#it's because i give him eyelashes and full lips + a more masculine face

[queerstudiesnatural]

making tfw with random picrews and sam and cas always end up looking like sam and cas but dean always always ends up looking like a butch lesbian

[jackrrabbit]

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito​ thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of  hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

[peaceisadirtyword]

Move On IX (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello!♥️ I finished this yesterday but I needed some time to edit it calmly, so I waited until today! I have to say, do you know when you plan an entire fanfic around a scene? Like you imagine a scene but need context, so you end up writing an entire series? This is what happened to me with the last scene of this chapter. I didn’t even know how to write it, and it ended up being much worse than I thought it would be. Anyway, there’s just one chapter left (will probably be ready for next week, bc I finished the internship and I have a bit more time now!) For now, enjoy this one🥰 

Btw! I made a spotify playlist with songs that give me ‘Move On’ vibes, feel free to listen to it and if you have a song that reminds you of it tell me and I will add it!💕

Warnings: angst, like a lot of angst, this is the most angsty thing I’ve ever written, drama bc I’m a dramatic person, a bit of fluff, mentions of anxiety, broken hearts... Angst. Also, Ivar may be a bit out of character (?) sorry :(

Words: 4074

Move On Masterlist

Move On Playlist

gif belongs to @beastologist​

The worst part of going out to the bar with your friends was that they were always surrounded by boys. You weren't that much into one night stands, so you tended to stay next to the bar or go dance by yourself and maybe make new friends as your friends flirted. That night wasn't different. You had barely drank two beers when one of your friends started glancing behind you and biting her lip. 

"Okay, I'm seeing the hottest guys ever right there" she muttered as soon as the conversation died. You were thankful that she didn't interrupt you, at least "Oh my god, they look like nordic Gods"

You raised an eyebrow with curiosity, but didn't turn around. Your other friends quickly checked them out and the giggles and whispers started. You wished you could join them, and gossip about hot guys in bars, but you just couldn't, and every time you tried it ended up being a disaster. 

"They're looking" one of them smirked "I knew it, this dress always works" 

You chuckled, shaking your head but low-key proud as you had been the one choosing her outfit and makeup. They were stunning, and you could understand that every guy in that bar had checked them out at least once, it made you proud to have pretty friends. So you kind of expected it when they started muttering that the guys were approaching. 

They hadn't lied, those boys were truly handsome, and even you widened your eyes and your mouth parted. You couldn't help but smile kindly at them when they greeted all of you. 

"I'm Ubbe" one of them, that had the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen "These are my brothers, Hvitserk and Sigurd" he pointed at the other two, both blonde. One of them, the first one to caught your eye, had dirty blonde hair and green eyes, while the other one had blue eyes but more pale than his brother. You didn't get to stare at them as much as you would have liked to, as you friends introduced themselves. 

"And she's Y/N" one of them pointed at you, and when the three pairs of eyes set on you, you had to clear your throat and look away quickly. 

"It's truly a pleasure to meet all of you" the green-eyed one, with a flirtatious tone, bowed his head slowly with a smirk on his lips "We realized you ran out of drinks" he raised an eyebrow "And we can't allow that, now can we?" 

He was good, one of your friends giggled and his smirk widened. 

"Yeah, we'd like to invite you to some drinks" Ubbe winked at other one of your friends, who nodded slowly.

"Okay, so next round is on you" she shot him a flirtatious smile and before you could react, they were already coupled up and flirting shamelessly. You finished your drink and looked around, a bit bored. 

"Is your friend not going to join us?"

You raised your head. So there were four of them. Well, maybe you would have someone to drink shots with. 

"Ivar is not much into meeting new people" Hvitserk chuckled "He doesn't like people" 

"He's cute" your friend hit your shoulder "Y/N, go talk to him" 

You knew they meant well, and they wanted you to have fun the same way they were having fun, so you rolled your eyes playfully and turned around to see him. 

You expected to see a handsome guy, if he was half as hot as the ones now sitting on your table, he'd be very hot. But you stopped breathing and nearly choked with your drink when you saw him. 

He was probably the most beautiful person you had ever seen. He was beautiful. He looked bored, his finger scrolled down his phone and sometimes his eyes wandered around the room with a scowl on his face. But if he looked like that scowling, you couldn't imagine how he'd look with a smile. 

You realized you had been staring, and cleared your throat as you turned back to your friends. The three brothers were staring at you, and Ubbe and Hvitserk smirked at each other. 

"Um... I wouldn't want to bother him" you shrugged, trying to gain some composure. 

"You wouldn't" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow "Ivar doesn't like people but, he might like a cute girl talking to him" 

"Don't listen to him" the other blonde one, Sigurd, rolled his eyes "He's an asshole, don't even bother" 

"Sigurd" Ubbe sighed, but decided to ignore them and went back to talking to your friend.

Hvitserk glared at his brother and shook his head. 

"I mean, you don't have to flirt with him or anything, I just thought the both of you would like some company" he smiled kindly at you "And I think you'd get along" 

You nodded slowly and he looked back to your friend, who winked at you with a smirk. When you finished your drink, you looked at him again. This time he caught you, and you turned around quickly with widened eyes and your heart racing. After the round of shots Ubbe bought, you stood up. 

Ivar was confused. He had seen you entering the bar with your friends, laughing at something someone said at the door. Then you ordered your drink with a smile and narrowed your eyes while looking for an empty table. When you finally found one, you quickly took your friends there. Now he couldn't see your face, but he kept glancing at you sometimes. He went out with his brothers frequently, and yes, he  looked at girls like they did, but when they'd stand up to go and actually talk to the girls, Ivar would always stay behind. He truly didn't need the pity stares or the smiles full of compassion, he also didn't want to see how they rejected him with a polite smile after they saw his crutches. No one wanted to hook up with the guy with crutches, but they were too nice and too polite to say it in front of him and his brothers. 

You looked beautiful, he noticed you as soon as you entered, and you had a different vibe, but he didn't even dare to think about you too much, not even when his brothers started whispering about that group of cute girls. 

"I also like that one" Hvitserk had said, pointing at you discreetly "But Ivar saw her first, and he had heart eyes while looking at her, so..." He shrugged. 

Ivar was startled by that, and turned to glare at his brother.

"I noticed too" Ubbe chuckled "Come on, let's talk to them, she looks nice" 

Ivar shrugged and looked down, ignoring them. 

"He won't do it" Sigurd raised an eyebrow "And he'd panic if she talks to him"

He had a point, Ivar did panic when he saw you approaching him. At first he thought you were going to the bar, then you looked at him and he gulped. He didn't have any more beer to calm him down, and he felt his heart racing. 

"Hi" you smiled at him, a bit flustered "Can I?" 

You pointed to the chair in front of him, the one Hvitserk had occupied before. Ivar stared at the chair for a couple of seconds before nodding slowly. 

You sat down, a bit taken aback by his silence. 

"I'm Y/N" 

He cleared his throat and finally found the courage to look at your eyes. 

"Ivar" 

"I... They went to flirt with my friends and I thought I'd come here with you because it's..." you wrinkled your nose and he nearly smiled "A bit awkward" 

Ivar nodded slowly. 

"That's okay" 

That's okay? What the fuck?, he thought. 

"Anyway, um... Do you want a beer?" 

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" he raised an eyebrow and his voice startled you. It had a musical tone, not too deep but not that high either. It was oddly attractive. 

"Well, I was going to invite you, but if that's affecting your masculinity, I will let you pay" you chuckled. 

Ivar looked amused. 

"It's because that always works for my brothers" he shrugged. 

Your heart raced when you realized what he meant. You still couldn't believe that a guy like that would even look at you, but you weren't going to complain. 

"Okay then, maybe I could pay next time"

You nearly regretted that, you had talked to him for barely two minutes and you were already talking about a second date. 

He probably thinks I'm desperate...

"Maybe" 

From up close, you could appreciate just how blue his eyes were. They reminded you of Ubbe's eyes, but Ivar's were less warm, deep, intense and overwhelming as the ocean, framed by dark eyelashes that completed a mysterious stare that made you shiver. His lips were full and pouty, and you nearly widened your eyes when he licked his bottom lip nervously. You realized you had been staring and it was probably not very nice to feel observed in that way. 

"Um... So they're your brothers?" you glanced to the other table, where your friends and their new companions laughed loudly. 

"Yes, I'm the youngest" he nodded "We have another brother but he's older, he has a family and those things" 

Their parents must be proud of what they made, you thought. If everyone in that family had those looks, you were probably meeting the people with the best genes in the world. 

"That's nice" you smiled "They seem fun"

Ivar grimaced. 

"They're fun for the first ten minutes, then they're annoying as fuck" he rolled his eyes, and you couldn't help but laugh. Ivar had never made a girl laugh, and he widened his eyes, surprised by the warm feeling that spread in his chest. 

Suddenly, your eyes found the crutches. Ivar tensed up and watched you as you stared at them confused. 

"What happened?" You looked at his face again, and immediately felt terrible. What if he didn't want to talk about it? Why did you have to ask? 

"It's a disease" suddenly, his tone was a bit more dry "I was born with it, I need braces and crutches to walk" 

You nodded slowly. 

"Sorry for asking" you bit your lip. 

"It's fine" he shrugged "As long as it doesn't bother you"

You narrowed your eyes softly. 

"Why would it bother me?" you smiled "I still wanna get that drink"

Ivar was equally surprised and relieved when you stood up to approach the bar, turning to wink at him with a smile. 

________________________________

Your face was covered on makeup and dried tears. You felt your lips dry and your eyes hurt from crying. It was cold, even if Ivar's warm body was pressed against yours. He was asleep, the medicines always left him exhausted, and he would sleep soundly for hours. You wanted to turn around and hug him so bad... To hide your face into his neck and breathe, relax next to his body like you did for years. It was your safe place, but now it didn't feel right. 

You turned your head to look at him. Ivar looked so calm and peaceful that your fingers ached to touch him, but at the same time it was even more painful than before. You had been weak, and sleeping with him would only hurt you both, because maybe the both of you thought things were just like before, but they weren't. 

You couldn't forget the pain, the disappointment and the rejection. Ivar had chosen someone else over you and that changed everything, and you were tired of being the weak girl that cried and mourned constantly because of him. 

It was still dark outside, but you could feel the dawn was near, as there was that chill in the air that precedes sunrise. But you couldn't sleep, you laid there the entire night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how his touch felt, how warm his lips were, because you were making a decision. 

You closed your eyes. They burnt and yearned for some sleep, but you wouldn't let yourself sleep next to him, not anymore. 

You could wait until he woke up, or leave before without a warning. Either way would end up in disaster, because you knew Ivar wouldn't let you go without an explanation, and you couldn't look at him in the eye and leave him, you weren't strong enough. 

You opened your eyes again, and glanced at him, leaning in to kiss his forehead softly. Ivar sighed deeply in his sleep, and snuggled closer to you. The pain seemed to have stopped, but you thought you'd leave some painkillers next to his bed before leaving. 

Years later, you still felt that tickling in your belly whenever you looked at him, just like the first time. Who would have told you that the strange at the bar, who sat alone and glaring at everyone, would become the center of your world? You remembered those first days, the shy kisses and nervous touches, how he hesitated whenever he leant to kiss you. His brothers' teasing, his small smiles and how he blushed when you said how good he looked. How he looked at you, how time would stop when the two of you were together. The weight of those nearly five years overcame you, and you let the tears fall once again. You loved him so much it physically hurt, and now you were sure he had loved you too, at least at some point, but now things were over. He made a choice, and he ruined it. Maybe you were also to blame, thinking that what you had with Ivar was strong enough to last forever, and that no one could ever break that. Maybe you should have taken care of him, made him feel special, like she did. 

Moving slowly, careful not to wake him up, you got out of the bed, shivering when you left the warm covers and walked around the room, picking your underwear and your dress and getting dressed as quickly as you could. Then you opened the door slowly and left the room, looking for your shoes and purse, which you left in the living room. The only time you went back to Ivar's room was to leave the pills on the nightstand next to a glass of water and caress his hair softly for the last time. Then, you left again, closing the door softly and swallowing your tears and the lump on your throat. 

You looked around the kitchen and living room. It felt so cold and empty now, and the silence was louder than Ivar and Hvitserk's laugh. You had lost the count of how many hours you spent in that living room, laughing with the brothers, whom you considered your family, eating, watching tv, cuddling with Ivar, having sex and then apologizing to Hvitserk for having sex on the couch, and then baking his favorite cookies to make him forgive you. Their presence lightened up the room, and standing there without any of them made you realize just how hard was going to be living without them. 

