elements). Mentions of past torture. Extremely dubious consent. Sexually explicit content involving vaginal fingering, sadism, degradation, choking, knife play.

You were sure Ambrose was gonna kill you if he didn’t first. The damp, dead air permeated the basement walls, filtered in thick through the vent in the ceiling and filled your lungs with each breath. It would choke you once summer settled in, foul and unforgiving. Almost as unforgiving as him, whose presence inspired fear and loathing in you. Lately, however, the lack of it brought a foreboding sense of dread over you as your isolated mind raced to its logical conclusion.

Bo was getting tired of you.

One cursory glance at the state of your body made you panic—bruises fading, cuts and cigarette burns scarring over without fresh marks to replace them. For the first week or so you were there, every part of your body pulsed with pain. He found your limits with the efficacy of a bloodhound and brutally forced you past each one. 

All you felt then was dull aching, kinda hungry, too. Didn’t bode well for your long-term survival.

You shifted on the old, lumpy mattress on the floor, stained with blood, sweat, and cum that reeked with the breakdown of others’ bodily fluids. Probably the girls in the Polaroids all over the walls. He’d taken a few of you since you’d been down there. Hadn’t done that recently, either. Mostly came down there to feed you, take you upstairs to use the gas station bathroom, bring you back downstairs to throw you around a little and fuck you, and then leave. Shit. You were becoming a chore.

Bo had plenty of chores around Ambrose already. Would grumble about them to you, the closest he ever got to pillowtalk. The movie theater, the church, even the houses were his responsibility. You weren’t quite sure why, less able to clearly picture the town you’d driven into the longer you spent as Bo’s captive. There weren’t any immediate red flags that popped out at you. After all, you’d driven straight to the gas station on your blown out tire. Didn’t take the time to do any sight-seeing. He made sure of that. From what you’d gathered from Bo, the only living souls in town were he and Vincent, with the recent and temporary addition of yourself.

The floor creaked above you, and you pulled your knees to your chest, anticipating his arrival downstairs. It was almost impossible to tell what mood he’d be in whenever he’d pay you a visit. Tried listening for the sound of his footsteps, the way his boots pounded against the linoleum above to the cement stairs to where you waited for him, as if you could do much else. There was the TV, but the glimpse into the outside world left you feeling especially helpless when your own face flashed across the screen on the 6 o’clock news not long after you became captive in Ambrose. Then after a week or so, all mention of you stopped. Seven days for you to be rotated out of the news cycle. They’d gotten tired of you long before Bo did.

You screwed your eyes shut, as he ambled down the stairs, racking your brain for what to do. Opened them just as quickly to give him your undivided attention, just how he liked. Panicked and hopeless, you blurted out upon seeing his face, “You’re gonna kill me soon, aren’t you?”

He set the bottle of soda he’d undoubtedly brought down for you and smiled. Charming, disarming, like the one he first gave you when you naively drove into town on the roadkill guy’s advice—Lester. His name was Lester. Could he have known? Was he in on the whole thing? You hadn’t seen anyone but Bo for weeks, and he only made mention of Vincent, his brother, who you were certain had no interest in rescuing you from your plight.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

‘Tire blew out,’ you had told Bo, feeling silly and self-conscious when he laughed. ‘I can see that.’ Threw a wink your way and assured you he’d have you back on the road before it got dark. You trusted him because he was handsome and laid on the compliments thick. Made you think maybe driving over that broken bottle in the road wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Within an hour he had you in that fucking basement.

“You—you’re bored of me,” you said. “You don’t come down here as often as you used to.”

“Aw, you miss me? Is that it?” he mocked.

Maybe. Maybe it was the security of knowing you were wanted, that the longer you kept his interest, the longer you’d be alive. Maybe even earn his trust enough to get a chance to escape back into the world that’d forgotten about you. But Bo wouldn’t forget. He’d keep you immortalized on those cinder block walls with all the others. Disgustingly sentimental. Part of you preferred being part of his shrine to his own depravity than a black and white photo people carelessly flipped past in the local paper.

“How are you gonna do it? Tell me,” you begged.

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes at you as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I like to get that shit over with quick, but you might be worth slowing things down for.”

“Like—like how?”

As soon as he made his way toward you, regret filled your gut. You crawled backward on your hands, trying to put some distance between you until your back hit the wall. His hands were around your neck, his hungry eyes drinking in your distress.

“If you were most girls, I would just keep squeezing until you stop breathing,” he said, squeezing harder. “Pretty clean.” Black spots filled your vision as you fruitlessly tried clawing at his hands. “Makes it easier for Vincent to get to work on you that way.” He released your throat, and you fought through the coughing fit that burned in your chest as you gasped for air. Tears streamed down your face, and you wanted to smack the smug expression off of his.

“But that ain’t always fun,” he said.

Bo stood up and kicked your legs apart with his boots. Grabbed something from the nearby tool cart. The fucking knife. You swore he kept the blade dull on purpose just so it’d hurt more, leave nastier scars behind in its wake whenever he dug it into your skin, dragging it through your flesh with horrifying precision that only came from experience, because you never needed stitches.

“For you, I think I’d be a little more personal.”

He straddled you, sitting on your legs so you couldn’t possibly move them in an attempt to escape or defend yourself. You could feel his hard-on straining against his jeans, pressing into your bare pussy as he leaned over you, knife shining menacingly in the buzzing fluorescent light overhead. He made rags of your clothes not long after you became his and never offered any replacement.

The blade pressed against the middle of your chest, right between your breasts, making you shudder. He licked his lips. “I could shove this knife on in there, open you up all the way down to your cunt.” His fingers brushed your clit. “‘Beauty’s only skin deep’, that’s what my mama used to say. But sluts like you all look the same on the inside. Crack open your ribcage, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you from all the rest.”

You whimpered as he dragged the blade down your abdomen with a deceptive gentleness, his fingers still working your clit, making it hard for you not to jerk your hips, risking a slip of the knife directly into your belly. 

When he lifted the knife, you couldn’t even let yourself feel relief as your eyes followed it to one of your wrists. 

“Could take it nice and slow. Let you bleed out,” he pressed it against your skin, dangerously close to a vein. “It’d take hours for you to die, then. Messy as hell, too, but we could get up to some fun, you and me. A good fuck for ol’ times’ sake, then I can sit back with some popcorn while I watch the lights go out in those pretty eyes of yours.”

You let out a shaky breath, fear and arousal mixing with your lingering lack of oxygen so you could only half-grasp what exactly he was saying, just that he had a knife to your wrist, and he was enough of a homicidal monster to kill you that way. He slid his fingers inside you, and you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you, your head heavy and fuzzy as he kept going. 

“But if we’re talking easy and personal, then I’d just—” He brought the blade up to your throat until you could feel your rapid pulse beating against it. 

Bo curled his fingers, pleasure tearing through you as you jolted in place, feeling the cool metal superficially pierce your skin. 

Your voice came out as a strangled sob. “Please, Bo. Please don’t—” 

He kissed you, an undertone of fondness in the gesture that filled you with relief and terror. “You won’t have to worry about any of that for a long while,” he said, his voice low, reverberating through your aching bones. “I’m not finished with you yet. Not even close.”

[killerpancakeburger]

Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting. 

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest. 

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising. 

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords. 

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. 

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far. 

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-” 

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension. 

He had never called you “love” before.

[sae1549]

Head canons of the companions: Sfw/// Nsfw

Word count: 1.9k

Very random head cannons for the companions + Halsin

Shadow Heart:

—-Sfw——

•If she were to get her nails done she would get stiletto nails that are black chrome.

•I feel like she would argue with you about who gets to cuddle with your shared animal.

•She used to be an emo kid.

•I could see later if she does not become shars Dark judiciary she would change her style to something with cottagecore undertones.

•She loves to give you flowers.

•She also gets over her fear of swimming and now it is an activity she looks forward to doing with you.

•Always cold.

•Would love to have kids.

-----Nsfw below-----

•She is a switch, but prefers to do the work.

•But if you are the top best, believe she expects the princess treatment.

• Her favorite body part would have to be the stomach and thighs.

•She would be willing to have an extra partner in the bedroom, but she is mostly referring to Halsin.

•She is skilled with her hands.

•She loves to listen to all the sounds that you make.

•Very good with aftercare, either getting a towel to clean any fluids or getting water and a soft blanket. So that the two of you can cuddle and relax.

Astarion:

—Sfw—

•He loves his hair being played with.

•He also loves laying on your lap when you are reading.

•He hums when he is reading or “looking into the mirror”

•He often asks you to describe his face because he cannot see it. And if you can draw he will bashfully ask if you can draw him, mostly to see how you view the way he looks.

•Once you get into a relationship he becomes a softie only to you.

•He wants to try and knit or crochet but has no idea how to.

•He likes to hold your hand, or be at least touching you all the time in one way or another.

•He loves soft blankets and will wrap himself up in one before sitting in front of the campfire.

•Does not want kids.

-----Nsfw below-----

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•He loves the predator/prey kink. Especially if you're willing to have your blood as the reward.

•7.5 inches. (19.05 cm) All ima say

•He loves to lightly drag his fangs down your neck before he bites you.

•Thigh guy. He can appreciate all body types, but something about plush thighs makes him want to sink his teeth into them.

•He always likes seeing your face, but not opposed to other positions. He just favors seeing you.

•He is a very caring partner, always watching and adjusting what he is doing so that you are enjoying it too.

•Man is absolutely amazing with his hands.

•Overstimulation plays a big part in your sex life, he would make sure you came 3 times to every one time.