But you couldn't just leave without a word. It wouldn't be fair. You intended to call Hvitserk, but Ivar... Maybe it would be the last time you saw Ivar. The mere thought was enough to make you sob again, covering your mouth. 

You grabbed a small notebook and a pen from the small wooden table of the living room. It was a notebook you bought for them, to make them write down the phone numbers and the important things, even if they only used it to draw stupid things when they were bored. 

You wrote slowly, carefully, drying your tears when they didn't let you see. When you finished, you felt even more heartbroken, but also a bit more relieved. Maybe you couldn't look at him and say it, but it was easier to write it, and that's what you had done. 

You didn't bother to put the heels on and grabbed the shoes and the purse before leaving the flat, not daring to look back. 

_________________________________________

The taxi stopped next to your door. You managed to mutter a weak 'thank you' before stepping out of the car. The driver looked worried, but he just nodded and said goodbye. As you approached the door, you noticed a figure sitting next to it, your heart skipped a beat and you smiled widely when you recognized Hvitserk. He was still dressed on his suit, and his lips curved softly when he saw you, but it faded soon. The sun was starting to rise and he looked like an angel with the rose light hitting his honey colored hair and his playful green eyes, that now looked exhausted and worried. He looked like an angel, and he had been your angel for the past few months. Your smile turned into a grimace as you approached him, and when Hvitserk finally wrapped his arms around you, you let the tears fall again. 

"I knew it wasn't a good idea" he muttered, his voice husky and deep. 

You let yourself sob for a few minutes. 

"It was" 

"Did the two get to talk?" 

"Not much" you nearly smiled "But I got to say what I needed to say" 

"Good" he nodded "It will stop" 

You nodded. The pain wouldn't last forever, at least not the intense pain that didn't let you breathe. Someday you would be able to think about your relationship and feel that warmth again. You just needed some time. 

"Let's go" he whispered "I'll cook breakfast" 

__________________________________

Ivar had a bad feeling when he woke up. He forgot to draw the curtains, and the sunlight that entered the room made him open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that your side of the bed was cold. The second was that it was cold and his legs were starting to hurt. Skipping his treatment would take its toll on him for days. He touched the part of the bed in which you laid after making love, looking at him with teary eyes and a dreamy smile. He pouted and looked away before the tears could reach his eyes. 

You had left his medicines next to the bed. Ivar nearly smiled, of course you would do something like that. Maybe he'd get up and go to the kitchen and you would be there, making coffee and trying to cook with the few things you could find in the fridge. Maybe you had put the earphones on and were listening to your favourite playlist as you danced around the kitchen. Maybe your face would lighten up when you saw him again. 

The pills were easier to swallow than the lump on his throat. He took his time, too scared to leave the room and not find you out there. He should have hold you tighter. 

Ivar put the sweatpants and a shirt on, and then the braces. His legs protested when he stood up, but he ignored them and walked slowly to the door. 

The flat was empty. Your shoes and purse were gone. Ivar's lower lip trembled and he stood there for a couple of minutes. Maybe you'd be back soon. Maybe you went to get breakfast. 

The weight of your absence washed over him for the first time. Freydis was gone, and now you had gone too. For months, he hadn't been with you but he knew you were there, that if he called you'd come, you'd be back to him and everything would be okay. Freydis made him feel so many things at the same time, but there was something missing, something that didn't fit. He did feel special, blessed by the Gods and important. And he did love Freydis, a lot, but then he saw you again. It would have been easier if you hated him, if you insulted and yelled at him, but you didn't. He had understood that during the wedding, that the only thing that he missed was you, he missed your relationship and how normal he felt with you. 

After years being rejected by everyone and overprotected by his mother, you came and treated him exactly as you would treat anyone else. And you made every single problem and struggle so easy Ivar couldn't help but fall in love with you. And it was a different kind of love, a different kind of relationship that he never thought he'd had. 

Freydis had been an intense crush, the first woman he truly looked at since you approached him that night at the bar. Of course he saw beautiful women every day, but it wasn't just your looks, it was something else. That thing he thought he had seen in Freydis too. 

His eyes saw the notebook on the kitchen counter. And he clenched his jaw trying to hold the tears back as he approached. When he recognized your handwriting his world collapsed again. You were truly gone. 

Ivar

He couldn't help the tears that fell down his cheeks. 

I know I can't tell you this in person, I wish I could. You're the most important person in my life, I love you, but I need to leave. Last night was amazing, and it was real, but then it ended and it stopped being real, right? Do you feel it too? It's not the same now. 

He rubbed his face, shaking his head as the tears rolled down uncontrollably. He did feel it too, as soon as he woke up. 

I don't know if you care, but I forgive you. I just need to leave because it hurt too much. I could stay and pretend everything would be okay, but it wouldn't be fair for neither of us. This is not good for anyone. Maybe someday, but not now. I don't regret anything, and I would approach and talk to you in that bar again without a doubt, because you made me really happy for years, and I hope I made you happy too, at least a bit. I don't know if we will ever see each other again, but if we don't, I hope you're happy and find that person, whether it is Freydis or someone else. I wish it was me, trust me, I wish it was me with my whole heart. But I need to end this now.

I truly love you, I always will. 

P.S. Please, take your medicines.

The last phrase should have made him roll his eyes, but instead it broke his heart a bit more. He threw the paper away, and barely managed to reach one of the kitchen stools before he collapsed, letting the crutch fall to the floor. He thought he'd stop breathing when the pain intensified. This was a kind of pain he didn't know. He had known sadness, rejection, disappointment and physical pain, but never this. You had entered his life and you stayed through everything, you were the only one that stayed out of love, and not because he was your family. And he had pushed you out. He pushed you and everyone that cared away because he was obsessed with a girl. Now you were gone and his brother didn't even want to be in the same room with him anymore. He was alone, and this wasn't something his mother could fix. 

Ivar heard the door opening. Hvitserk hesitated a couple of seconds when he saw him, but he sighed and closed the door. His brother didn't raise his head to look at him, and even if he wasn't too happy with Ivar, he couldn't help but approach him. He saw his little brother heartbroken, not the insufferable idiot with whom he had lived for the past few months. 

He didn't expect Ivar to hug him tightly, sobbing into his chest. He recognized that pain because he had spent the last couple of hours drying the same tears from your face. 

"Ivar" he sighed. 

"What did I do?" he took a deep breath "Why?" 

"You were a selfish, self-centered asshole" Hvitserk shook his head "But you will learn, you will grow" 

If Ivar was offended, he didn't say it. 

"She left me" 

"I know" he muttered "She's leaving all of us"

_________________________________________

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[monstas1ut2]

Diabolik Lovers x POC!Reader!

~Warnings!~

•Mature!Smutty!

•May Have Some Errors?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“If You Gave Them Head”

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-Shu Sakamaki

-Soft, and slow... The definition of having sex in the moonlight. Shu isn't the type to be so aggressive towards you, only if you're being a brat. His main reason being that he's lazy, he wouldn't dare push his energy out unless he really feels the need to.. like when you're sad or depressed and just need some love.

-Shu loves the way your lips are, make sure you have lip gloss on first... honestly, it doesn't even matter.. just make your lips glossy by licking them... he'll mentally drool over it.

-Shu will record you... Though he's such a secretive and secretly romantic guy.. it will NOT surface. It's locked in his phone as memories, just like your moans.. he listens to them while alone if he misses you...in more ways than one.

-Things he'd say while getting head would be "Choking on it?... slow down then..." or "Look at me..." or "Take it like a big girl..."

-Shu actually moans a lot.. but they're soft, his face Will be red and his eyes will be staring down at you.

-Reiji Sakamaki

-Rough, but this sadistic vampire tends to praise you for everything.. making this not such a pain. Granting you bruises on your plump lips and a sore throat... it's a bit much but Reiji tries to refrain himself from being so rough, though seeing you like that.. on your knees in front of him as he sips on his tea... Magical yeah?

-Reiji loves watching you cry, the tears welling up in your eyes as they fall. He likes seeing those eyes of yours water up behind your long eyelashes. Flutter those eyelashes up at him while slurping him up... he might just loose control.

-Having a pure white collar on your neck is something that turns him on to the max. Just seeing the difference between it and your darker skin... He aches at the sight almost every time, like he's edging himself. Which is why he makes you wear it every time. He just loved the thought of you looking innocent as an Angel.

-Things he'd say while getting head would be "Such a good girl..." or "You're quite good at this now, I've taught you well.." or "Dont you loose a single drop.... you want your reward.. yes?"

-Reiji holds in his moans, no doubt about it. It's not that he doesn't feel what you're giving him.. He most definitely does, he enjoys it everytime, those praises aren't just for nothing. One time you were so determined that you managed to push out a moan from him... it was so masculine and hot that you noticed how much of a slut you wanted to be for him..

-Ayato Sakamaki

-Rough... It's also apparent to say, you are barely in control half the time. The redhead doesn't know what slow means, or pain. He disregards your pleads as he grabs a fist full of your bonnet and he thrusts into your mouth. Though if he's not grabbing your bonnet, it's you being pushed against a wall, on your ass as you stuck your tongue out.. his cock going in and out of your throat.

-The reason Ayato is this way is because he loves how much mess it makes of you. He delves in the end result of seeing you so fucked over. Your bonnet either off or sliding off, as well as your scarf that was under it. He also likes if your breasts are drenched in your spit and his cum. Please let's not let the male see you break a nail.. he'll tease you about it.

-Ayato, being his egotistical self loves forcing you to lick every single drop of his cum.. even if it's on the floor.. though only if you wanted to.. he's not THAT disrespectful towards you, he still respects you.. since that day you shamelessly slapped his face about something.

-Things he'd say while getting head would be like "It's big in your throat huh..?" Or "Make a mess, yours truly likes how slutty you are..." or "don't puke... then again... yours truly doesn't care..."

-Ayato is loud, alright? He's loud.. and he'll let anyone know what you two did and how you two did it. Though if you're really self conscious about the situation, he'd try to be a sweetheart and calm down.

-Laito Sakamaki

-Actually gentle.... Laito loves watching you play with him, and will not care if you hesitate to go farther. He likes seeing you fawn over him and lick at his sensitive spots. Laito will only grip at your hair or your bonnet, if you guide his hand there. He just likes seeing you have fun giving him pleasure. Laito would have his hair strands wild and those green eyes would watch you take him in your mouth.

-Laito feels like soft head is what he loves best with you. Since he's actually committed to this relationship, he doesn't have to rush to eat you out.. and you don't have to rush to suck him up. The thought of softly cumming in your mouth or on your face is pretty to him.

-Laito loves waking up to it, it's just the thought of you not being told to do it.. it turned him on. He ends up growing in your throat and he can't help but lightly buck his hips up toward you.

-Things he says while getting head would be like "you're so pretty (y/n)~.." or "Stop being such a tease (y/n)..." or "I love you..."

-Laito is your average moaner actually, when he cums though.. it's some volume towards it.. Sometimes he has to cover his own mouth from being so loud towards the end. Though if you were to give him an insane amount of pleasure, the whole mansion would echo.

-Kanato Sakamaki

-This depends, Kanato could be rough one day... or soft the next. We all know how his rough days could go... he could dislocate your jaw from being so rough but he refrains at times... telling himself that he'd hate himself if he caused harm to you.. though luckily, he's very soft with you most of the time! He doesn't even ask for it. So when you do it out of the blue he blushes and let's you.

-Kanato loves the way you stare at him, also.. if you just recently got your new nails. He thinks it's undoubtedly cute while your wrap your fingers around his cock. Nails on display as your lips were wrapped around him. It sent shivers up his spine, and he never can hold back his orgasm.

-Kanato, loves when you suck him off with whipped cream. It's not surprising.. no.. so you were prepared. He loves the way it pushes out of your mouth and drops to the floor. It just looks so sexy when it looks like you can't contain it all in your mouth.. you look full... and you look like a piece of chocolate with the whipped cream and that's what turns him on.

-Things he says when he's getting head would be like "Doll... K-Keep your mouth open.." or "say you love it..." or "touch yourself.."

-Kanato moans a lot, though they won't be so noticeable unless someone gets pretty close to your room door. His breaths are what gives it away though, it's like he gets so tired afterwards. Though not too tired to blow your back out afterwards.

-Subaru Sakamaki

-In the middle, that is where Subaru lies. He basically gives you the dick in such a dominant way that he's rough but those soft words slip from his mouth constantly. He doesn't like hurting you, we know that.. which is why he can't help but to mumble out things like that... just to reassure you.

-Subaru likes seeing you beg for it, he loves seeing you want him in ways that only you could. He just loves the feeling of seeing you make grabby hands for his cock, and he lets you have it. Subaru will definitely thrust his way in your mouth too...

-If you kiss him after you sucked his cock, he'll be pretty annoyed.. but he loves it actually, he loves your lips in general.. just like how, if he eats you out.. he's going to kiss you. He thinks it's gross and honestly he'll never admit such a thing but he loves it.

-Things he says when he's getting head would be like "I'm sorry..." or "Fuck... that feels good.." or "I-In or out..?"

-Karlheinz

-Let's just say... Its not what you think...he's been with many woman and they willingly did it for him... not to mention put him before themselves and let him break their jaws just from being so rough.. though you? He literally lets you do what you please, if you felt like teasing him that day.. yes you're in for it later but he's enjoying it.

-Karlheinz, loving a powerful black woman like you was literally the best decision he'd ever made. He didn't mind the sassy sayings coming from you... nor did he mind the way that you'd tease him constantly like licking his tip non stop or licking him in long strokes. He just loves to see the fire in your eyes burn out later on.

-Karlheinz will even feed into your little Roleplay and will actually moan out for you... even though he's completely fine and he knows he can suppress it quite well. Though they aren't fake... and the pleasure was better than any woman he'd ever had... so.

-Things he says when he's getting head would be like "Oh darling... look at how beautiful you are..." or "you treat your king with the upmost respect don't you..?" Or "Someone's getting punished later on..."

-Karlheinz.. doesnt moan on accident or in the moment, he just feeds into your little Roleplay and tends to push that to the back of his mind while he's burning your ass in the damn bed.

[glowingbadger]

Thirsty Libra anon here again. Thank you. My thirst is both sated and reawakened. (Guess you could say I had an Awakening? lol sorry.) If I may, may I request a nsfw fic with him? Maybe a "together for the first time" type thing? Thank you so much in advance!

Thirsty Libra Anon, blessed are you among Anons xD I actually do have a reader x Libra fic on AO3! It's one of my older ones, so there's a few things about it I don't 100% stand by, but the link is here if you do wanna check it out. If I had a dime for every time I wrote a fake prayer to a dragon goddess for priest-kink smut I'd have two dimes, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that that's happened twice

In the meantime, let's play around with something new for our beautiful priest~

Libra (FE: Awakening) x GN Reader - first time

NSFW 18+

It's easy to get carried away chatting with Libra these days. It had taken you both long enough to make your mutual attraction known to one another, and longer still for your relationship to regain the easy, comfortable familiarity it had prior to confessing. So it was an immense relief that today had felt so natural. You'd passed the afternoon in energetic conversation, trading ideas about some of the more fascinating and obscure scriptures he'd introduced you to (they never talk about the really cool stuff in sermons).

And because you'd had such a lovely time together, you couldn't risk letting him know that a part of you wanted more.

Of course simply being with him was absolute bliss- you'd never thought you could be so lucky. He's a private person, and so elegant, ethereal even. It's hard not to feel downright unworthy sometimes. So thoughts of those battle-calloused hands across your body, and golden hair spilled across your pillow would simply have to be stowed away in the back corners of your mind.

Now, the sun is setting outside the confines of Libra's tent among the encampment, and you've no doubt that he would find it improper for you to stay past dark.

"Well then, I should leave you be for the night I suppose. Wouldn't want people to talk!" it's an awkward joke at best, as you straighten your clothes and prepare to leave, "not- not that you would have any interest, I mean-" you add, refusing to meet his gaze.

Libra speaks your name cautiously, and when you convince yourself to look up at his eyes, he's leaning towards you and his brow is deeply furrowed.

"Have I... caused you to believe that I don't desire you?" His hand gently brushes your cheek, which you can already feel warming up.

"Well, uh, not you per say, but I just assumed that-"

With both hands now woven into your hair, Libra pulls you close and kisses you deeply. Your breath hitches in your throat. His tongue pushes between your lips. You feel dizzy, fuzzy, like you're floating, but he doesn't let up until you're breathless and your heart is pounding against your chest.

"Please, Y/N," he murmurs, his breath hot on your skin, "Allow me to repent for this grave oversight. You should never have cause to doubt that I long for you."

It takes you a moment for your mind to catch up, but once it does, you say,

"What... kind of repentance did you have in mind?"

Without a word, he directs you onto your back on his bedroll, and the moment he's above you, he's kissing you again with that same new fire. Your arms drape across his shoulders and his strong hands wrap around to your back and pull you flush against his body. Sometimes you forget how hard and muscular his body really is underneath those conservative robes, but you can hardly think of anything else when the friction between you two is so wonderfully impassioned.

"Libra..." you whisper out his name when he releases your lips to focus his instead at your neck.

"Can you forgive me, my love?" he says against your neck, his lips and teeth grazing your skin as he speaks, "I am prepared to worship each and every part of you that I adore if it will convince you of my earnest desires."

"I'm already pretty convinced, but don't let me stop you," you mutter, the words hardly registering in your own mind. All you can think of is those beautifully soft lips on your skin and his touch down your back. He sets to work removing your clothes; he's methodical about it, taking time to observe and openly admire every inch of flesh bared to him. His long eyelashes almost hide the hunger in his gaze, but not quite. You've never seen that expression on him before, and you're transfixed. Somehow, an edge of passion only highlights the gentle beauty of his features.

With clothing discarded, you're finally exposed to each other in full. Your eyes meet for a moment, but you can't remain idle for long. When he kisses you now, you can tell he's done holding back. You never knew he had this in him, but the way his tongue pulses against you as he nips tender love-bites to your skin is rousing something in you as well.

He spends a good amount of time at your chest. With one of his large hands cupping the outer contour on one side, his lips tend to the hardened nipple on the other. You whimper out his name, your back arches up to him as he sucks and nibbles at the little nub. He groans with raw and unabashed lust, circling it with the tip of his tongue. Then, his kisses trail lower, never easing in their intensity as he travels a path down the center of your torso. You feel him rutting against your inner thigh, his manhood warm and stiff as he says, low and husky,

"Naga forgive me, your body is gorgeous, Y/N."

Before you can make a coherent reply, you feel his fingers at your entrance, massaging gently into you. You inhale sharply, barely restraining your hips that desperately want to buck towards him. One digit pushes inside of you, with the second soon to follow. He maintains a slow pace at first, but his fingers curl up towards him and mercilessly stimulate your most sensitive nerves. Tension winds in your gut already. You're panting softly, and he comes to nuzzle the crook of your neck.

"Relax, my love, allow me to show you the extent of my affections."

"What... what about you...?" You gasp out, leaning into him with the golden curtain of his hair beside you.

"For tonight, do me the honor of allowing me to focus on your pleasure."

He's using that firm-but-kind tone that you recognize from the rare occasions he delivers public sermons, and so you know there will be no arguing this point with him. Instead, you kiss his lips tenderly, and then softly say as his fingers work within you,

"Then please, Libra... please take me for real..."

He takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles. Then, his fingers slowly pull out from you, and he positions himself between your thighs. You gaze up at him- at the fair skin punctuated by scars, old and new. At wisened eyes that worship you in the mere act of looking. You give him a shy smile and brush his hair behind his ear.

Libra takes a breath, and you feel the head of his cock pressing to your opening. You've been a bit impatient with him, urging him to enter you without much ceremony or foreplay; still, he's achingly hard, and you can feel his length throb at the mere contact of his body against yours.

Then, he's pushing into you. Your first thought is that his manhood is incredibly thick- a deceptively impressive symbol of masculinity to pair with such a lovely face. A whimper of both need and fulfillment escapes you as he spreads you apart around his girth, driving into you until his hips are held firmly against you. You both take a breath in unison, then, he his lips are on yours once more as his body begins to move above you. The veins up his shaft grind along your inner walls, only enhancing the incredible sensation of his cock pushing and pulling against you, and with each thrust of his hips, the thick head presses to your deepest point.

Libra makes love like in a salacious novel- the kinds of novels that court ladies claim to enjoy for their romances, rather than for their intensely lurid contents. He's tender, focused, passionate, very nearly obsessed. Your thighs squeeze around him, subconsciously urging him closer to you, deeper within you. The entirety of your bodies are joined, intertwined, and you know your climax won't be long.

"I have wanted this since the moment I understood my feelings for you," he whispers to you, a ragged edge to his voice as the pace of his thrusts picks up, "I never dared to dream that you wanted me in this way as well... Nngh..." you reflexively clench around him in response to his words, and he groans deeply, his head dipping down onto the pillow beside you. Your hands cling to his sturdy body, your thighs lift around him just a bit, allowing him to fuck you more deeply.

"Of course I... want you, Libra..." you half-moan, "I adore you... mm! You feel so good-!" His cock throbs and swells, and you feel a tingling rush up your spine. A shudder wracks your body as you cry out his name. You couldn't have expected that this would cause him to snap his hips towards you with far more force than before. "Yes-!" you gasp out, your eyes dazed and unfocused as he chases his own pleasure at last. One hand steadies him beside you while the other wraps under you, holding you to him so firmly that you're practically lifted up from the bedroll. He has incredible stamina, fucking you hard and deep until your eyes roll back and your thighs tremble around him.

And then at last, he holds himself deep within you, only shifting his hips enough to rub the head of his cock against your core. Then, he pulls away. You hear him gasp out your name, and you feel the heat of his release as he spills across your inner thighs. He lets out a truly remarkable amount- which you distantly think that you should have expected, since it's not likely he allows himself this pleasure very often. By the time he pushes himself up from you, panting softly as he regains himself, he poured out all of his cum onto you, though his cock is still twitching in the wake of his climax.

Once more, he holds your hand in his and places a kiss to the back,

"I dearly hope that you can forgive me, my love."

You give him a tired, yet obviously skeptical grin,

"For what?"

"For giving you any cause to believe that I would not desire you. In truth," he goes on, his eyes leveling on yours, "I would have you each and every evening, were you amenable."

Your eyebrows raise, and the pink flush returns to your face.

"That... could be arranged, perhaps."

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Call Me Mother, Chapter One

I languidly drained the last breath from my cigarette, the drag filling my lungs. My garter straps hung down lazily, tickling my thighs, as they awaited their purpose. Music thumped rapidly, and whoops of delight resounded through the hall. The dressing room door swung open; a small, but curvaceous woman behind it.

Her eyebrows were tweezed to perfection, eyes deeply shadowed, eyelashes false and curled into large feathery swoops; her mouth was like a plump strawberry. I’d always harbored a mild curiosity about how it tasted.

“Mary, you’re up in 10 minutes. I want you at the curtain in five," Cristella said, her hispanic accent thick.

“Is that a new corset?” I asked. Cristella turned me around, and yanked the laces of my corset together. Thank god I haven’t needed to breathe for the last 150 years, I thought. I floated a small influence her way. Gentler, please. She complied, unwittingly. They always do.

I don’t normally use my influence on people I like, but I’m far too hungry to risk her pinching me with this corset. I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost control. She was far too kind to die a death that violent.

“It is. This papí chulo I’ve been seeing said he wanted me to wear it for him. Maybe he’ll tip better," she said, carefully pulling the slack out of the lower half of my corset. I placed my hands over my belly, holding everything in place.

“What’s the crowd looking like?” I tucked the ties away. She jutted a hip out, and began counting off on her impeccably manicured fingers.

“The usual crowd. Old Man Carraway, that one divorcee who drinks like a fish. College kids. Oh, there’s also these dudes in silver masks. Low-key kind of demonic. And some weird guy in like, face paint? He’s painted up like a calavera. I figured they came from that concert that was in town. You know, the one that church was protesting? Say they like worship Satan or something?”

“Sounds about right." I bent down to attach my straps to the garters of my stockings.

“They’re probably here for a private room, so I figured I’d put you on now. You’re good at handling the weirdos." Cristella giggled, watching me struggle to get the backs of my stockings attached. She and I broke into fits of giggles, as she chased me in circles, trying to help me attach my stockings.

“Let me get that. Hurry up and get on stage!” she said, giving me a playful smack on the ass. I pranced out of the room, trying to avoid her grasping mitts.