•He likes to whisper into your ear how much he loves you while deep inside you.

Karlach:

—Sfw—

•Cuddling is a key point for relaxing

•Most of the food she likes is spicy.

•She is also very into Mead, and hard liquor.

•She always looks intimidating but literally the minute she starts talking she is the sweetest. This throws off everyone when they meet her.

•Very protective of everyone in camp. But I also want to see when fights happen.

•I believe that she has lifted Astarion by the middle of his shirt when he gets a little blood thirsty.

•She can dance like it's no one's business.

•She is the biggest flirt!!!!!!

•If you are a girl she calls you “hot mama” in passing or “hottie” as a male.

•Will forget what she is talking about in the middle of a sentence.

•Works out at 5 am every day, often going with Wyll and scratch.

•Loves kids.

-----Nsfw below-----

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

•Top

•Big mommy Karlach

•She loves sweet soft sex.

•Totally an ass girl. She will spank you any chance she gets. Sexually or non-sexually.

•Her tail is sensitive and loves when you touch it.

•Same with her horns but at the base of her horns.

•She would want to cuddle with her partner after finishing.

•She would also be great with after care, checking to make sure you are okay and that she didn’t burn you. If she had she would go into full freak out mode. Getting you anything and everything she can to make sure that it heals well.

Lae’zel:

—Sfw—

•She would be elated if you brought her a sword as a gift.

•often sighing when she was not involved enough in conversation.

•She has back pain, often asking for someone to walk or crack her back.

•Stretches often.

•Likes to work out as well, but does it around 4 to avoid everyone else but will find somewhere nice to have breakfast.

•Does not like flowers.

•Will give you a massage if you are in pain, telling you that you have been working well.

•Very Jealous.

•Her best friend is the owl bear. And you of course.

•Bae’zel

•Wants kids

-----Nsfw below-----

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

•Possessive

•Very forward with what she wants.

•Rough sex all the way.

•Likes Ass. But will never outright say that.

•Likes it when you call her name.

•Likes being kissed.

•If you have a tail she likes it if you wrap your tail around her in some way.

•Low key freaky, but nothing too extreme.

•She likes to cover your mouth if you are being too loud, as she does not want anyone to hear how well you are getting off.

•She is not very good with aftercare. She will give you water though.

Gale:

—Sfw—

•ROMANTIC

•Wants to go on a picnic with you so bad.

•He prefers eating Gloves over shoes for his magical artifacts.

•When he is lost in thought, if you are also a wizard you can see bits of weave around him. Mostly circulating his head and hands.

•He loves reading and finding new books. Will even go out of his way to talk to withers to see if he knows of any more interesting books. Sometimes withers will give them to him to read. When he gets them back there are many dog eared pages. With different nice notes for Withers.

•He writes all over his books. He even gives you one that was enchanted to tell a different story that he loved of you each time the book is opened.

•He wears glasses when he gets older.

•DILF.

•Wants kids but is scared of having any thinking he wouldn't be any good at it.

-----Nsfw below----

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

•8 inches.

•Magical, loves to incorporate magic into your sex life.

•Mage hand?

•Boob man. Does not matter the size as long as he can suck on them.

•He is amazing with his hands and his mouth. Those spells are not easy to pronounce.

•Loves to slowly undress you to build up to the moment.

•Moderately horny.

•Making love to you makes him feel like you are becoming one.

•Whispers praises to you.

•Also loves to be praised.

•Never afraid to initiate the act with you, going as far as to pulling you away from the camp to enjoy eachothers company.

•Lovesssss to hear you moan, it makes him sure that he is doing everything correctly and well.

•Breeding kink. Goodnight

Wyll:

—Sfw—

Such a sweetie.

•Loves to dance, and will ask you if he may have this dance even if there is no music.

•He would go crazy for a Bard at his side.

•Man can sing. And dance what more could you ever need.

•He is charitable. Helping anyone that he can, almost pushy about it sometimes. But he is purely doing it out of kindness.

•Karlach is his bestie. They love to shit talk Mizora.

•She would love to adopt Scratch if he could. But believes he would be better off with Gale or Shadow Heart.

•Loves drinking wine. Often getting wine drunk and giving you so many kisses you could suffocate.

•When you are sleeping together he likes sleeping on the outside incase anyone comes in he can protect you and worst case scenario you can escape.

-----Nsfw below-----

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

•8.5 inches

•He would be a boob man.

•Caring, and gentle.

•Loves getting heads, but is not opposed to giving it either.

•When getting head he would get too excited and fuck the back of your throat.

•Loud, will get very embarrassed if anyone happens to hear him.

•If you were on top and used his horns as leverage he would go wild.

•His favorite position would be missionary, so he could be closer to you and hold you in his arms.

•Needs to feel needed, often will ask for intimacy. But does not always mean bone and be done. He likes to take his time and enjoy each part.

Halsin:

—Sfw—

•Literally the sweetest man.

•Want to be the rock to everyone, and loves if anyone comes to him asking for advice.

•He would become everyone's therapist, but to talk with him he will also teach each person how to whittle a figure while talking. This leads to an excess of carving statues, surprisingly Lae’zels is the best. Making an owl bear that she let Halsin keep.

•Is basically the doctor, everyone going to him when they need healing.

•Often will find an area where he can be one with nature in the morning.

•Loves to cook, always making sure to feed everyone else before himself.

•He is a lightweight drinker. And will baby a drink for hours before finishing it.

•Likes going swimming in his bear form.

•Often going into his bear form when he is sleeping.

•Take baths in nature.

•he will hand pick flowers to give to you so that you have something beautiful from mother nature.

•Chews on pencils.

•Tests your food after Orin shows up at camp, he would rather him getting hurt than you.

•Wants kids, he would be such a good father!!!!!!!!!!

-----Nsfw below-----

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

•HUGE DICK im talking 9.5-10 inches.

•He is big and he knows it. Making sure to prep you well before doing anything.

•He will split half and half when he does it in bear form or in his normal form as long as you are okay with it.

•He is a thigh man.

•He loves stretch marks, kissing them, running his finger tips over them. He just loves them so much.

•Amazing with his hands.

•Speaks in a way that's like honey dripping from his lips. (Very sweet)

•Animalistic when doing the deed.

•Freaky, and i mean like freakyyy.

•Does not care if anyone within a 10 mile radius can hear the two of you.

•Doggy style is his go to.

•He is not opposed to an extra partner in the bedroom, hell he enjoys to the fullest as well. Everyone involved is being satisfied does not matter how long it takes.

•Aftercare is top tier!!!!!!!! He is going to sit with you for a few minutes while he heals any of the wounds that may have been afflicted while everything was happening.

•He cleans you up, and sits you in his lap while he strokes your hair. Swallowing you up in his arms and chest.

•He will want to go over what happened later on after you have recovered. To see what he can improve, what you liked and what you didn’t like. Every detail is saved in the back of his mind for another time.

•Horny ass man.

————————————————————————

This was so fun to write. I’m not the best with writing about smut but I did my best.

[cannibalistic-deer]

It baffles me that I've seen people say "Alastor is canonically sex and touch repulsed" as a reason people "shouldn't" be shipping Alastor sexually/romantically.

Why assume that the sex repulsion applies to every relationship in his life, permanently? Some aces are sex favorable, or may develop more favorable feelings for specific people, even if otherwise repulsed.

And the same applies to touch repulsion. That's such a weak argument. Alastor canonically, and very clearly, is okay with or possibly even enjoys touch in specific situations. He does seem to be touch repulsed in general, but again, there are specific people it doesn't apply to. (Rosie is the best example, since with anyone else it is more brief, but Rosie touches him, and is the one initiating that, frequently.)

All types of attraction, or comfort levels with different manners of affection, are fluid. This isn't ever an excuse to invalidate real people who are telling you their identities, but it does mean that assumptions really can't be made about what a person would or wouldn't do.

And this type of thinking is what really leads to invalidating real people, because even if you think "being asexual means never having sexual attraction," and then an ace person shares that they think they might have experienced sexual attraction at some point but still identify as ace... then you have to be open to that. You cannot put sexualities in boxes. This applies to all sexualities.

I'm a fictive of Alastor myself, and I am sex repulsed, so I understand the discomfort, but I also understand that people are not harming any real, living person by making fanworks where Alastor is having sex. It also doesn't mean they're inherently rejecting his asexuality.

If people want to ignore Alastor being aroace completely, that's different. Alastor is canonically aroace (or asexual at minimum), and he always will be. But jumping to conclusions about what people think because you're too naive and stubborn to understand that sexuality and attraction doesn't fit into tidy little boxes is harmful and is a way of thinking that must be changed.

This became longer than intended because I was mostly thinking about the "Alastor is touch repulsed to everyone!" claims some people make, which are frankly incompatible with canon. But the rest of this post is also true.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (40) (End)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: description of childbirth, breeding and lactation kink, sex content, smut, angst, fluff ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Nothing terrified her more than giving birth. During the night, she often dreamt that she was dying an agonising death, that her husband was ordering her womb to be cut open as her grandfather had done to her grandmother.

She would then wake up drenched in a cold sweat and sigh with relief when she realised it was only a dream. She didn't tell her husband about it because she knew he would have been furious at the mere suggestion that he could do something so monstrous to her.

To her surprise and the initial panic that gripped her, though she would never have expected it, the presence of Alicent and Alys eased her delivery. The two experienced women told her exactly how she should sit and when to walk, how she should breathe, when to push and when to rest, stroking her hair and her back.

They comforted her with warm words, told her how perfectly she was doing, how brave she was, that everything would be well, that she could do it.

She felt like her baby was about to tear her apart, moans and screams erupted from her throat as if she were a monster or an animal, tears of exertion and suffering running down her cheeks hot with emotion.

"– I can see the head, Princess – the baby is placed in the right position – all is well – when I tell you, push –" Alys said, peering at her from between her thighs, and she nodded quickly, feeling relieved at her words, thinking that she would not die.

That she would give her husband a son and end the war.

She screamed, clasping her hand over Alicent's palm as she tried with effort to bring her offspring into the world, this brutal act unknown to the man full of blood and fluids, sickening and beautiful at the same time, giving life.

And suddenly she was relieved when something large finally slid out of her body and began to quiver. Alys smiled, as if she was genuinely happy about what she was seeing.

"– it's a healthy little boy –" She said, and she laughed with joy while simultaneously crying from relief and exhaustion, tilting her head back, panting loudly.

When her son's umbilical cord was cut he was wiped quickly and given to her, rolled up in a soft white cloth so she could see him.

His hair was white.

She looked at Alicent, who pressed her lips together, tears one by one running down her face.

"I'm so happy for you, my love. I truly am."

When her husband was summoned, she had the feeling that he had survived her labour worse than she had – he walked into the chamber shaky and pale, breathing loudly through his mouth as if he was about to faint. When he closed them in his embrace, when he saw their child, there was a smile on his face that she had so rarely seen: wide, joyful, full of life.

They had a son.

They had an heir.

They had an heir to the throne.

The word was immediately sent out to Dragonstone and King's Landing along with the signatures of Daemon and the Queen to attest to the truth of the message.

Both Aegon and her mother arrived in Harrenhal to see that it was true, and were greeted by the head of Lord Larys Strong impaled on a spike, as promised by Daemon.

She ran out to greet her mother as soon as she noticed Syrax in the distance – Rhaenyra embraced her immediately as she slid from her saddle, sobbing with joy at the sight of her, kissing her forehead and cheeks.

"– my only daughter –"

Aegon was already waiting for her, together with her husband bent over the cradle in which their son lay.

Viserys looked at the newcomers with his big, bright eyes, hiding his face in his small hands, watching the historic moment when a settlement was to be written between her mother and her uncle that would change the order of succession by their agreement, establishing her and her husband as ruler-regents until their son reached the age of sixteen.

According to Rhaenyra's will, neither of them was to wear the crown or sit on the Iron Throne – that honour would be bestowed only on their son, Viserys, when he reached the right age.

She watched, cradling her son in her arms, who put his whole little hand in his mouth, mumbling something squeaky, as Aegon and then her mother put their signatures to their arrangements written down by the scribe, and she clenched her eyes shut, swallowing hard, knowing that it had finally happened.

This was the end of the conflict.

Although the atmosphere in Harrenhal was tense, and Aegon had immediately returned to the Red Keep, the exact date had been set for when she, her mother and her husband would appear in King's Landing to present the will of her mother and her uncle to the entire kingdom in the Great Sept.

She was horrified that what had remained only in her imagination was now to become a reality.

Her husband was to become King Regent and she was to become Queen Regent.

They were to rule the kingdom together.

She was not prepared for such a life and was terrified, her husband, however, seemed calmer and more confident than ever, as if he had been destined for it.

She trusted him and wanted to be his support.

Viserys was changing every day, growing in front of her eyes. It seemed to her that he had more of his father in him than of her, for he was a sweet but shy child, hiding his flushed face whenever anyone but her or his father looked into his cradle or touched him.

To her delight, her husband, although at first afraid to take him in his arms, began to do so to ease the strain on her and her back as their son began to grow heavier.

She watched from the sidelines as the physical contact began to bring them closer together – Viserys stretched his small, chubby hands towards him when his father merely leaned over him, and her uncle was taking him in his arms, whispering something to him, from which their son giggled loudly.

She knew that he wanted to be a better father to their son than the one he had.

Because of what was happening they were too tired to do anything at night other than sleep, so they cuddled exactly as they had when they were children, falling asleep with their foreheads touching each other, holding hands, silently reminding each other that they were not alone.

Her uncle loved watching her feed his son. When she took him in her arms and slipped her shirt off her shoulders, he always interrupted whatever he was doing and came over to them, sitting down next to her, looking silently at this mythological sight of a woman breastfeeding her offspring.

One night as she put their son down, sleeping peacefully with a belly full of her milk back into his cradle, her husband looked at her with a look she knew well. He licked his lips as he sat spread out on the bed, watching her entire figure from afar.

"– come here –" He commanded with a grimace from which she felt a pleasant shiver, his eye fixed on her expression of satisfaction.

"– it's time for your husband to taste you –"

She didn't think he meant it, but as it turned out, her childhood friend still managed to surprise her. His lips kissed her soft thighs and stomach, where white lines had formed, and although, indeed, her body looked different, he didn't seem to notice.

"– my brave wife – she brought my son and heir into this world – shouldn't I, as her husband, caress her every night in return? –" He gasped, sliding his tongue down between her thighs, his light, taunting lick traveling up her puffy bud made her throw her head back, all thirsty.

"– yes –" She exhaled, feeling in her loins more than ever how much she wanted it, how much she needed those words, her cunt swollen with arousal.

"– mmm –"

She almost cried out as his nose pressed against her warm, sensitive folds, and his tongue invaded deep between her slit, trailing its tip and teasing the spot from which her thighs trembled in the grip of his hand.

"– fuck – Aemond, oh, fuck –" She mumbled, rocking her hips so that her pearl rubbed again and again against his face, feeling the tension and tingling in her lower abdomen, in her hard nipples and lips, her hands clenched in his hair, begging him for more.

"– dirty little cunt – all sticky – am I wrong? – He cooed with a sneer and she shook her head, feeling a wonderful shiver of delight run through her body at his words as his tongue slowly built her path to fulfillment.

"– my wife is unmannerly – she can't even answer her husband – what a pity –" He hummed, rising on his arms, wiping his face with a grin. She looked at him with her eyes wide open, panting loudly, feeling her whole womanhood pulsing and quivering with desire.

"– n-no – please –" She muttered pleadingly, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted apparently at her condition.

"– what shall I do with you? – how to teach you good manners? – treat you like a mere wet-nurse? – a source of milk for my offspring? – hm? –" He sneered, making her turn red with embarrassment, her fingers clenched on his hot, naked body.

She squirmed, startled, when he suddenly leaned over her chest and pressed his face against her breast, enclosing her puffy, delicate nipple between his lips, and then began to suck greedily.

She heard him swallow her warm milk and moan low at the same time as her, as if something about the act aroused them both.

"– fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck, please –" She mumbled out and sighed as his knee hit her leg and forced her to spread her thighs – not letting go of her breast from between his lips, which he kept squeezed between his fingers, he blindly tried to meet her entrance with the tip of his cock, into which she herself guided it with her fingers, desperate, spreading her walls in front of him.

"– here – here, uncle – gods, yes, right here –" She mewled and threw her head back as he slammed into her with an aggressive, deep thrust, sliding into her with ease. She squealed when he put his arm under her back and suddenly lifted himself to a sitting position, pulling her against him.

He forced her to fit his hard, throbbing erection inside her again and again with sharp, quick thrusts while keeping his hands clamped on her waist and breast – his lips released her nipple and clung to her mouth, letting her drink her own milk, warm and sweet.

"– fucking delicious –" He exhaled, sliding his tongue down her throat, embracing her tightly, her full, swollen breasts bumping against his chest, rubbing against her oversensitive nipples again and again. Their bodies slapped against each other loudly, her walls slick and wet, welcoming him easily deep inside her.

"– I've missed this little cunt – gods, Rhaenys, 'm close –" He muttered, ashamed and flushed at not being able to persevere any longer after such a long break, and then groaned loudly in pleasure along with her, his mouth wide open in relief and bliss.

"– Aemond –" She panted, along with him coming down from their peak, her fleshy walls squeezing his half-hard, twitching manhood, the remnants of his seed filling her womb.

"– six – you promised me six more –" He muttered, and she nodded quickly.

"– yes – yes, my beloved –"

The day their little son was to be presented in front of the crowd and the terms of the agreement were to take effect was one of the most terrifying of her life. She and her husband had returned to King's Landing several weeks earlier to oversee the preparations and what was to happen.

They and their families had travelled in carriages to the Great Sept as agreed. She rocked their son in her arms, who would not be calmed, crying loudly, feeling her terror and fear, the thought that something would happen, that someone would betray them, that there would be a tragedy that would destroy everything.

"Give him to me." Said her uncle, and she pressed her lips together, handing him squirming, whimpering Viserys.

"There, there. Easy. Your mother is just very scared, but we are not in any danger." He whispered to their son, rocking him calmly. Viserys looked at him, putting his small hand into his mouth as was his custom when he was intrigued.

"– no –" She and her uncle said at the same time, but her husband forestalled her, pulling his hand from his mouth.

"– you can't do that –" He rebuked him, apparently believing that the several-month-old infant would comprehend the weight of his words.

However, it turned out that he did not when, after a moment, his little fingers reached his chubby face again. Her husband grabbed his arm to stop him from doing what he wanted.

"– he's stubborn just like you –" He said, looking at her reproachfully, as if it was her fault that their son was displaying behaviour incomprehensible to him. She sighed heavily, shaking her head.

"– you haven't replied to my letters for eight years and you're going to lecture me on stubbornness? –" She asked with raised eyebrows and saw her uncle press his lips into a thin line, exactly as he had when they were children and she had told him that Aegon the Conqueror spent nine nights out of ten with Rhaenys.