“Hey! No bruising the merchandise!” I giggled, linking arms with her as we strutted backstage, perfectly in step with one another. She grabbed the microphone from Mike the Mic Guy, gave me a wink, and stepped through the curtain.

“Aaaaand we’re back! Now, this next lady I’ve got lined up for you is quite a treat. She’s as pale as cream, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and will definitely step on you. Well, she might if you tip well. For legal reasons, we can’t call her “Elvira,” so I guess we’ll settle for… MOTHER! MARY!” That was my cue. I sauntered through the curtain, my hips moving like a figure eight. I moved across the stage, “Lullaby” by the Cure playing. I always chose various genres of rock for my acts. Not that I have anything against the other girls’ music choices… but there’s only so much female rap you can play in one night. As I began to dance, I noticed the group that Cristella had mentioned earlier. They were sitting front and center, near the edge of the stage.

Seven of the masked figures sat around the Painted Man, as I had labeled him. Two of the masked figures seemed effeminate, and the other five seemed more masculine. They all ranged in different shapes and sizes. Maybe the masks are a fetish thing? Cristella did say that they came from a concert… Something about them seemed off. I did a swing around the pole, dropping into a fireman, trying to catch a scent. It was a whirlwind of scents, none of them too out of the ordinary. Except the beefy one. He smelled like midnight. I don’t know how to explain it. What really caught my interest though was the Painted Man. Specifically, his eyes. One of them was grey, the iris almost black. The other eye had a pale, white iris. It suited him, and it was beautiful, in an eerie way. Those eyes looked at me, as I danced around the stage, and they knew me. If I had a working heart still, it would be racing.

As Robert Smith crooned, I descended the stairs of the stage as sensually as one could in Pleaser heels, making my way to the Painted Man. If I wanted to know what these people were, I’d have to get a closer look. The Painted Man patted one of his legs with a gloved hand, and cocked his head to the side. I took the invitation, but not before I teased him. I crouched between his legs, running my hands up his thighs. As I rose, I walked my hands up his thighs, bringing my face closer to his. His breath graced my skin, smelling faintly of licorice. As he leaned in, for what I could only assume was a kiss, I rose again, strutting over to one of the masked beings. It was the smaller of the male ones. I sat in his lap, letting him run his hands over me as I began to grind on his lap. His growing erection told me I was going to have a busy night.

“Your boss is a little too eager," I whispered, getting a good whiff of him. He smelled faintly of smoke. I put my hands on his chest, trying to keep my balance. No heartbeat.

“What makes you think he’s my boss?” The being asked petulantly. He grabbed onto my waist, as he began to grind with me. I moved his hand to the small of my back, and leaned back in a dip. The being ran his other hand over my belly, in between my breasts, and up to my throat, bringing me back up to his masked face.

“You’re the one wearing a uniform." I darted my tongue out to lick my lips. What is he? My mind raced as I tried to run through every supernatural creature I’d ever known. But then I heard it. I barely even understood it. All I picked up was price and one night. It was Ghoulish. The taller female ghoul was asking about what I can only assume was my hourly rate. Most strip clubs in this part of Vegas were just fronts for brothels. However, it’s hard to sell the idea of prostitution to Mid-Western vanilla tourists. So most of my income was made from stripping. I usually had one or two clients I went to bed with a night. It wasn’t very stable, but then again, I had less expenses than the average stripper, considering my “condition."

“Tell your friend my basic hourly rate is $500. My Ghoulish isn’t any good." I stood up, and made my way to the female ghoul’s lap.

“How do you know Ghoulish?” she asked, a bit of surprise in her tone. I bent over in front of her, shaking my ass for her. She put a couple of bills in the waistband of my panties, punching my previous ghoul in the arm. He forked over some cash as well.

“I’m not human. I’ll leave it at that," I said, stuffing the cash into the top of my corset. Dear lord… All hundreds… The female ghoul rubbed my thighs, turning me back around slowly, so as to admire my ass.

“Could we get a room after your number? I think a private dance is in order," she said, in broken Ghoulish. I nodded, and as if on cue, the lights and music began to fade out. As I began to walk back up the stairs to the stage past the Painted Man, his hand darted forward to smack my ass. God, it really is not the night for this shit. My more animalistic nature took over, and before I could stop it, a hiss left my lips. As if of their own accord, my fangs sprung painfully through my gums. I heard a snap, and looked over to see the largest ghoul stand up. He shook his head. Thank god the lights were low. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth, and made my way across the stage.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Mike the Mic Guy asked, handing a mic to Cristella. I still had my hand over my mouth. Cristella looked worried.

“Are you okay Mary? I can get you some tea if you’re keyed up." I shook my head.

“Please get a room ready. The Freak Parade wants a private dance," I said as I walked away, silently cursing myself. Once back in the dressing room, I threw open the mini-fridge I normally kept padlocked. I looked to the last bottle I had left in my stash. Hopefully it hasn’t clotted, I thought, throwing the bottle back. This wouldn’t end my thirst, but it would certainly quell the burning in my throat. You nearly lost it. You need to bag one of these stupid fucks tonight, or else. I hadn’t had a bad case of blood lust in decades, but the combination of winter holidays, my strict schedule, and FOSTA-SESTA had really cut off my food supply.

The door opened, and Cristella came in with a cup of tea. She looked at the flask in her hand and cocked a brow.

“And you didn’t offer to share. What is that? Cuervo? Henny?” she said, reaching for the flask. I shook my head, and put it back in the fridge, closing the padlock.

“It’s cough syrup. I keep it under lock and key because of that bitch Ronnie. She’s not fooling anybody. You ever see how much her hands shake? Too much caffeine? Yeah, right. We all know what the DTs look like." I began changing into a burgundy velvet bra and panty set, pairing it with some burgundy gloves and stockings. Finally, I found a pair of sparkly Loboutins Lydia had left me. My mind rolled back through the streets of Paris to 1991, when Louboutin opened its first salon. Lydia smiled, as I kissed her shin, helping her into the heel. She looked down at me, her eyes full of love, and the corner of her mouth hiding a kiss just for me.

“Yeah, she is pretty suspish. What happened with those weirdos out there?” Cristella interrupted my memory. I shook my head. Are you just imagining your heartache?

“Oh the big guy was just mad because I didn’t get around to him. That’s why I wanted you to get the room. Plus, I might be able to secure a nice check from these guys. They all seemed absolutely randy," I said. Cristella shook her head, giggling. The gloss in my hand made a popping noise, as I pulled the wand from the bottle. It was my favorite flavor, watermelon.

“I can ask one of the boys to sit in, to keep them from getting too handsy," Cristella said. I shook my head. It would only keep me from getting too handsy, I thought to myself. Bless her heart. I could never make a kill here. I loved the crew here far too much. Plus, I didn’t have a coven. No one to protect me when I fucked up. They kicked me out long ago. It’s the main reason I ended up in Vegas, avoiding the sun when I could, doing my best to keep a legal and convenient profession. Where else could get a job with only night shifts, and a never-ending supply of useless assholes no one cared about?

“I’ll be okay Crissy. Even if they do try something, we have a panic button in there. Don’t worry." I gave her a slimy, glossy kiss on the cheek, earning a shriek from her strawberry mouth. She batted at me, narrowly missing me as I bounded out of the room.

As I approached the bigger of our three private rooms, I noticed two of the larger male ghouls standing outside the door. All of the ghouls dressed similarly, including the female ghouls. But I now noticed the alchemical symbols dangling from their belt chains. The shorter one had a quintessence symbol, the other larger one, an earth symbol. The earth one opened the door, and the quintessence one escorted me in.

“Thank you, Aether. Back to the door with you. Come, have a seat. Dewdrop says there is more to you than meets the eye. Let me pour you a glass of wine, cara," a thick, Italian accent beckoned to me. I walked to the ottoman in the middle of the room, where I usually found myself during private dances.

“I don’t drink during work hours, love. Now, what should I call you?” I looked into the mismatched eyes of the Painted Man.

“You can call me Papa. I’m Papa Emeritus, the fourth. My close friends call me Copia, but I suppose we are not quite there yet, sí?” he said, leaning forward to take my chin in his hand. I nodded.

“While I would love to marvel at your undoubtedly exquisite body, There is some business we should take care of first, piccolina. Do you like Type O Negative?” Cue the record scratching. The dreamy look I normally adopt when with my clients evaporated.

“Excuse me?” I whispered. Papa laughed.

“The band, cara. I was going to have you dance for me later. However, you must have a preference."

“I really don’t understand what you mean," I whispered. Papa laughed again, a big booming laugh.

“I know your secret cara. The ghouls told me. One of my predecessors, Papa Nihil, told me if I were to ever come across your kind, I should try to win your allegiance. Your kind have interesting abilities, specifically the power of influence." Of course that’s what he’s after.

“I don’t do that," I said, looking down to avoid his gaze. Papa tsked.

“I think you will. The ghouls say you smell lonely. Where is your famiglia?” He asked. I shook my head. Lydia’s pained screams echoed in my ears, our last moment together wrenching my heart out of my chest decades later.

“We split because of artistic differences," I said softly. Dewdrop and his companions giggled behind me.

“Forcing people to allow you to exsanguinate them for sport is not ‘artistic differences,’” Dewdrop hissed. The other ghouls laughed. Papa shook his head, and raised a hand to silence them.

“Now now, Dewdrop. It is hard to control one’s basic nature. Sí, tesoro? Tell me, how long has it been since your last drink?” He looked at me with concern. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I knew what he saw. Weak, pathetic, useless… The words were like a disgusting mantra, swirling through my mind, angry and acidic.

“Weeks… It’s been weeks," I whispered. He tsked again. I heard the ghouls chatter amongst themselves. Their pity made me feel disgusting, like a child with sweaty, clammy hands, and odorous armpits.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job and a home? A home where you wouldn’t have to hide your nature. A home where you’d never go hungry again?” I looked up at him.

“What kind of job?” I asked. The ghouls laughed again. Papa shot them a glare.

“I would make use of your gifts occasionally. Nobody would get hurt. You would warm my bed whenever I asked. Maybe pick up a trade or two once back with the Clergy. And in turn, you would get protection, and all the blood you could ever need," he said. I finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. What do you have to lose? Besides, you’ve done infinitely worse things.

“You swear on your life, nobody will get hurt? Not a single person?” I asked. Papa nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll also require a salary as well," I said, extending my hand. Papa nodded, taking my hand in both of his.

“Anything you need, cara. But first, I think you need a drink. And then we will get the night I paid for," he said. He waved his hand towards the door, which the shorter female ghoul scurried to open. I noticed she sported a pocket chain with an air symbol.

“Bring in one of the more rosy siblings, Cumulus. I suspect our new friend will need the sustenance before we get too far into our plans for the night," Cumulus nodded, and shut the door behind her. Papa stood up, and began removing his suit jacket and gloves; rolling up his sleeves. I could see his blue veins pulsating, causing me to become aroused in a way I cannot quite explain. Involuntarily, my pussy throbbed, and my mouth watered.

“Now now, little one. Be patient. Your drink will be here soon enough. But for now, you will seal our little deal with a kiss, so to speak. On your knees," Papa ordered, gesturing to the floor. I slipped from the ottoman to the floor, crawling on all fours to him. His breath hitched as I slid my hands up his thighs. I didn’t break eye contact as I unbuckled his trousers, nor when I reached into his pants to pull out his sizeable cock.

The door opened, and I heard mumbles, as well as a struggle, and a thud. Of course, both my hands and mouth were preoccupied. I watched Papa intently as I sucked him off. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack, and his hands threaded into his hair, as he let out an ungodly moan. I kitten licked his frenulum, stroking his shaft, earning another moan. He bucked his hips into my throat. Sit still, I whispered in the back of my mind. Papa grabbed my hair, and pulled me off his cock.

“Never again, my little bat. Continue," he said, grabbing either side of my face as he began to fuck my throat rigourously. Someone behind me cleared their throat. I wasn’t able to look up, due to my current predicament.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cirrus? What is it?” Papa let out a grunt, as his cock twitched in my mouth. I began to fellate him with my hands, wrenching more breathy sighs and groans from him. Within seconds, his warm seed was flooding my throat. I heard Dewdrop cheer, and then a slap, which I assumed was a high five. Papa rolled his eyes and smiled, as I dabbed away the bit of cum that had spilled over my bottom lip.

“Just in time. I needed something to wash down all that salt," I stood, and walked over to the person Cumulus and Cirrus stood in front of. It looked like a plumper woman. She was wearing what looked like a nun’s habit, her red ringlets spilling out from under her wimple.