He was just as she remembered him.

"Did you hear that, son? Your mother never forgets anything." He muttered, looking her straight in the eye. She smiled at him with a sneer.

"Never."

Her husband responded to her words with the same expression, grinning.

"Little tease."

When they finally arrived in the Great Sept, to her surprise, they were greeted with flowers and cheers; contrary to what she thought, the people of the kingdom were not in favour of a bloody solution to the matter and wanted peace above all else.

They went inside through a side entrance, her mother, her uncle and everyone else waiting on a large stone platform, onto which they stepped, accompanied by the solemn sound of trumpets.

"Heir to the Iron Throne, Viserys Targaryen, his father, King Regent Aemond Targaryen and his mother, Queen Regent, Rhaenys Targaryen." She heard the voice of one of the guards and looked at him in shock.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

Her husband had ordered that her real name not be read out, only the one he had given her.

That was how he perceived her.

Her mother looked at her, furrowing her brow, thinking something bad had happened, but she nodded at her with a smile, feeling tears under her eyelids.

The crowds began to cheer, and an overwhelming relief could be felt all around her, as if fresh air had suddenly filled her lungs, and she began to breathe again. She kissed the temple of her son, who snuggled into her body, terrified by the sudden screams and loud sounds, seeking refuge in her.

The more Viserys grew, the more he reminded her of his father. He quivered with contentment as her husband leaned over him with a book, showing him drawings of dragons, reading aloud to him the history of their lineage. When he was alone, he spent his days in the library, sitting in the exact chair her uncle had sat in when they were still children.

His role overwhelmed him and she knew it; he was a polite, composed and sensitive child. He had watched his father when, cold and mocking, he had dealt with members of the Small Council who had aroused his frustration, also spending a lot of time with his uncle, Prince Aegon.

"I took the throne from him. What was rightfully his as first son." He told her once, pale, bent over a book as usual. She ran her hand through his hair in a subconscious, maternal reflex and hissed when she felt the baby kick inside her abdomen.

Her husband had told her the night before, kissing her rounded belly, that he had hoped that after three sons he would finally have a daughter, and indeed, she had hoped so too.

The whole kingdom benefited from how stable their relation was, how strong their partnership was, their union, their trust in each other.

"The matter of succession was unclear because, before his death, your grandfather said that Aegon should become King, even though he had forced the Lordships many years earlier to pay tribute to my mother as the heir to the throne. This caused both her rights to the throne and your uncle's to be challenged throughout the kingdom, and there was no way out of the situation except war, which would have destroyed us all. Your appearance was a sign from the gods." She said softly, and her son nodded, something like relief on his face. He stared ahead for a moment, playing with his fingers.

"Do you know when Princess Alyssa will return?" He asked quietly, as if embarrassed.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, remembering that, in fact, Alicent, Helaena and her two daughters had travelled to the Old Town some time ago to visit Dareon.

"Well. I do not know that." She answered truthfully.

Alyssa was the youngest child of Aegon and Helaena, already born after the Targaryen family's great truce, and in accordance with this agreement, she lived with her parents in the Red Keep.

She had inherited her mother's beautiful, delicate beauty and her father's cheerful, loud character, while retaining her gentleness and warmth. She used to laugh and speak a lot, hence it seemed to her that her son, withdrawn and quiet by nature, watched her from afar with indulgence and irritation rather than curiosity.

"Are you fond of her?" She continued, wanting to get more out of him, and he simply nodded.

"She is kind." He replied, playing between his fingers with the page of the book on his lap.

She smiled at him involuntarily, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Let's write her a letter then."

______

Author's note: This is my most important, favorite and longest series since The Impossible Choice, Glass Cuts Deepest and The Man in the Black Mask and I must admit that I didn't expect it would have so many chapters. The story of Aemond and Rhaenys is special to me. Thank you for the wonderful reception of this series. There is also an epilogue coming, which you will read from the three diffirent perspectives: Viserys's, Aemond's and Rhaenys's.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Malleus Maleficarum | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY), recovering from a sexual assault (heed this warning and take care of yourself, lovie), heeaavvvyyy discussions of Dean's deal/death, canon violence, canon gore, witches and things, an apparent suicide/discussions of it (pls be careful bbies)

Word Count: 5157

A/N: These gifs from @shirtlesssammy are my reason for living

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Now that Christmas was over, Dean wanted to get back to hunting as quickly as possible. He stumbled across a case where a woman’s cause of death had been bleeding from the mouth after all of her teeth had fallen out. 

As a result, you and the Winchesters were posing as members of the CDC to interrogate the deceased’s husband.

Nothing of interest came from you talking to him, but Sam discovered a hex bag under the woman’s bathroom sink; the room she was murdered in. 

“Aw, gross,” Dean whined while you walked down the street beside him and his brother.

“Yeah, there are bird bones, rabbit's teeth. This cloth is probably cut from something Janet Dutton owned,” Sam explained, picking through the hex bag. He handed it to you for you to examine as well. 

“So we're thinking witch?” Dean prompted. 

“Well, duh,” you replied. “But this is, like, serious witch stuff. Old World black magic for sure.” You ducked down into the car. 

“I hate witches,” Dean grumbled, slamming the door as he sat down in the Impala. “They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere.”

“Aren’t you…?” you trailed off, a smirk playing on your lips. 

“Oh, ew—” Sam chuckled while his brother glared at you. 

“It's creepy, y’know,” the older brother continued, “it's down right unsanitary.”

“Yeah, well, someone definitely had it out for Janet Dutton,” Sam added. 

“Yeah, someone who snuck into that house and planted the bag. So what are we thinking, we're uh, looking for some old craggy Blair bitch in the woods,” Dean suggested. 

“Could be anyone, man. Witches are literally the girl next door,” you replied. 

“Great. How do we find 'em?” 

“This wasn't random; someone in Janet Dutton's life had an ugly ax to grind. We find the motive—”

Dean cut Sam off. “We find the murderer.”

Sam nodded, and Dean pulled the car away from the Duttons’ house. 

*** All you and the brothers could think to do was continue to stake out the surviving Dutton’s whereabouts to see if another attack happened. Sure enough, as Dean pulled into the diner parking lot you’d followed Paul Dutton to, he collapsed to the floor outside of his car. 

Before Dean could stop the Impala, you were hitting the ground running toward the man.

“Check the car!” you heard Dean yell while you tended to Paul. 

You hauled his choking body up from the gravel and positioned yourself behind him to perform the Heimlich maneuver. You knew with a witch after him, this was likely futile until Sam could get the hex bag and burn it. “Sammy!” you yelled. 

“I know, I know!” he replied. 

“Got it!” Dean shouted, and Paul soon stopped choking. 

You let go of Mr. Dutton and turned to the burning hex bag on the ground. 

“You okay?” Dean asked Mr. Dutton. 

“What the hell is happening to me?!” Paul exclaimed. 

“Someone murdered your wife and now they're trying to kill you, that's what's happening to you,” the older brother answered sternly. “That's impossible! There's no way—”

“If we hadn't been following you, you'd be a doornail right now. Now, who wants you dead?” Dean pulled no punches, and you loved that about him. 

Paul explained to you that he’d had an affair with a young woman named Amanda, and he broke it off with her about a week ago. 

Immediately, the three of you set off to the girl’s house; as Mr. Dutton had given you her address thanks to Dean’s insistence.

When you opened the door to the house, though, you found Amanda covered in her own blood on her altar. 

“That's a curveball,” Dean commented. 

With the barrel of your gun, you nudged where you thought the source of the blood was: her wrists. Sure enough, three vertical gashes on each wrist came into view. “Jesus,” you breathed out, wincing in discomfort and a twinge of compassion. 

The smell of rotting food and blood in the room was overwhelming, and it was beginning to catch up to you. You buried your nose in the crook of your elbow to try and get some relief. 

Sam said, “Looks like she was working some heavyweight evil here.” You turned around and jumped back suddenly, startled by the fact that you nearly walked into a rabbit corpse hanging from the ceiling. 

“Oh, god!” Dean exclaimed when he saw what happened. “Fuckin’ witches! Seriously man, come on!”

“Guess we know where she got the rabbit's teeth from,” the younger brother grimaced. 

“Poor rabbit,” you whined. You took out your pocket knife and cut the ropes hanging him from the ceiling. 

“Well, Paul sure knows how to pick 'em, huh? It's like Fatal Attraction all over again,” Dean commented. He turned to you gently laying the rabbit on the floor and covering him in a blanket nearby. “And why does the rabbit always get screwed in the deal?! The poor little guy.”

“You know what I don't get, Dean?” added Sam. “If she was so bent on revenge, why do this?”

“Well, she got Janet Dutton, thought she finished off Paul, decided to cap herself and make it a spurned lover's hat-trick,” he shrugged. 

Something about that didn’t seem right to you. “But where’s the knife she would’ve killed herself with? She didn’t alakazam those cuts on her wrists.”

Sam looked under the table Amanda laid on. “I think she’s onto something, Dean. Look.” He pulled a hex bag out from under the table and tossed it at his brother. 

“Another hex bag? Come on!” Dean groaned. He tossed it on the table and took out his phone. “Looks like we got a hit, huh? A little witch-on-witch violence?” He held his phone to his ear. “I'd like to report a dead body, 309 Mayfair Circle… My name? Yeah, sure my name is—'' and then he clicked it off. You had been counting to make sure he stayed under the forty-second limit to avoid the call being traced, and were just about to cue him that he was running close on time. 

“Why are witches ganking each other?” Dean continued. 

“I don't know, but I think maybe we got a coven on our hands,” Sam said. 

***

Later that night, you and Dean laid together in your shared bed; fortunately, in a separate room from Sam. 

Dean kissed up your neck back to your lips, and you sighed contently into him. When he began to trail his hand down to your panties, you flinched. 

“What, what’s wrong?” he asked, immediately breaking the kiss. 

“I don't know,” you replied. “I, uh, I haven’t been having any problems recently, I don’t know why this is happening.” Panic began to grip your chest. 

“Sweetheart, it hasn’t even been a year yet. I’m not expecting you to be completely over what happened to you,” Dean said. His understanding was frustrating you, for some reason. 

“Dean, you only have a few months left,” you huffed, sitting up to face him. “We don’t have time for…” you gestured to yourself, “this! I cannot fucking believe the timing of this, man. And I’m fed up with it!” You got up from the bed and began to stomp around in your tank top and underwear. “I can’t have sex with the guy I’m in love with who’s gonna die in fucking three months because of some asshole that decided to rape me right around the same time you made that fucking demon deal.”

“Whoa, why does it sound like you’re angry with me?” Dean questioned, getting up to join you across the room. 

“I’m not, I’m not! I’m just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m pissed off in general. I- I don’t wanna keep… doing… this.” 

“What do you mean ‘doing this’? Don’t tell me—” 

“No, Dean, no. I’m not breaking up with you,” you assured him. “I don’t wanna keep freaking out on you when we try to have sex. And I don’t understand why I can’t— I mean, we’ve had sex since then! I don’t fucking—”

“(Y/N), (Y/N), baby, slow down,” Dean said, gently grabbing your wrists. “Listen, it’s okay! I’m not upset!”

“I know you’re not, but I am,” you sighed. “And before you ask, I have no idea what you can do to help. I’m just pissed.” 

Dean sighed, looking a little puzzled. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” you responded. “I mean, it’s your last fucking year on earth. I’m sure you wanna fuck, like, all the time— I know you, dude, don’t look at me like that— and my fucking vagina and body are out of commission because I can’t get out of my own head. And, god, I wanna fuck you so bad, but I just… I don’t understand what’s wrong with my body.” By the end of your rushed admission, you were crying. 

“I’m not gonna let you talk about yourself like that,” Dean replied gruffly. “No fucking way. There’s nothing wrong with you, dammit. I’m not upset with you! So let yourself off the hook, please! Practice getting out of your own head with this, okay? It’s fine. We can just… go to bed. It’s okay.”

“You sound upset, though,” you said meekly. 

He turned back around to you. “I’m upset that you’re going through this; not with you. It takes everything in me every day not to hunt that fucker down for what he did to you.”

This pulled a small smile from you, and you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in your chest. “I love you,” you told him. 

“I love you, too,” he replied easily. 

You pulled away from him. “You do?”

“What?” he smirked down at you. “I’ve said it before.”

“I know, but you always seemed, like, pained when you’ve said it before. You didn’t that time,” you grinned lopsidedly. 

“Yeah, well. It’s never pained me, you’re just the first person I’ve ever said it to,” he admitted. 

“Aw, Dee.” You pulled him against you, hugging him tightly to thank him for his understanding. 

“Shut up,” he growled, pulling you closer with his arms wrapped around your waist.

***

The next day, the boys decided you would be the best person to subtly interrogate the women you’d determined were friends of Amanda’s. In fact, the four women had a book club they’d formed over the last year or so. 

With a casserole in hand you’d bought from the supermarket, you walked over to a woman named Elizabeth who was gardening. 

“You’ve got quite a green thumb,” you said. 

“Excuse me?” she questioned, turning around to you. 

“These herbs, I mean. Growin’ ‘em out of season like this; it’s impressive,” you noted. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Christine Nicks. I just moved in a few houses down.” You held the casserole out to her. 

“Oh! Thank you,” she replied, brushing off her hands. “So, uh… how are you liking it so far?”

“It’s nice!” you paused, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“What is it?” she questioned. 

“Nothing, it’s just… I heard about this girl who… committed suicide? Just recently?” You watched her reactions to your words carefully, and her expression subtly changed when you mentioned the death. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “Amanda was her name. She was, uh, a friend of mine.” “Really? I’m sorry to hear that,” you told her. 

She nodded. 

“Elizabeth? You all right?” you heard a voice ask from behind you. 

Y0u turned toward two other women who’d walked up. 

“I'm fine, uh, Renee, this is Christine. She just moved into the neighborhood,” Elizabeth introduced. 

“Pleasure,” the woman named Renee said. “Renee Van Allen.” She drew her name out as if it was supposed to be of any importance to you. 

You eyed her curiously. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you. Were you… friends with Amanda, too?”

Renee seemed surprised by the fact that you knew about the deceased. “Yeah, we all were. It’s been really hard for all of us.” “Yeah,” the other woman spoke up. “I mean, you think you know a person.”

You nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you ladies. Have a nice one!” You shuffled away, keeping up your girl-next-door character even as you faded from their view. 

***

Later that night, you and the brothers drove down a darkened road. 

“You should’ve seen it, guys. Belladonna, wolfsbane, mandrake— and she flinched when I mentioned Amanda’s death,” you explained. “I’m sold on Elizabeth at least. 

“Well, she's definitely had a good run lately,” Sam added, reading through something he’d tabbed in a notebook, “gone up a few tax brackets; won almost too many raffles. Kinda thing a little black magic always helps with.” He continued, “I don't think she's alone either. Looks like 'Renee Van Allen' has won almost every craft contest she has entered in the past three months.”

“Yeah, a regular Martha Stewart, huh?” Dean chuckled. “Except for the devil worship, I'm thinking that was the coven you met back there, minus one member.”

“Amanda was clearly going off the reservation. What do you think, they killed her to keep up appearances?” Sam questioned. 

“Definitely an ‘appearance’ kind of crowd,” you noted. 

“If they killed the nut-job, should we, uh, thank them or what?” Dean questioned, quirking a brow. 

“They're working black magic, too, Dean. They need to be stopped,” Sam replied simply. 

“Like, ‘stopped’ stopped?” you prompted, intrigued to see what Sam’s answer would be.

Sam looked at you as if to say, “Of course.”

“They’re human, Sam,” Dean reminded his brother. 

“They’re murderers,” he stated. 

“Damn, I’m proud of you, Sammy,” you remarked. 

Dean’s eyes flicked to yours in the rearview mirror. You could see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Burn, witch, burn.”

Suddenly, the Impala stuttered and choked, the headlights flickering. 

“What the fuck?” Dean questioned.

The vehicle stopped in front of a figure standing in the road. 

“Ruby,” Sam breathed out. 

You grabbed the Colt from your duffel bag. 

Sam had gotten out of the car before you and Dean, and you nodded to Dean in silent communication as you stowed the Colt in your jacket pocket. 

“Sam, listen to me,” you heard the demon saying, “there's no time.”

“For what? What are you talking about?” Sam questioned. 

“You have to get out of town.”

Within your jacket’s pocket, you aimed the Colt at Ruby. 

“Never had the pleasure,” Dean deadpanned.

The blonde ignored Dean’s flippance and cut her eyes at you. “Whatcha got there? Just happy to see me?”

“Sure,” you glared. 

“Point that thing somewhere else,” Ruby instructed. 

Dean laughed coldly. “Yeah, right.”

“Sam, please. Go. Get in the car and don't look back,” Ruby begged the younger brother. 

“Why? I don't understand,” the brunet worried. 

“We can take care of a few kitchen witches, thanks,” Dean commented. 

“I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores,” she spat. 

“Can’t argue with you there,” you muttered. 

“I'm talking about who they serve,” the demon finished. 

You were confused for a moment, but it soon dawned on you. “Demons.”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. And there's one here, now.”

“Oh, what, you mean, besides you?” Dean barked. 

Ruby continued to ignore Dean, which you could tell was beginning to aggravate him. “Sam, it knows you're in town, and it's gonna come after you, and it’s way more than you can handle.”

Dean turned his attention to his brother. “Oh, come on, what is this, huh? Please tell me you're not listening to this crap!”

“Put a leash on your brother, Sam, if you wanna keep him,” Ruby cooed without looking in his direction. 

“Watch your mouth,” you warned, cocking the gun. 

“Guys, look, just chill out,” Sam pleaded. 

“No! No! She's messing with your head; god knows why, that's who they are!” the older brother answered. 

“I'm telling you the truth,” the demon insisted. 

“And I'm telling you to shut up, bitch.”

“I'm sorry, why are you even a part of this conversation?!” 

“Oh, I don't know, maybe because he's my brother, you black-eyed skank!”

Ruby scoffed. “Oh, right, right. You care about your brother so much. That's why you're checking out in a few months, leaving him all alone?”

“Shut up,” you hissed. 

“At least let me try and save him, since you won't be here to do it any more,” she replied, ignoring you. 

“I said, shut up!” you screamed. Just before you could fire at her, she disappeared. 

You turned back to Dean and Sam, who were both looking at you strangely. Sam looked like a lost puppy, and Dean just seemed angry at this whole interaction. You just stormed back off to the Impala. 

***

Back at the motel, you and Dean joined Sam in his motel room to find out what exactly had been going on with him recently. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean questioned angrily, stomping into the room behind his brother. 

“What?! What the hell was I thinking?” Sam shot a glare at you. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you answered. “She’s a demon. We can’t trust her, man. They want us dead; we want them dead.”