“All for you cara. Come find me when you have finished your meal," Papa walked out, which left me with the ghouls and my prey. Dewdrop, and the other male ghoul, who sported a water symbol, helped the little nun onto the couch.

“You’re going to let me fuck that tight ass later, right? Nearly busted watching you and Copia earlier," Dewdrop said to me, softly enough for just me to hear. I giggled and nodded, batting him away after he began nibbling on my neck. He patted my ass, and began to pull the wimple from the nun’s head.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you and the rest of the ghouls get started? I’ll be done pretty quickly." Dewdrop nodded.

“C’mon, Rainy. Come play with my cock, while we watch Mary drink," The water ghoul nodded, grabbing Dewdrop’s hand. I turned my attention back to the nun. She began to stir. I pushed back her hair.

“This is going to hurt a little bit. But I will make this quick and painless. You deserve an easy death." The nun, barely awake, nodded, and turned her head. I cradled her head, and brought her throat to my mouth. With a final kiss to her soft, peachy flesh, I sank my teeth into her throat, not letting a single drop of her blood go to waste.

It felt like drinking water after being stuck in a desert for a week. Her blood was sweet, clean, and thick, and it quenched my thirst quickly. Her body began to go limp in my arms, and her skin turned cold. It’s still not enough. I had to force myself to stop. Never drink the last drop. It might just be the last thing you do, my old mentor’s voice reminded me. I let the little nun drop back to the couch, and turned to face the ghouls. Cirrus sat with Cumulus, each with a hand in the other’s pants. Rain was bobbing his head up and down slowly, as Dewdrop played with his hair. Dewdrop looked up at me.

“Hot," he said. Cirrus nodded, and refocused her attention on Cumulus. Rain moaned, causing Dewdrop to hiss. I looked at them all, lust clouding my gaze.

“Make room. It’s my turn," I said. Dewdrop pulled my mouth to his, not fazed one bit by the blood coating my lips. Cirrus began to explore the space between my thighs with her long, gorgeous fingers. Rain held my hair, kissing and nipping at my neck. A girl really could get used to this...

Hours later, after all of the ghouls had had their turn, even the two from the door, I was back in the dressing room. I opened the envelope the earth ghoul, Mountain, had handed me on the way out. My eyes grew like saucers as I counted the money inside. I had only expected eight grand; two hours, eight clients, multiplied by $500. But as I counted, I realized I had 15 grand in my hands. The door opened, breaking my wealth-induced trance. It was Papa.

“If you would really like the job, come to this address in two weeks. Bring only what you must. Put everything else in storage," he said, handing me a card. I was confused.

“Why two weeks?” I asked. Papa smiled.

“Because it’s polite, cara. Don’t forget your letter of resignation."

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

This is the first thing I've wrote in years! I hope you all enjoy it! A special thanks to @gasolineghuleh for all of their help!

[awesomerextyphoon]

Bura na mano, Holi hai!

This is my submission for @darkmcuficswap​’s Dark MCU Festive Fic Swap 2020! My giftee is the lovely @searchforanotherway​ / @saaracha​. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy this!

Summary: This year’s Holi Festivities would’ve been your best yet...if not for a handsome stranger.

Paring: Soft Dark!Thor x Desi!Reader (Fem)

Holiday: Holi (Festival of Colors)

Word Count: 2,022

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Warnings: Kidnapping, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Non-Con, Oral (f receiving), Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Swearing, Age Gap (reader is of age), Light Bondage, and Breeding Kink

A/N: This is my first time doing a Desi!Reader. Thank you @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ for hosting! Translations will be at the end. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​!

Back to Masterlist

“So, I guess you won’t have to tease about my poor gulal throwing skills since I’m coming back.”

You shrieked into your phone so loudly that you feared your Aunt Malati would stick her head in with a disapproving look again.

Harshad, your brother, was finally coming home after four years abroad! You had missed him dearly. He had called you twice a month for at least two hours talking about your novel idea. You were writing a sci-fi novel about a girl, Kanti, going on space adventures. You never thought you stood a chance since there weren’t many people who looked like you in the space, but Harshad was your biggest cheerleader.

Everyone was preparing for the festivities, getting the gulal, cooking all of the food (you were constantly salivating from the aroma), and making sure everyone has lotion for Rangwali Holi.

You and your best friend, Hema, were returning from an errand when a sleek black car passed your path. Luckily, neither of you were hurt and went on your way, but you were blissfully unaware of the occupants.

  You always loved your neighborhood’s Holika Dahan. Your grandmother used to regale you and the other children with tales of old. Your mother and aunts would hand out Gujiya, Barfi, Malpua, and other sweets. The bonfire always meant new things were coming for you. It was at the Holika Dahan that you had your novel idea two years prior.

This year you helped pass out the sweets to the crowd and shared a serving of Chana Marsala and Malpua with mango when you saw him.

On the other side of the bonfire was a man who was staring intensely at you. He could be described as some kind of supreme being in your sci-fi novel. He was 2m (6’6.75”) tall with short dark blond/light brown hair and beard, electric blue eyes, plump lips with laugh lines, broad shoulders and chest, and mostly had a defined midsection and legs. All of this deliciousness was wrapped in a tasteful royal blue Dupion Silk Kurta, a beige Churidar, and a pair of golden silk Mojari.

You never thought that a man like him would give you the time of day. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him-

“Hey! Hello, anyone in there?” Hema snapped you out of your musings, “I asked you if you want to come with the rest of the girls.”

You nodded and left with her not noticing your mystery man talking with Harshad.

  “Rangwali Holi Mubaarak, Auntieji!” Bushra exclaimed as she jumped on your bed. She did this every Holi since she could crawl.

“Alright, alright Bushra. I’m awake.” You grumbled as you gave her a hug, “time to get ready.”

Nilam, your older sister, handed you a cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor as a bribe to watch over Bushra this year. Slightly annoyed, you accepted the cup and hummed at the flavors noting the extra pinch of cardamon they added just for you. You made sure that Bushra didn’t get near the Barfi (not wanting a repeat of last year) and made sure that she moisturized herself.

Once you and Bushra were ready, you met up with Hema and had a blast at Rangwali Holi. You smiled at Bushra running around with her friends with her playful yelps and laughter. Hema got you square in the face with gulal so you chased her until Harshad stopped you.

Afterward, both you and Hema helped your mother and aunts prepare for the party. The party was wonderful and you may have had a few more Gujiya and Barfi than you should’ve. Though you did catch a glimpse of the striking man from last night.

After the festivities, you walked around your neighborhood with Hema talking about clothes, boys, and music (nothing major). You got another cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor once Hema decided to retire for the night.

You went against your grandmother’s warnings and took the shortcut through the dark corridor. You got about ten steps in when you started to feel incredibly dizzy. Someone caught you before you fell and the last thing you saw a pair of plain gold Mojari.

  Your eyes fluttered open then snapped open once you realized that you weren’t on your bed. You found yourself in a red embroidered art silk Lehenga with gold and ruby studded earrings and bangles.

The room itself was an immaculate hotel room with reds, blues, and green adorning the walls and surfaces. It felt unreal. It was like in your story where the protagonist got stuck in her adversary’s lair.

You were about to reach the window when the door opened and in walked the man from Holika Dahan.

He only wore a royal blue Dupion Silk Dhoti and the gold Mojari. And Fuck, he was a vision of masculine beauty and power. He had a powerful build with rippling muscles, rich tawny pink skin, broad shoulders, plump pink lips, long medium brown eyelashes, chiseled chest and abs, and a super defined Adonis Belt.

You could only imagine what was underneath his Dhoti.

The man strode in like a king, confidence and charisma came off of him in waves.

“How do you like the room, priya?” You nearly swooned at the smooth, deep timbre of his voice.

“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” you asked slightly terrified by the way the man was ogling you in your outfit.

He chuckled at your actions, “My name is Thor Odinson, but you may call me Thor, jaanu. As for where you are, well, you’re where you belong. You’re with me.”

“But I can’t be your jaanu! We’ve never met-”

“I would watch your tone, priya.” Thor warned as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened.

“I jus-I just want to go home.” you nearly sobbed as Thor raised your head with a bent forefinger.

“It doesn’t matter now. You’ll see, mera pyaar.” Thor murmured as he kissed you.

You would’ve gasped at the sudden action. This man stole your first kiss, but it could’ve been worse. The kiss was soft and demanding getting more passionate by the second.

Thor moaned when he got his tongue past your full lips. You gave him a tepid response with your own tongue which only egged him on with the knowledge that he would be your one and only.

He scooped you up in his arms and gently placed you on the plush bed like a feather once he broke for air. Your clothes were gone in an instant and you felt helpless under the ravenous gaze of your captor.

Thor started with a kiss to the top of your forehead, inhaling the Damask Rose perfume he got from Kannauj. “You smell divine, jaanu.” He descended upon your face, neck, and shoulders kissing and marking your skin with love marks.

You tried to push him off of you, but he bound your wrists to leather handcuffs and returned to his foreplay.

Thor hummed at your moans and gasps loving how responsive you were. His kisses sent shivers down your spine and waves of heat to your lower abdomen, sometimes simultaneously.

“P-Pleas-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Thor tutted at your incoherent pleas, “You need to use your big girl words, jaanu.”

You begged him to release your wrists and he only did once you promised not to fight you. He released your wrists and gave each wrist three open kisses while making eye contact. You shyly ran your fingers through his hair and his smooth plains of muscles while Thor praised your efforts noting that you will get better in time.

He stopped at your breasts and loved how they filled his hands musing on how much bigger they’ll be once you’re round with his seed.

That scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids at all...you didn’t want kids now.

Thor alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples and covered your chest in love marks. He moved to your midsection and hips, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful jaanu.” he murmured as he kissed your hipbone.

“Please, Thor, I can’t-”

Thor pressed a forefinger to your lips, “It’s fine, jaanu. All will be well.”

“I’ve ne- I’ve never been touched down there.”

Thor chuckled, “I know, mera pyaar. I’ll be your one and only,” He kissed and nipped your inner thighs and gave your slit a long, slow lick. Thor moaned at the taste, “Better than the finest cuisine,” and dove in like a starving man at a feast after only knowing years of famine.

Never in your life had you felt such a rush tear through your body. Each movement brought you to a new level of pleasure. You weakly grabbed his hair and arched your back to him begging him to continue.

Thor kept you on the edge for what felt like an eternity, “Come, mera pyaar.”

The floodgates burst at his words and he made sure to slurp up every drop of your juice that squirted.

You were in a euphoric daze when Thor removed his Dhoti. You would’ve gasped if you could because the man was a sculpture of near hyper-masculine perfection with his form glistening with sweat.

Then you saw his cock. Fuck! He would split you in two!

You begged him to stop once more, but he kissed the corner of his mouth and said that the pain will pass.

Thor pushed into you as gently as he thought possible. You wanted to scream but he swallowed them in a passionate kiss and even took you biting him in stride.

“You feel amazing, jaanu!” Thor exclaimed once you calmed down and he filled you to the hilt. He started thrusting at a good pace and the feeling of pain soon turned to pleasure,” Isn’t this better, mera pyaar? Being under me, taking my cock like a good wife?”

You were too fuck-hazed to respond.

It didn’t take long for you to come again. Not a minute later, Thor came with a roar with thick ropes of cum shooting into you.

You thought it was over only to see Thor inside you...and hard.

“Did you think that was it, jaanu?”

After a couple more rounds, Thor let you fall asleep and had someone get you ready for the jet.

It was all coming together. Odin neither liked nor trusted his playboy lifestyle and threatened to disown him and cut him from the company if he didn’t find a wife. The woman had to be someone he approved and he had two years to do it.

Seventeen months into his search, he met Harshad. Thor thought the man bright and amiable so he got the man a job in the company as a Data Engineer. He kept an easy-going friendship with him, but all that changed when Harshad talked about you.

Harshad talked about your interests and dreams like a sibling is wont to do. Thor thought you were a lot more interesting than his usual lays. Your brother showed him a picture of you that your mother took right before he left.

Thor was hooked.

You were softer, plumper, and much more genuine than the models he dated. You were simply breathtaking.

Thor almost snatched the photo from Harshad.