“Oh, that's funny; I remember that demon chick in Ohio, Casey? Dean didn't want her dead,” Sam argued. 

Dean took the opportunity to defend himself. “Yeah, well she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook.”

“No one's stringing me along!” Sam declared. “Look, I know it's dangerous, that she is dangerous, but like it or not, she's useful.”

“No! We kill her before she kills us,” Dean said. 

“Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?” Sam scoffed. 

“Whatever works.”

“Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives.”

Dean headed over to the sink to turn the water on and splash it on his face. 

“Look, we have to start looking at the big picture, Dean, start thinking in strategies and– and moves ahead,” Sam finished. “It's not so simple, we're not— we're not just hunting anymore. We're at war.”

“Listen, I agree with you to some degree,” you sighed. “I’m just not sure how much I like the idea of working so closely with a demon.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Dean asked his brother while he dried his face off. 

Sam sighed. “Why are you always asking me that?” 

“Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters. And by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. Y’know, it used to eat you up inside,” Dean reminded him. 

“Yeah, and what has that gotten me?”

“Nothing, but it's just what you're supposed to do, okay? We're supposed to drive in the fucking car and fucking argue about this stuff. You know, you go on about the sanctity of life and all that crap.” Dean rubbed his stomach with a grimace. 

You looked at your partner in concern as he moved to sit on the bed. 

“Wait, so– so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?” Sam laughed. 

Dean shook his head. “No, I'm not mad, I'm— I'm— I'm worried, Sam— I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself.” 

“Yeah, you're right, I'm not. I don't have a choice,” Sam stated. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Dean, you're leaving – right? And I gotta stay here in this craphole of a world. Alone. So the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I gotta change.”

You heart sank, and you couldn’t bear to look at either of the two brothers. 

“Change into what?” Dean grimaced. 

“Into you. I gotta be more like you.” It almost made you smile bittersweetly at how much Sam admired his brother. However, you liked Sam for the fact that he was Sam. You agreed with Dean that Sam was supposed to be the morally gray one, and Sam changing under these circumstances made you sad. 

Suddenly, Dean groaned in pain. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, rushing to Dean’s hunched over form. “Baby, look at me.”

Dean clutched at his stomach, seeming hardly able to force words out. “I don't know. Oh— (Y/N), something's wrong— bunch of knives inside of me—”

“Dean?!” 

His head was almost between his knees by this point. 

“Son of a bitch—” Dean cursed, hissing. 

“Dee, hey—”

“The coven, man, it's gotta be the coven.”

You immediately rushed to the bathroom and threw open the cupboards below the sink in search of the hex bag. You threw things about frantically; opening boxes and dumping their contents out. 

You heard Dean choke once more, and your heart nearly stopped. You ran to him to find him lying on the floor next to a puddle of blood he’d sputtered up. 

“Did you find it?!” Sam asked frantically. He’d torn the covers off his bed and sliced the mattress open with his knife. 

“No!” you replied. 

Dean’s coughs got weaker, and he was quickly fading as you shifted to lay his head in your lap, facing you. 

You saw Sam grab the Colt from your bag. “Sam, what are you doing?”

He moved toward the door wordlessly.

“Sam!” you called. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he told you, and the door slammed shut behind him. 

You kept Dean’s head in your lap, unsure of what to do. Dean continued to grunt and shift painfully, and you just tried to keep him as comfortable as possible. “Stay with me, Dee. Please, baby.”

All you got was a groan in response, but you knew he was trying. 

Suddenly, the door to the room was kicked open. 

You kept Dean cradled against you. “Stay back, bitch.”

Ruby shoved you aside harshly without replying to you and hauled Dean up by the collar. She forced his mouth open as Dean used his diminishing strength to try and shove her away. 

You tried to pull her off Dean, but it was no use. She dumped some sort of dark liquid down his throat, getting you off her easily. 

Dean was still struggling, but she soon got off him. 

“Stop calling me ‘bitch’,” Ruby panted. 

“Why did you save him?” you asked, slightly in awe and slightly apologetic. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she replied. 

“Okay, jeez,” you scoffed. “But… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby said. “Next time you point that gun at me, I'm not gonna just disappear, understand?”

You nodded and moved to help Dean clean the blood and Ruby’s liquid cure off his face. 

“What was that stuff? God, it was ass. It tasted like ass,” Dean groaned as you wiped around his mouth. He gently brushed you off him and took the towel from you to do it himself. 

“It's called witchcraft, short bus,” she deadpanned. Ruby turned and walked out of the room. 

“You're the short bus... short bus,” Dean grumbled. 

***

As soon as Dean had enough strength to move, you and he were off to find Sam. You knew he’d gone to the Van Allen house where the women held their “book club,” and Dean sped there in a stolen car. 

You burst through the front door of the house with a sawed-off shotgun in hand. When you did so, you discovered the demon possessing one of the women you’d met, and Elizabeth standing frozen in fear.

Before you could make a move, you were thrown back against the wall. 

“Three for one,” the demon smirked. “Lovely.”

“Wait,” you heard Ruby say. She walked in with her hands raised in surrender. “Please. I just... came to talk.”

“You made it out of the gate,” the other demon smirked. “Impressive. That was a bitch of a fight, wasn't it?”

“Doors out of Hell only open for so long,” Ruby shrugged. 

“What do you want, Ruby?”

“I've been lost without you.” Ruby continued to advance on the other demon. “Take me back. That's why I led the Winchesters and their pretty little plaything here.”

Dean looked furious, as were you, and he mouthed, “I told you so” to Sam.

“They're for you,” Ruby continued, “as a gift.”

“Really,” the demon deadpanned. 

“Let me serve you again. I've wanted it— I've wanted you— for so long,” she said. 

Dean lifted his eyebrows at the flirtation between the two demons. You would have slapped him if you weren’t being held to the wall. In all honesty, though, you were intrigued, too.

“You were one of my best,” the demon smiled.

Ruby glared and tried to take her knife out to stab the other demon, but said demon caught it in mid-air. 

“But then again, you always were a lying whore,” said the demon. 

The two demons struggled against each other as you and the Winchesters were powerless to help or hinder. Elizabeth was cowering in fear behind the couch, and Renee’s dead body laid limply on the floor. 

The demon-possessed witch stood with a hot poker in her hand. “You're really telling me you threw in your chips with the Animaniacs here?” 

Ruby tried to stand, but the demon hit her across the face with the poker. 

Elizabeth suddenly stood to move to her altar and began to dump pins onto a cloth littered with demonic symbols. 

“Come on, get up!” the demon roared. 

Ruby panted, unmoving, with blood coming out of her nose. 

“I said, get up!” The possessed witch hauled Ruby up by her jacket. “We've been here before, haven't we?” She chuckled to herself and turned to Sam. “She didn't tell you? Pretty mortifying, I guess. She was one of mine. I turned her out a long, long time ago. Ruby here was a witch. Of course, that was when you were human.”

You were surprised by that, honestly, but shouldn’t have been given the work she’d done to help Dean. 

The witch threw Ruby back down onto the debris of the bookcase she’d been nearly put through. 

“Didn't want your friends to know that all those centuries back, you sold yourself to me? Embarrassing, I guess. But don't worry, love, no secrets where you're heading, remember?” The demon taunted. She began to chant in Latin, and black smoke began to curl out of Ruby’s mouth. Suddenly, she began to cough, and you realized Elizabeth was chanting under her breath at the altar. 

The possessed witch stumbled and coughed harder, and her weakened powers allowed you freedom from the wall. You slid Ruby’s discarded demon knife over to Dean as the demon killed Elizabeth, and Dean took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to kill her. He stabbed her in the back quite a few times to ensure the demon was truly dead. Your partner dropped the body to the ground, and he moved to help Sam up. 

“Go,” Ruby ordered, looking slightly embarrassed from her position on the floor. She wiped the blood away from her mouth. “I'll clean up this mess.”

You stood between the two brothers, and the three of you helped each other toward the door. You could feel the Winchesters turn to take one last look at Ruby, but you kept your eyes forward. With your urging, they continued walking. 

***

Somehow, the three of you made it back to the motel safely. You and Dean were outside of your motel room, just sitting on the hood of the Impala and talking, when the neon lights of the motel’s sign flickered. 

Dean jumped off his car, shielding you with his body protectively. You turned to see Ruby standing in the shadows a few feet off. 

“So, the devil may care after all; is that what I'm supposed to believe?” Dean asked her. He led you toward the demon. 

“I don't believe in the devil,” she replied, arms folded. 

“Wacky night,” he commented. “So let me get this straight, you were human once, you died, you went to Hell, you became a…” The blonde nodded, turning to leave. 

“How long ago?” Dean asked, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Back when the plague was big,” was her simple reply. 

“So… all of you guys— you were human once?” you questioned, slightly worried for the answer. 

“Every one I’ve ever met,” Ruby shrugged. 

“Well, they sure don't act like it,” Dean scoffed. 

“Most of them have forgotten what it means, or even that they were. That's what happens when you go to Hell, Dean. That's what Hell is— forgetting what you are,” Ruby explained. 

Dean, of course, kept up his plucky attitude. “Philosophy lesson from a demon. I'll pass, thanks.”

Your breath, however, had caught in your throat at Ruby’s description of Hell. 

“It's not philosophy. It's not a metaphor. There's a real fire in the pit. Agonies you can't even imagine,” Ruby continued. 

“No, I saw ‘Hellraiser’. I get the gist.”

Ruby turned and started to walk away. “Actually, they got that pretty close. Except for all the custom leather.” Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks again. “The answer is 'yes', by the way.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked. 