Thor started to search for you that night. He scoured your social media presence captivated by your smile and words. He hired a private investigator to get more information about you and he convinced Harshad to let him celebrate Holi with your family. His cock hardened when he saw you walking with your friend, Hema, on his way to the hotel. He almost came on the spot when he locked eyes with you at Holika Dahan. Thor had his agents watch you during Rangwali Holi and take pictures and bribed a worker to give you a drugged Thandai.

Now he had you.

Sure, you will be rebellious at first, but you will accept this. Perhaps he could help you with your book series. He hoped his children would be as creative as you.

Maybe one day you’ll laugh.

Taglist: @giorno-plays-piano​ @lookiamtrying​ @jtargaryen18​ @sapphirescrolls​ @jobean12-blog​ @sweeterthanthis​ @gotnofucks​ @mcudarklibrary​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @golden-ariess​ @navegandoaciegas​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @tilltheendwilliwrite​ @imanuglywombat​ @bucky-the-thigh-slayer​ @navybrat817​ @anyatheladyclown​ @buckysbunny​ @nacho-bucky​ @donutloverxo​ @stephanieromanoff​ @threeminutesoflife​ @angrybirdcr​ @angrythingstarlight​ @chixkencxrry​ @hurricanerin​ @marvelfansworld @the-soulofdevil​ @captain–barnes​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @thebanprincess​ @winteralpine​ @leslie2898​ @buttercandy16​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​ @hevans-angel @thorfanficwriter​ @afriendlyblackhottie @avintagekiss24 @syntheticavenger

jaanu => my life

mera pyaar => my heart

priya => darling

Bura na mano, Holi hai => Do not mind, it’s Holi

[the1918]

I love all your evanstan headcanons so much, they’re so perfect for them. Do you think Chris bottoms ever?

(I was so excited when I got this over a month ago and then for some reason waited this long to answer it, sorry!)

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: First off, a fic rec: I really like this one Evanstan fic and I think about it a lot (“a smorgasbord of ass play”, as the tags say, topped off—heh— by an absolutely gorgeous flip-fuck scene). It’s called “coloring by numbers” by claudia_flies and I highly recommend it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t develop a few of my own personal Evanstan head canons concerning Chris and his relationship with his own ass from that fic.

In the specific fantasy Evanstan world I’ve built in my head, I think that once Seb introduces Chris to ass play (which for some reason I don’t envision happening at first, not when they’re just fooling around, it takes until they’re in a relationship) and it turns out Chris really likes it, when he’s in the right mood? It sort of evolves from there.

I imagine that... it starts with an exploring finger during a blowjob in the shower.

It starts with Seb’s knees planted happily on that wet tile floor, looking up at Chris questioningly through the water droplets hanging from his pretty eyelashes. Chris’s own eyes go wide but he nods— more eagerly than he intends to but he doesn’t care, everything that he and Sebastian do together always feels safe. Seb slips one wet finger inside and Chris comes in Seb’s mouth on the spot.

After that it’s not necessarily a regular thing, but it’s also not entirely infrequent. I’ve written before about Chris’s first rimjob and I do imagine that something like that is what “happens next” (and sweet Jesus does Chris love it when Seb licks at him down there). I bet Chris— with flawed preconceived notions about what two men do together during sex, notions that are slowly being chipped away at through his relationship with Seb—  is surprised to find how well that ass play fits into their dynamic in the bedroom. He shocks even himself the first time he finds himself demanding it out loud while he’s fucking sweet Seb’s throat, when he asks, “You gonna be good and make your man come hard tonight, baby boy? Yeah? C’mon— yeah, that’s it, find that sweet spot, be a good boy and give it to me right. Fuck, gimme ‘nother finger babe. Be sweet, get me open like I got your throat open.”

But still, taking a dick up his own ass, that… that feels different to Chris. It is different to Chris. It’s already done wonders for his own internalized toxic masculinity to get to experience being Seb’s top and dominant, to see first-hand how being a man and getting fucked is, in fact, not an inherently degrading act (it’s an act of worship, of love and devotion when Chris fucks Seb), so I don’t think that would be the source of his hesitation. 

Instead, I think it’s the emotional rawness associated with really letting another person in you, with allowing someone to penetrate you. It’s scary. It’s real. It’s incredibly difficult to feel like you belong only to yourself when you’ve got someone else taking up a physical space inside of your body, but then again, Chris hasn’t belonged only to himself since Sebastian came into his life.

Chris tops. Sebastian bottoms. That’s just how it is between them, how they both like it to be, and that’s how it stays until one particular day less than a year into their relationship when Chris is having an especially bad run with his anxiety.

It’s been simmering for almost a month, well into month two now of Chris not having a chance to see Seb, thanks to the complications of their still-secret relationship and filming schedules. Chris has wrapped up his job but Sebastian’s is still going for another several weeks and Chris has also been fighting with his agent about a few things and he’s got a press tour coming up that he’s not looking forward to and he’s starting to feel like an exposed nerve, cracked open and raw and hurting, and he… he needs to see Seb. He needs to touch him and hold him and he needs to be held himself. He makes the decision to do it and then he’s on a plane out of Boston Logan International Airport within the next four hours. He texts Seb only once he’s landed.

I’m here. Sorry. Which hotel do they have you in.

He’s had the entire flight to think about it and Chris thinks he knows what he wants. He’s got a plan. He’s going to wrap Seb up in his arms and kiss him breathless and then he’s going to start to feel in control of his life and his emotions again once he gets to see the way that Seb melts beneath him… But then he’s actually there, and he’s knocking on Seb’s hotel room door and Seb is opening it with an alarmed, concerned expression. There are tears of frustration finally falling from Chris’s eyes.

Chris’s whole plan goes out the window.

His kisses are desperate; raw. Chris is pouring emotion out from between his lips and Seb is catching it, trying to be the calm in the middle of a troubled storm. He’d known before Chris even got there that something about the night is going to be wildly different, but he still doesn’t expect it when Chris rolls them over so that he’s on his back with Seb on top of him and croaking out—

“Want you inside of me, Seb, baby. Please.”

Seb opens him up with the lube Chris had been carrying in his back pocket, even if it isn’t being used for the reason Chris thought it would be when he’d stuck it there. He goes slow because his fingers being inside of Chris aren’t new but the expression on Chris’s face is. He feels a little sting of hesitation when Chris lets out a husky whine of, “Seb… Seb honey I’m ready, just fuck me,” but he’s gone this long already without ever once ignoring a command that Chris gives him in bed and he’s not about to start now.

Chris is not prepared for how different Seb’s cock feels compared to just his fingers. He feels like he’s being split open when Seb pushes in, is about to ask Seb if this is how he feels every time when Seb beats him to it, swallows his noises and shushes him, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay Chris, it gets better.”

(Chris can hardly believe that part. He is vulnerable beneath the man he loves and he is bursting at the seams with Sebastian; he doesn’t know how it could get better.)

It does change, just like Seb promises. By the time Seb is moving inside him the feeling goes from too-full too-much, a blissful stinging stretch that crushes on his lungs from down beneath his chest, to an almost overwhelming kind of pleasure that burns him from the inside out. Chris had gone soft against his own stomach at the initial penetration, but it’s the new drag against his insides that makes him fatten up again and start to leak. He learns he can clench down and make Sebastian gasp like that.

The night isn’t technically flawless, but it is exactly perfect. Seb hasn’t fucked anyone in a long time so he has to stop a few times and squeeze at the base of his own cock to keep from coming too early. They share whispers of “I love you” between “harder” and “so good” and “please”. After a while they figure out the angle that lets Seb’s cock head rub over Chris’s prostate on every thrust. Neither of them last very long after that.

It’s not what Chris expected it to be like when Seb spills up inside him, bare like they’ve done it for months now. He thought it would feel hot but it doesn’t, just... wet. It leaves him feeling open and sloppy in a way that reminds him thoroughly that Seb just used his insides to make himself come and it’s that thought— that feeling in his chest, that relieved smile melting across his own face— that makes Chris feel like he might understand now why so many people prefer to be loved from the bottom.

(They shower and cuddle afterwards, of course. Chris tells Seb everything he’s already told him over the phone but with a different kind of context now. Every stress in his life. Every night he couldn’t sleep because he missed Sebastian too much to even understand it himself.)

 masterlist [x] 

[angelmavmurdock]

• Babysitting •

A/N: I have such a huge soft spot for Tom with kids like 😭 my heart. this is one of my favourites if i'm being honest 🥺

You and Tom have been dating for 4 months now. He's met your 2 year old son a few times but he hasn't ever been alone with him. But tonight was one of your friends' birthday party and you wanted to go without Oscar but your parents were out of town. So Tom had agreed to babysit him. He seemed a little nervous but mostly excited.

"Okay! Mummy's going to go now!" You said to Oscar, lifting him out of his high chair and sitting him on your hip.

"Bye-bye." Oscar said cutely and waved his arms frantically, nearly whipping your eyelashes off.

"I'll see you in the morning, baba." You kissed his head.

"Can I get a kiss?" You asked, looking at him hopefully.

A cute, lopsided smile grew on his face and he leaned into your cheek and left an open mouth kiss on your cheek, probably taking half of your makeup off but you didn't care.

"Okay, here we go." You handed Oscar over to Tom and he took him with ease, propping him up on his arm. Oscar started to wail a heartbreaking wail. A pout grew on your face watching your baby cry.

"Go, I've got this." Tom smiled.

You smiled and kissed him softly. He lingered for a moment, touching your side gently before you parted.

"Have fun! I love you both!" You blew kisses as you clicked out the door, watching Oscar cry at you leaving and Tom smiled at you.

"Alright, alright." Tom said, placing Oscar back on his bare feet.

He kept crying, padding up to the apartment door and standing, hoping you were coming back.

Tom sighed, he didn't know what to do with crying babies.

He looked at the list you had written out and stuck to the fridge.

If he's crying, give him some water in a sippy cup and turn on paw patrol.

"Sounds good to me. Come on Oscar! Come on!" He held his hand out for Oscar to take but he didn't budge, he stayed at the door crying his eyes out.

Tom went into the cupboard and took out one of Oscar's many sippy cups. He filled it up with water then walked over to Oscar.

"Look! I've got some water!" He held it out in front of him. Oscar took it but then threw it on the floor, luckily nothing spilled.

"Right, come on." Tom lifted Oscar up and then the sippy cup. He walked him over to the couch where he sat him down in front of the TV. He quickly turned on the TV and put on Paw Patrol.

The theme song immediately made Oscar's ears perk up. His crying stopped and he turned to the TV, his mouth agape with wonder as he watched. Tom smiled as he sat the sippy cup on Oscar's lap.

"Good boy." He ran a hand over his thin blonde hair.

He sighed with relief as he went back to the kitchen and started clearing up. He wiped down Oscar's high chair and put all the crumbs in the bin. He sweeped the crumbs off the floor and then he went into the fridge, about to grab himself a beer.

"Nope, can't do that tonight." He said to himself before opting for a bottle of water.

He opened the bottle and sat down next to Oscar, wrapping his right arm around him.

"Rubble!" Oscar squealed and bobbed up and down on his bum as he saw a dog with a construction helmet come on the screen.

"Who's that?" Tom asked with a smile.

"Rubble!" Oscar said again.

Tom smiled down at him. Oscar was the cutest baby he had ever seen. Fair skin, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He had a baby blue onesie on paired with his white nappy.

Tom watched the Paw Patrol episode with Oscar - well, he was more watching Oscar watching Paw Patrol but...same difference.

Just before the episode ended, Tom got up to check the list.

Bed time at 8 o'clock.

Brush teeth GENTLY .

Change nappy - instructions on changing table and take him out of onesie.

Give him my breast milk in the fridge. You've done that before.

Read a book to him - anything with animals is a winner.

Turn on sound machine and close the door.

I'll be back at 9:30. I love you <3

He smiled at your handwriting and your note.

He checked his watch and it was just coming up for 7 pm.

"Well I guess we have a few more Paw Patrol episodes to go." He said to Oscar as he jumped back on the couch.

-

"Peek-a-boo!" Tom came out from behind the couch and Oscar laughed his little head off.

"You have your mother's laugh, Oscar; loud and completely adorable." Tom said with a smile as he came back to the fluffy rug that Oscar was sitting on.

"What's your favourite toy, huh? Which one?" Tom pointed to the box full of toys he had brought out from Oscar's nursery.

Oscar stood up, nearly tumbling over but Tom managed to catch him before he did. He stood straight then wobbled over to the box. He rummaged through it, throwing things out that he didn't like very dramatically.

"Woah, Oscar." Tom laughed as a toy car nearly crashed into his face.

"Ba-bee!" Oscar pulled out a half-dressed barbie doll.

"You want the barbie doll?" Tom asked.

"Yeah! Ba-bee!" Oscar giggled.

"Okay, well first we have to dress her don't we." Tom said and he searched the box for some barbie clothes.

He was aware that Barbie's were considered a 'girly' toy. But he wanted Oscar to have a male figure in his life that was okay with him playing with Barbie's or dressing up as princesses, because most boys don't get taught that. And that's what toxic masculinity is. He didn't want any toxic masculinity in this house.

Tom played Barbie's with Oscar for a while which was a new experience but he didn't mind it one bit.

He checked his watch after a while and it was 7:45pm already.

"Oscar, we have to clean up now." Tom pouted his lips sadly.

"No! I wan more ba-bees!" Oscar copied Tom, pouting his lips.

"Why don't we bring barbie with us? Does that sound good?" Tom said as excitedly as he could, trying to get Oscar more enthused about going to bed.

"Yey!" He bobbed up and down on his bum again, a few spit bubbles popping and drooling down his chin.

"Let's go!" Tom stood up and as he did, he scooped Oscar up in his arms and threw him over his shoulder. Oscar squealed and giggled with delight as Tom whooshed him like he was flying through to the bathroom. He sat him down on the counter top with a robotic sound and Oscar laughed, showing his incoming front teeth.

Tom sang a random song as he put the toothpaste on the small toothbrush and began brushing Oscar's teeth.

"Oh baby give me one more chance! To show you that I love you!" Tom sang 'I want you back' to Oscar as he brushed his teeth gently so he would be entertained.

After brushing his teeth and rinsing the brush, Tom continued his wooshing and robotic sounds as he moved Oscar into his nursery and onto the changing table.

"Okay...let's do this, little man. We can do this." Tom said to himself more than to Oscar as he read the instructions you left for him.

"Let's take this off then." Tom removed Oscar's nappy and scrunched his face as he saw what was on it. He wiped Oscar's bum gently and threw the wipes and the dirty nappy into the bin.

He took a new nappy out and carefully placed it underneath him. He dried him with a soft towel then put some nappy cream on his skin.

"All moisturised. You'll have great skin, mate." Tom held his thumbs up and Oscar laughed, still clutching his barbie.

He fastened the back panel to the front panel relatively snug.

"Oscar! I did it! I changed your nappy!" Tom danced a little, making Oscar giggle again.

"Okay changing time then bed time." He carefully slipped Oscar out of his onesie and Oscar immediately started clutching his feet as he folded the onesie.

"Right, let's get you in bed." Tom lifted him up and placed him in his crib. As soon as he stood back, Oscar started crying.

"Hey, shhh, I'm here." He held a hand down and Oscar clutched his pointer finger.

Tom felt some weird surge flow through his body.

It was love.

He loved this wee guy.

And he loved you.

"Okay, don't tell your mum I'm doing this." Tom lifted Oscar back out and held him against his shoulder. He brought him through to your room and he lay him down on the bed. He wrapped him around with blankets and pillows so he was secure, then he went to the kitchen. He washed his hands then went into the fridge and got a bottle of your breast milk out.

Tom was still amazed that you could do that, he's just sit and watch as you worked and breast pumped and he was confused but in awe every time you did it.

He quickly came back through and handed Oscar the bottle.

"Here you go." Tom got onto the bed with him and snuggled up next to him, taking his shirt off and grabbing an animal book.

"Okay...I'm dyslexic so don't mind my shi- my BAD reading." He stopped himself from swearing and smiled at himself as he imagined your reaction.

"Once upon a time..."

-

"Hello?" You whisper shouted as you closed the front door behind you and kicked off your heels.

"In here!" You heard Tom whisper.

You were slightly drunk and had to pump and dump but you were excited to see Tom.

You opened your bedroom door and your eyes widened at the sight you were seeing.

Tom shirtless on your bed with a book in his right hand and Oscar snuggled into his left armpit, covered in blankets.

"How are my two gorgeous boys doing?" You grinned with joy as you sat your bag and jacket down and walked over to them, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We watched paw patrol, then we played Barbies," Oscar interrupted by waving his barbie around with a giggle.

"Oh wow!" You gasped, taking Oscars hand, stopping him from the waving and just because you wanted to hold his hand.

"And then we were reading but I'm not very good at that am I?" Tom asked Oscar and Oscar thought about it before shaking his head.

"Well, Oskie, we need to get you in bed. It's way past your bed time, baby." You glanced at Tom.

"We were having too much fun." He smiled.

You couldn't help but shake your head and smirk at him. Oscar yawned and stretched as Tom passed him to you.

"Come on sleepy head." You said, taking him from Tom and walking to his nursery, placing him in cot and putting his sound machine on. You closed the door behind you and then went into your bedroom.

"Was it fun?" You asked, unzipping your dress then jumping in bed next to Tom.

"So much fun." He said with a huge smile.

"I love you." You said, snuggling into his chest.

"I love you more." He said and kissed your hair.

[originalhybridloverfics]

That We'll Always Be There For Each Other. Always. - Shayveride Fic- Ch3

A/N: This is a repost by request.

Severide paced the length of the hospital hallway anxiously, running a frantic hand through his hair repeatedly and rubbing at the back of his neck. He looked toward the closed door to Shay's hospital room.

It had been nearly half an hour since the doctors had come rushing into her room while simultaneously having him leave the room. He had watched as they removed the tube from her throat but then they closed the door, shutting him out into the hall.

What was taking so long?

He turned pacing the length of the hallway once again, the worry and fear for Shay overwhelming his senses, leaving him anxious and terrified. He rubbed his hand down his face, pushing down the urge to punch a hole in the wall, to hit something. He needed to be doing something, anything, not knowing was driving him mad.

The sound of a door clicking open had him whirling around to see the nurses leaving Shay's room followed closely by the doctor.

He walked quickly toward the doctor. "Is she alright? How is Shay?" The nerves and anxiousness coming off him in waves.

"She appears to be fine at the moment but we had to give her a mild sedative. she was struggling too much while we were trying to remove the tubes. She should gain consciousness again in just a few hours." The doctor informed him.

"You're sure she's going to wake up again, right?" Severide asked, wishing that they hadn't given her a sedative, wanting to talk to her and because he had this irrational fear that she would slip back into the coma.

"I'm very certain she will." The doctor assured with a faint reassuring smile. " Feel free to sit with her. And perhaps call her family and let them know about the improvement of her condition."

Severide nodded quickly, thanking the doctor before heading straight for her room and returning to her bedside. He sat close to her and he felt the weight that was living on his chest, lighten a bit at the sight of her no longer having a tube down her throat.

He grasped her hand and brought it up to his mouth, pressing his lips delicately to her knuckles. Looking at her now she appeared to only be sleeping peacefully.

He pulled his lips away from her hand and placed it softly back at her side as he realized he needed to make a few calls and call the Firehouse and Shay's family, letting them know the change in Shay's condition. He stood from his chair and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Shay's forehead. "I'll be right back." He promised before excusing himself from the room.

He made his way outside the hospital, deciding he get some fresh air while he made the necessary calls. He fished his phone out of his pocket and called Shay's family first, telling them the good news, to say they were relieved or thrilled would be an understatement, promising they would be at the hospital soon wanting to be there for the next time Shay woke up.

After he called her family he called Boden, knowing he would share the news with the rest of the house. Boden had been relieved and happy at the news and promised that after shift they would all stop by to see Shay. After all it was the good news they've all been hoping for and fear they wouldn't get but luckily God had been on their side this time.

And then finally he dialed Dawson wanting to give her the news himself while he would have liked to do it in person he wasn't about to leave the hospital to do so, he was just about to lift it to his ear when he heard her voice from a few feet away. "Severide, hey."

He turned around to see Dawson walking toward him, dressed in her work uniform obviously she was just stopping by while she could before the next call came in.

She paused as her phone buzzed in her pocket. Severide quickly hung up his phone and put it away. "Don't bother answering that, I was just attempting to call you."

Dawson's eyes filled with concern and trepidation. "What's wrong? Is it Shay? Did something go wrong?"

"No, nothing went wrong." He was quick to assure her and he couldn't hold back the relieved grin, pulling at the corner of his lips as they lifted into a smile. "Shay woke up from her coma."

"What?" Dawson breathed as a smile broke free, one full of relief. "Oh my god!" She threw her arms around him, letting the relief wash over her.

Severide returned it, sharing in the relief. Both more happy than they could possibly say that Shay had awoken from her coma.

Dawson released him, taking a small step back. "Can we see her?"

"She's resting right now, the doctors had to give her a small sedative but they said she'll wake in a few hours." He turned, making his way back inside the hospital with Dawson falling into step beside him. "But they said we could sit with her till then."

"Good." Dawson said as they made their way through the hospital and back toward Shay's room.

Neither hesitated in going in and making themselves comfortable at her bedside, with the two chairs kept close to her bed.

Dawson felt such relief looking at Shay now no longer having a tube down her throat she just appeared to be sleeping peacefully. It was a welcoming sight compared to the previous one.

Dawson sat there for five minutes before she forced herself to get up because she was still on shift. "You'll call me as soon as she wakes up, right?"

Severide nodded. "I will." He promised.

"Good." Dawson squeezed Shay's arm lightly before turning heading out to get back to the ambo with every intention of finishing up her shift and returning back here immediately afterwards.

Severide watched her disappear out the room before returning his gaze back to Shay, smiling softly at her sleeping peacefully form. He took her hand in his and leant back in his chair, allowing himself to relax for the first time in what felt like weeks which was more than likely true sense he had done nothing but work his shifts on squad and spent every waking and non-waking moment beside Shay's bedside.

Shay's family showed up not long after and they all sat around the room, talking quietly, an easy air between them knowing Shay would wake in only a couple of hours, all wanting to be there for when she woke up.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he woke up it was just him in the room. He figured Mr. and Mrs Shay, Shay's parents and her sister, Megan must have gone to get a snack from the cafeteria or maybe something from one of the hospital vending machines.

He sat up straighter, lifting his head from Shay's bed where he had been slumped over, resting his head on his arms. He stretched his back and loosened up his arms before rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. And turned his head to look at the clock on the far wall, it had been a few hours since the doctors had given Shay the sedative so if the doctors were right she should be waking up soon.

He captured her hand closest to him in his own, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand while he leant forward reaching toward her face with his other hand, brushing her hair back from her face, cupping her jaw, and gently rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

He was just about to pull his hand away when she turned her head into his hand, leaning into it, he sucked in a sharp breath, the air caught in his chest as he stopped breathing for just a moment before he spoke her name breathlessly. "Shay?"

She didn't seem to respond to the sound of her name but more to the sound of his voice as a little noise escaped from her slightly parted lips, her head leaning more into his hand, her eyes beginning to flutter.

"Can you open your eyes, Shay?" He asked softly barely above a whisper. "Open your eyes, Shay, please. Please. Just open your eyes for me." He saw her eyes begin to flutter rapidly, her eyelashes brushing against her skin as she struggled to open them. "That's it. Open your eyes."

Shay's eyes fluttered open and Severide's breath left him in a rush as his breathing returned to normal. The familiar beautiful blue staring back at him was a welcoming sight he had started to lose hope of ever seeing again. He felt immense relief wash over him, the weight on his chest since finding her in that warehouse not breathing finally lifting completely.

"Hey." He breathed, his eyes shining, throat tightening as emotion welled up in his chest. " You really had me worried for a while there."

When the blonde had first begun to awaken, she could feel a touch on her hand, soothing in its motion, she could feel a hand cupping her jaw carefully like she was spun glass and could break at the slightest real pressure. It had been a struggle to open her eyes but the masculine voice speaking encouraging words had her fighting harder to do so.

When she finally did open her eyes it was to a white room, a beeping monitor and a man at her bedside. She wasn't too sure where she was but a voice that sounded like her own in the back of her head told her that she was in the hospital but it was muddled when all she was able to focus on was the man sitting closely at her bedside, gripping her hand and cupping her jaw.

She could see relief in his eyes that were shining, almost wet with tears. She could see the emotion in his face as he seemed overcome with it. But what she didn't understand was why?

Why was there such an overwhelming amount of relief coming off of him in waves? Why was he looking at her the way he was? Like he was a dying man of thirst and she was the first drop of water he's had in weeks. Why was he at her bedside? Just who was he?

"Who.." her voice ache from disuse and sounded scratchy and felt even worse. "Who are you?"