“Yes, the same thing will happen to you.”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped. 

Ruby continued her torturous explanation. “It might take centuries, but sooner or later, Hell will burn away your humanity. Every Hell-bound soul— every one— turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah. Yeah, you can count on it.”

Dean tried to keep his head held high, but you knew him well enough to know he was beginning to break. “There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?”

Ruby sighed. “No.”

“Then why'd you tell Sam that you could?” you asked, finding the ability to speak. 

“So he would talk to me. You Winchesters can be pretty bigoted. I needed something to help him get past the—”

Dean cut Ruby off. “The demon thing? It's pretty hard to get past.”

The blonde laughed. “Look at you. Tryin' to be all stoic. My god, it's heartbreaking.”

‘She’s not wrong,’ you thought. 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Dean questioned. 

“I need your help. Yours, too, (Y/N).”

“With what?” you asked. 

“With Sam. The way you stuck that demon tonight— it was pretty tough,” Ruby addressed Dean. “And (Y/N), I’ve seen you in action, too. Sam's almost there, but not quite. You need to help me get him ready for life without you. To fight this war on his own.” She walked away again. 

You were unsure why she was talking as if you wouldn’t be there to help Sam as well. 

“Ruby!” Dean called, making the demon pause. “Why do you want us to win?”

She turned back around. “Isn't it obvious? I'm not like them. I don't know why. I– I wish I was, but I'm not. I remember what it's like.”

“What what's like?”

“Being human.”

Dean looked at the ground, lost in thought, and you stared at Ruby while she disappeared from view. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[pigdemonart]

Battle Subway Depot Agents (by pig-demon)

When I made designs for these guys last year I didn’t really think they needed colored references/master post, but since then I’ve drawn them a lot! Also people have added them to their fanfics and drawn fanart! So I figured it was time I made a post for easy ref. :]

These designs are obviously free to use, just give credit (and link me your work if you're comfortable, because it makes me happy to see!) All I request is to stay respectful to their pronouns and skin colors, ya knooow… 👍 note: The pokemon on their cards are all companions, not the ones they use on the Battle Subway. Except Jackie...the litwicks are just there to fill space/give them company.

More info under cut:

Edit: Important disclaimer:

These are again my designs/interpretations for the agents. Please don’t treat them as canon or as the only, quintessential designs for these literal background npcs. Many people have done takes on them before and after me, even back in 2010. It feels silly to ask, but due to past experience, I ask that you please DONT hunt down anyone that does a different take on the depot agents!! 👍

Tags:

I'm gonna start tagging them individually, but for now all Depot Agent comics and art on this blog are tagged under Depot Agents.

Height chart:

I’m not too strict about heights, so I don’t really care about actual measurements. Here’s an approximation of what I tend to visualize though:

Sexualities/Gender Identities: I don't have official labels for each and every agent because I like keeping things fluid for characters to develop these traits on their own. However, as a queer person, I enjoy designing characters who are also queer, therefore I can safely say none of these characters are straight. The ones who are set in stone are Ramses (gay man), Cloud (lesbian woman,) Jackie (non-binary.) Furze uses he/they pronouns but their gender is undetermined. I also welcome anyone giving the agents a different gender identity to suit them (as long as it's done respectfully.)

Notes about each agent...

Cameron:

- Cameron dyes parts of his hair blonde and keeps other parts in black. This is because he is a big fan of Elesa and her fashion choices.  - Though there have been a few occasions to meet his idol, he is always way too nervous to approach her, feeling deep down that he'll mess up somehow. - He practices modeling poses in secret. He loves flourishes and flare, but is simply too insecure to put it on display. - Of his coworkers, he gets along the best with Furze. He's the easiest to talk to because Furze will do most of the talking. - Cameron is easily intimidated — even mean Pokémon can make him nervous. Though, his two worst fears are being left in a room alone with Jackie, and being left alone in a room with Isadore. - He takes advantage of his height to sometimes hide behind some of his coworkers. - Cameron is much better at Pokémon battles than he gives himself credit for. Emmet and Ingo were pleasantly surprised by this, since Cameron was promoted to fit a temporary role on the Battle Subway. They happily made him a permanent member when he proved himself capable. - His Dwebble (Pebby) is secretly very strong, and rushes to protect Cameron when it can. Cam sometimes thinks Pebby helps him feel more confident in himself too.  - If he stumbled into any of his coworkers outside of work, he would simply explode of embarrassment. - He is the youngest child and only son of his family. He lives in his own apartment in Nimbasa.

Cloud:

- Cloud (like Ramses) knew the twins when they were very young. - She used to be an ace trainer in her youth, even going so far to compete in the Pokémon league. Winning and becoming the champ was the most important part of her journey, but something happened along the way that changed that outlook. - It seems with age, her competitiveness has mellowed out. However, she maintains an intense energy when battling.  - Her favorite types are Psychic and Flying types. Swoobat (Sweetie) is her ace.  - Her favorite hobby is baking, and she often bakes sweets for the crew. She knows all their favorite flavors by now! - She prioritizes keeping a friendly relationship with all her coworkers and thinks of them fondly. She considers Ramses family after all the years of working together!  - She is a big fan of Brycen's movies and can recite the lines. - She lives with her wife in Anville. - Cloud loves doing maintenance work both at home and in Gear Station. She enjoys bringing her own tools and industrial flashlight.

Furze:

- Furze only has one volume setting (mid loud,) but he finds himself feeling right at home when talking to either one of the twins. - Furze has ADHD, and this is reflected in some of his habits, most visibly is his fidgeting when sitting still for too long. - He rides a bike to work every day. When he is late, Cloud clocks in for him so he doesn't get in trouble. - This is a kind of a guy that sits crouched gargoyle style on chairs. Only outside of work, of course. Bad posture could get him in trouble. - While working on the Battle Subway, there will be times Furze feels sorry for his opponents and offers to quietly let them pass anyways. This...has also gotten him in trouble. :[ - He went to the same elementary school as Isadore in Castelia. Though Isadore seems to have forgotten their short-lived acquaintance, Furze has not. This is part of the reason Furze claims they are in fact good friends!!! - Furze is the middle child of a big family. He lives with his mom and takes care of her, along with his many Darumakas and Darmanitan. All of his Pokemon have famous trains names. - He collects model trains. Naturally.

Isadore

- Isadore had plans to become the station master the moment he was hired as a depot agent, but alas... (sad trumpet sound.) - As a youth, he was more interested in science and engineering over Pokemon battles. He enjoys the strategizing aspect, at most. Not so much the competitiveness. - In addition, his Pokemon are all rescues and not used for battling. He's had his Watchog (Winston) since he was in his late teens. - His Electrode (Gregor) and Voltorb (Leonard) were rescued from the likes of Team Plasma. - Isadore admits he understands Pokemon better than humans. This has been apparent his whole life. - In spite of acting like a sitcom villain, Isadore cares about the management of Gear Station and the safety of the passengers to an incredible degree. He sees it as a personal life goal to assist in the management of Gear Station, as well as the success of the Battle Subway. - Though it pained him to become a subordinate to the twins, he begrudgingly accepts it for the greater good. - His almost militant efficiency certainly made up for his years of antagonizing the twins before they became the bosses. Ingo and Emmet understand this better than anyone. - Isadore keeps tabs on all of the staff members. So he very well knows all their birthdays and makes it a point to celebrate it. This is by no means a -happy- or -festive- event. It's just customary. - Like Furze, he was originally from Castelia, but now resides in Nimbasa. Isadore's only family is his mom and she lives in his childhood home with their Stoutland. - Isadore would have probably been voiced by every glasses guy ever J. Michael Tatum had he not already been cast as dear Emmet lmao

Jackie

- Jackie is a mystery and they like keeping it that way. When they talk, it's practically impossible to determine what is a lie or truth, especially if the subject is themselves or their background. - They love scaring Cameron the most and will ask to be paired with him whenever possible. They claim Cameron is their "favorite coworker," while Isadore is the least favorite. - It's plain to see why -- Jackie is the only one that doesn't passively tolerate Isadore's tirades. - Though my comics sometimes may allude to Jackie being a ghost/supernatural, this is not confirmed nor canon. I just personally enjoy toying with the concept. : ) That being said...

- Item #: SCP 7453

- Object Class: Euclid

- Special Containment Procedures: The ████ ██████ is ██████ within ████-██████. - Ingo and Emmet choose to not question anything about Jackie, since it's clear they're one of the more efficient workers. However it can be a safety concern... - Cloud and Ramses have worked with Jackie for a long time, though they've forgotten somehow. They believe Jackie is a new hire since they appear to be young. - Anyone trying to make sense of Jackie's employee records simply can't bring themselves to any conclusions. It's better to ignore the inconsistencies. - Jackie has never been seen to leave Gear Station. Jackie has never been seen in anything but their uniform. Jackie has never been confirmed to eat, drink or blink. Jackie knows your secrets. Jackie thinks it's... amusing.

Ramses

- Ramses sometimes misses having a full head of hair, but he thinks his signs of age make him look distinguished. (he is correct.) - Ramses is sort of the "mom friend," making sure everyone's concerns are heard, as well as trying to keep the peace whenever a conflict might arise. - If another coworker is feeling low, Ramses will try to cheer them up with a lighthearted joke or offer advice if they'd like it. - When the twins were promoted to bosses of the Battle Subway, Ramses cried because he felt so proud. - In most circumstances, he is a very simple and logical man. He is quick to find solutions and tries not to fret over the little stuff. It's not good for his heart after all. - His ace is his Pikachu (Musa,) though the mouse is more of a lap pet now. At home, he also has an Audino (Sara) and a Manectric (Nubi) who keep Ramses' husband company. His Klinklang (Moli) is the only one of his personal pokemon that accompany him to work nowadays. - Ramses considers Cloud family. They are best friends and love having family gatherings outside of work. They also gossip a lot, and don't mind when Jackie decides to join. - Ramses jokes about looking forward to retirement, but really doesn't want to leave until he is physically incapable of working anymore. Gear Station is like a second home to him.

In-Game Quotes

The most important reference of all are their in-game quotes, of course, so I'm adding it to the post. A lot of their personality traits can be extracted and interpreted from these few lines. And I personally love that about Pokemon NPCs -- there's a lot of room to explore and play with. Some appear very obvious. Cameron practically announces that he isn't ready for the battle that's about to ensue and seems genuinely surprised to win. Furze comes out the gate talking about the subject they actually care about, which is their job and their love for trains. The two of them are very easy to understand. Now, Ramses lines allude to a gentle and simple personality. He views himself with humility, and maybe even with a bit of humor comparing himself to a train and to his opponent to a station. If he loses he shows no signs of disappointment, he just accepts defeat with one last honest quip. It s also amusing to see the Depot Agents all use train metaphors to describe themselves since it falls in line with how Ingo and Emmet talk.

In comparison, Cloud does the same thing calling herself the terminal instead. Immediately, she is way more daring, though still keeping a sense of professionalism. To me, it's obvious she is competitive as she even admits she was expecting to win ("Ah...I didn't see it coming.") Jackie's lines are fun since it's up to interpretation if they are being literal or lying. It's almost like they are more interested in confusing/creeping out their opponent than actually beating them. To me, it gives off a mischievous vibe. Isadore's opener "There are only two roads in life." is a curious one because it almost feels like he is trying to be philosophical. Definitely a guy who views himself as an intellectual, regardless if that’s true or not. I like to think it's a saying he really believes in, and it applies to his life. The road he likes (long route) vs the road he hates (shortcut) -- fighting tooth and nail to become boss vs biting his tongue and accepting Ingo and Emmet as the Subway Masters.

Those are just my thoughts on how I write these characters. Please have fun playing with these lines too!

[anarchytaco]

NSFW Alphabet for Art the Clown

A couple other people have done this already, but here's my take on it.

(18+ only)

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, gore, torture, one mention of n*crophilia, a teeny tiny hint at c*prophilia, you might think I'm a little insane

This is geared towards AFAB people.

As strange as it may seem, the reader character is consenting to these acts.

Whether you love or hate the Terrifier franchise, THIS POST IS NOT FOR EVERYONE. You’ve been warned.

Aftercare

There's not a whole lot of it. At the very most, Art will loosen up the restraints, if there are any. Even this, however, isn't a guarantee. He prefers to leave you in a state of "total ruin"; your scars, injuries, and extreme exhaustion get left untreated.

Body Part

His teeth allow for him to spread "joy" with his big smile, in addition with his ability to bite into your flesh. As for what is attached to you, Art favors your nose. It will absolutely be booped.

Cum

Semen will be inside you in some manner: vagina, anal, whatever new holes are created, etc. If it ends up in your mouth, then you must swallow.

Dirty Secret

There are no secrets.

Experience

Art knows the basics of giving pleasure, such as the clitoris location and how to stimulate it. It's unknown where he obtained these skills, but he definitely knows how to use them.

Favorite Position

It's when you're stripped and hung upside down with your legs spread open. He immerses himself in this sense of control, as you permit him to do whatever he wants.

Goofy

Art smiles and "laughs" as he tears you into pieces. He'll also honk his clown horn when he squeezes your tits and ass.

Hair

There's two possibilities here: his nuts are either as bald as his head, or the bush is absolutely wild. There is no in between.

Intimacy

His passion increases as the minutes pass; he immerses himself in your body and fluids.

Jack Off

Using a detached body part (head, leg, torso) as a flesh light would be Art's usual take on masturbation.

Kink

Art kinks generally revolve around a type of torture and gore; he engages in his own form of "BDSM". For instance, he'll handcuff you to the bedposts, then whip you with his cat o' nine tails. Another kink of his connects back to what he did in that pizza shop bathroom...

Location

His favorite places to fuck are within old, abandoned buildings, and especially the old carnival. He doesn't mind playing around in the laundromat either.

Motivation

Full-on clown cosplays, both sexy and unsexy, are one way to get him excited. What really gets Art going, though, is a fresh laceration. The sight of one makes him curious: how deep is it, and can he make it deeper?

NO

There may be a hint of gentleness in the beginning, but overall, Art will not go soft on you.

Oral

Blowjob sessions with him grabbing your head, forcing your mouth open, and having you deep throat his cock until you nearly pass out (and you sometimes do). When you're the one on the receiving end, Art starts out by teasing you with these long, agonizingly slow licks. Then, he'll start sucking on your clit in a rhythmic fashion, eventually inserting a couple fingers to match with the rhythm.

Pace

Art takes his time, but as previously mentioned, he'll be rough throughout; his favorite type of pain to inflict is one that's long-lasting.

Quickie

Quickie's with Art are rare. He prefers to savor his sexual urges for the perfect time and place. In his opinion, waiting enhances the experience, since he's finally able to release these bottled up emotions boiling within.

Risk

As a man of creativity, Art is always coming up with new ways to mess around. However, he leans away from submissive roles in order to avoid a scenario where you have the advantage. That principle may be thrown out the window, though, once you start referring to yourself as "mommy".

Stamina

Sessions as a whole tend to be about an hour long at least, so there will usually be just one round at a time. In terms of how long until Art ejaculates, it averages to about fifteen minutes (when you're directly stimulating his penis, of course).

Toy

You'll be faced with whatever tools and weapons Art has in his garbage bag, in addition to the recent project he's crafted on his workbench.

Unfair

There will lots of teasing from him, especially during the first ten minutes of sexy time. He loves how much it makes you beg, and also how loud you whine from denied orgasms.

Volume

Bro is obviously silent the entire time.

Wild Card

Imagine yourself hanging upside down (refer to his favorite position), blood rushing to your head as Art licks your pussy, digging his fingernails into your ass cheeks

X-Ray

It's pretty thick, reaching to around 5 or 6 inches.

Yearning

His sex drive is slightly above average, but he mostly relieves the tension through his acts of murder.

ZZZ

As I sort of stated at the beginning, he leaves you alone after sex. In other words, he doesn't fall asleep next to you. His sleep schedule is likely terrible anyway, due to how late he stays up.

[markster666]

Alastor Reacting To Stereotypical Activist Gen Zer (No NSFW really ig)

Me and @rainyvandragon were discussing this last night and we thought it was the funniest thing ever, so I wanted to write a short fic for you guys. Enjoy.

This might be offensive to some audiences but I tried to portray a stereotypical feminist Gen Zer in the eyes of somebody closed minded (somebody like Alastor kinda) so LOL.

The new generation, Gen Z, (1997-2012), started making their appearances in Hell. Alastor, being a gentleman from the 1930s, wasn't used to being around the influx of activists, feminists, vegans, etc. It wasn't until one showed up at the hotel seeking redemption that he truly met his match.

"WHATS UP GIRLY POPS?!!" The Gen Zer kicked open the doors, strutting into the lobby. They turned to Charlie, "Omg, you look SO slay!!"

Alastor looked at them in disgust. What the fuck were they even saying?

The Gen Zer turned to Alastor and gasped in delight, "Omg! Look at youUU-UH."

They walked over to Alastor and sat on the chair next to him.

"What are your pronouns?"

Alastor looked dumbfounded. "My... My what?"

"Pronouns silly! Are you a girl, boy, trans, non-binary, gender-fluid-"

They went on for a couple minutes before Alastor interrupted.

"I'm a boy, my Dear."

"Are you a CIS male?"

Alastor literally was getting so fucking annoyed because he literally has no fucking idea what this mf was talking about.

"...Yes."

"Great! So He/Him. What's your sexuality?"

Alastor didn't know what the fuck that meant.

"...I don't like having sex."

"Omg so you're ASEXUAL? QUEEN!!! LOVE THAT FOR YEWWW-UH!!"

Alastor wanted to die (again).

The Gen Zer got back up and started talking to Charlie. Charlie also looked a little offput but she was a LOT more accepting.

"So... how did you die?"

"Oh, my, GAWD, I literally was at a protest and some stupid fucking cops decided to pump me full of lead! Whatever, at least I went down for fighting in what I believe in."

Angel Dust perked up, "And what do you believe in?"

"WOMENS RIGHTS AND UNRESTRICTED RIGHTS TO ABORTION-UH!"

Alastor was banging his head against the table in the lobby.

"Oh and I also got arrested a few times for vandalizing government property but hey! Worth it!"

Angel Dust was CRACKING up at Alastor's reaction and Charlie was trying to listen attentively.

"We definitely need to completely remove gender roles from our modern society. Oh, I also really miss my husband... I proposed to him recently and he's SUCH a good stay at home dad!"

"WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!"

Alastor yelled, his voiced filled with radio static.

Angel Dust was on the floor, hollering with laughter.

"Oh my gosh sorry, I should've asked for your beliefs before I started spouting off about them! You know...my mum was kind off...a total fuckin cunt, which is why I cut of all contact with her. She was a Republican, smh."

Alastor threw a table at them.

"OH MY GAWD STOP IT!!!!"

Im sorry guys I'm fucking laughing so hard this is the best head canon ever.