Severide frowned at her. He knew Shay loved to joke, she liked to inject some levity into a tense situation to lighten things up a bit but after everything he didn't find her current joke very funny. At all. "That's not funny Shay."

Her brows furrowed, eyes filled with confusion. "Who is Shay?"

Severide eyes widened and he withdrew his hands from her slowly, his eyes flitting over her face, taking in every expression, tic or tale. "Are you serious right now?"

Shay just stared at him, unblinkingly, her face gravely serious as she stared at him with nothing but confusion.

Severide withdrew even more from her, standing from his chair and taking a step back. "Do you not know who I am? Who you are?"

"I have no idea who you are?" She paused and the monitor she was hooked up to started to beep faster. "I don't, I don't remember anything?" The monitor beeped faster, her heart beating faster in fear. "I don't even remember who I am?" Her breaths came quick, her chest tightening.

"Who are you? Who is Shay? Why am I here? What happened? Why can't I remember anything?!"

Severide's eyes widened as he realized she wasn't joking. She didn't remember him. She didn't remember what happened. She didn't remember her name. Hell she didn't remember anything. Nothing. He stumbled backwards a few steps, knocking his chair back against the wall. "I'll - I'll get the doctor." He mumbled, hastily walking from the room, feeling a weight weighing down on his chest again like a lead weight. A vice wounding around his heart in a ironclad grip as dread filled him.

He stumbled from her room in a daze.

Shay didn't remember him. She didn't remember who she was. She didn't remember anything.

He tried to clear his head but he couldn't. He kept going back to that fact that his best friend, his Shay, the one person he trusted in the world, who he couldn't imagine living without, who he needed more than anyone or anything else, couldn't remember him.

She didn't remember him.

It echoed in his head again and again and again on an endless never-ending loop.

She didn't remember him.

Tags: @paws-in-the-night

[passivenovember]

The Skull on the Shelf that Bares My Name

This is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, so. Here goes nothing

__

Billy was like an oil painting that had been around for a thousand years. Pretty in the right lighting, hideous in the swell of nightfall. All rough edges and smeared color, full of broken things inside that cut through the air and rattled around like shattered glass whenever anyone got too close, bristling and blowing with the 75mph wind that tumbled through his soul.

Billy thought it was breathtaking.

Thought he was breathtaking with split knuckles and broken ribs. Matted hair tangled with dried blood. Busted lips painted red, color spilling down his chin when he smiled too wide at his reflection.

He liked it messy and hideous.

Did everything he could to destroy the precious image, the golden boy.

He had always been pretty. Like a girl; sparkly eyes and curly hair. Neil had always old him someone would come along and color outside the lines, scribble over the image his mother had left behind and Billy had always been so breakable in the face of adversity.

Flinching against hurt and agony until it became commonplace. Until he grew tired of gluing himself back together every night under the light of the moon.

His face was beautiful like a sculpture carved from stone, or a window into the face of his mother and her mother, but.

Billy himself was like a cardboard box full of glass.

The Billy on the inside was sharp.

And crude.

And violent, when the mood struck him. Ask anyone and they'd tell you; guy's like a train barreling through an apartment building.

And he was.

A glorious, terrible, beautiful, ravenous storm brewing in the open sea.

Billy hadn't known girls could be hazardous.

He knew they were soft. Pretty, delicate and sometimes tough when they had to be. His mother had been like that--brazen. Flighty and aggressive in a different way, like when the sun emerges from the clouds and shines too brightly.

She was warm and loving.

Perfect in her femininity. Billy looked nothing like his mother because she dressed like a wood nymph, all sheer fabric and dresses that defied gravity. Her hair was blonde and curly, always pinned back with clips and beautiful scarves and Billy wanted desperately to look like her.

Film star beauty.

Painted lips, soft hands. When she threw herself off the bridge he brushed his fingertips over the fabric in her closet and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the world at your feet.

She was so beautiful it felt like swallowing tar.

Hot and boiling on a summer's day.

Billy pulled something from the rack, ran his fingers around the liquid soft fabric of his mother's favorite dress; the white one with the pearl neckline that felt like water settling around his shoulders. They said she was going to be buried in this one and Billy hated it.

Hated that something so beautiful, so delicate would rot away in the cool, damp earth.

He sat in front of her vanity and watched the light twinkle against the jewels that littered the countertop; rubies, emeralds, opal stone cut into neat shapes. When he was a child Billy's mother would let him play with her rings because they made good skipping stones in the pond out back.

We'll always find more, his mother would say, and it was true. Neil spared no expense in making her shine like a million stars as if she didn't already steal the air from every room.

Pocket it in her velvet handbags for safekeeping.

Billy put a ring on each finger and studied his reflection in the pristine vintage mirror.

He looked like a rat.

A rat in a pretty dress, playing pretend for a day.

The front door slammed open and Billy put the dress back on the hanger.

The girl on the T.V. wasn't like his mother at all.

Not soft or feminine, but smoldering. Alight with power and freedom as she strutted around the stage. She looked like her eyes were swimming in water; thick black makeup smudged around green orbs, hair messy and tangled, legs littered bruises that peaked through the holes in her stockings as the lights threw her into disarray.

Slut kiss girls won't you promise her smack

is she ugly on the inside

is she ugly from the back...

The woman was a disaster packaged in something almost pretty but not quite. Like a beauty queen moments after winning the crown fair and square, tear stained makeup and fleeting promises of eternal beauty. She flung herself around the stage, dress ripped to shreds as the hands of the audience tried to tear away pieces of her flesh.

Her fingers were bruised and bloody as she wailed away on the guitar. Nails cracked and worn with the weight of her vengeance. With each press of her lips against the microphone the color oozed outside the lines of her mouth until she looked like a living dead girl and Billy.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

The first time he put on a dress for real it had been an homage to his silver screen queen.

Black shift dress. Baby doll sleeves. Torn stockings and barrettes in his hair.

Kinderwhore they called it.

Billy stood awkwardly in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make sense of the princess seam that came to an unsteady rest just above the line of his ribs. The clinging fabric felt nothing like the one his mother had been buried in it felt.

Dirty.

Sinful. Instantly cloaked in assumptions; he does heroin. He's a a bum and a loser in search of something the music can't give him so he searches for it in the sting of a needle. Billy bit down on his lips until they bled.

The color ran thick like maple syrup over the skin of his face, bringing out the blue in his eyes as it ran down his chin. As it caught in the stubble-rough landing of his jawline.

Billy looked like a mess.

Instantly, he was addicted. The first time Billy saw her he knew; that was his own image reflected back at him from the fifteen inch screen.

He began looking for inspiration wherever he could find it.

Debbie Harry, Freddie Mercury, Joan Jett, David Bowie. Women and men. Gods. His heroes. Feminine and masculine and dirty.

Courtney Love was always his favorite.

Filthy. Absolutely gut wrenching. Every time he saw her perform it was like his spleen was being ripped out and Billy couldn't escape the way he saw so much of himself reflected in her. All his rage and discomfort, his fury amplified by a million.

So he tried to emulate it.

Billy shopped around local thrift stores to find leopard print jackets and peasant tops. Dresses that hung wide or snuggled against the swell of his hips, kitten heels that brought much needed length to his hamburger legs and when he brought them home, always through the backdoor and stuffed carefully into a trash bag, Neil would raise an eyebrow.

Playing dress up?

Billy would grimace. Max is lookin' to be a Debbie Harry for Halloween. 'M helpin' her find the prefect dress.

And Neil drank like the answers sawm in a bottle of gin, so.

He would raise a fist at that. Never fully convinced but satiated, content with Billy playing the perfect older brother. His nose would bleed on the nights when Neil couldn't shake the impression that his son was a faggot but that was as far as it went.

Max never asked questions and Billy never told her the truth; that he felt more like himself when Courtney Love stared back at him in the mirror.

She sat with him sometimes.

Watched him apply his mother's lipstick, carefully at first and then all at once when the music carried him down.

Black lung coat and your little crown That's the crown that you get for falling down Hey baby, let me look in your eyes I see you standing in a weird red light...

"Why do you listen to this shit?" Max wrinkled her nose. Like a freckled bunny rabbit, it was kind of ridiculous. "She screams so fuckin' loud, you can't even understand what she's--"

"Mascara."

"Why? I know girls who would kill for your eyelashes."

Billy snapped his fingers. Max handed over the little black tube with a trademark eye roll, resting her chin in her hands as Billy repeated the process of careful application and then careless destruction of his hard work.

"Look prettier when you keep it nice," She snapped.

And Billy just chuckled. "I don't wanna look nice."

Max stared at him, popping a jaw breaker into her mouth. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of makeup, to look pretty?"

Billy scrubbed at his eyes, warmth flooding his stomach again at the way the blue stood out against the black ring around his eyes. Like carefully crafted bruises, nothing like the ones Neil gave him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's so fuckin' predictable." He sat on the bed, pushing the hem of his skirt to roll the nylon against his legs.

"Using makeup and clothes to look worse, fuckin' idiotic." Max grumbled, but she watched with glowing eyes as Billy began scraping his nails down the length, creating runs in the delicate fabric.

"You gonna sit there yapping or are you gonna help?" He bitched.

Max slid to her knees in front of him, getting to work tearing holes into the stockings the way she knew Billy liked.

It was therapeutic, almost, having the help.

"I like when you do Blondie." She said after a while. "Fuck ton less work and Courtney makes you aggressive. She's got the energy of a horny dude, it's fucked up."

Billy smirked.

It was always more fun to play pretend with Max and her bitchy voice tethering him to the ground. He feared that, without it, he'd get lost in the feeling of freedom. Fly too close to the sun or something, catch on fire when he inevitably missed the tell-tale creek of the floorboards that meant Neil was listening in.

Max annoyed the hell out of him, but.

She kept him safe. Why, he didn't know.

Maybe she really was interested in the whole thing, electing to believe that every boy wanted to be a girl because the alternative meant her brother was sick in a way that couldn't be cured.

Billy stood, slipping on the kitten heels while Max held his hand.

He admired his handiwork.

"Gotta hand it you," Max whistled, low like a wolf. "Gets shittier every time we do it."

"Shut up, brat." But Billy was grinning.

For Max, that was a compliment.

Don't blush when I rip you open Hey baby, let me look in your eyes As you go off into your weird red light...

He ran his hands down the soft fabric, relishing the way the hem tickled the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He was pretty.

Not like his mother, not like Courtney Love, but.

Uniquely himself.

Max cocked her head to the side. "Don't you get tired of getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?"

Billy bristled. "Oh yeah? And where could I go in San Fran that wouldn't skin me on the spot for dressing like a bitch?"

"Castro." The gay area.

Billy felt his cheeks darken. He thought about it for a second; the lights, the thralls of people just letting the light in. Being themselves.

He shook his head, turning back to the mirror with a glare. "Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."

"Cool, I'll just fetch my coat." Max turned to leave, chucking when Billy trapped her with an iron grip. "Relax, spaz. Neil would kill us both if he saw you looking like that."

And.

She was right. Billy had thought about it countless times before, what would happen if he threw a jacket over his baby doll dress and slipped out the back door one night. How the cool air would feel on the bare skin of his thighs, but. That's all it ever was. Just speculation.

Only dreams.

Knowing his luck he'd catch Neil in the hallway after his midnight piss and that'd be it. They'd never get the blood out of the wallpaper.

"Looks like we're stuck playing pretend." Billy patted absently at his spring of messy curls, refusing to let the sadness seep through but Max noticed immediately. Perceptive little shit.

She held up a finger, disappearing through the crack in the door. A second later she was back with her polaroid camera.

"Smile."

"No fuckin' way," Billy snarled. He could already imagine it; Neil digging through his sock drawer to find the pot he was always accusing Billy of smoking, only to stumble across something else.

Something worse.

Billy's ribs began to ache with the phantom memory of those fists planting like flower bulbs in fresh soil. He bruised easily, like an overripe peach.

Not everyone knew that about him, but. He did.

Max frowned. "Come on, we could send them to Courtney's P.O. box, I'm sure she'd be flattered."

Billy shook his head, tears swamping his vision as Max lifted the camera. The flash was blinding. Billy lunged for it, swearing as Max slipped past his grip. She took another picture.

And another.

And then another, until polaroid's littered the floor like fallen leaves on the dirty ground. Billy had tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his makeup by the time she finally stopped. He held out his hand. "Max, just. Give that fuckin' thing to me. Now, we gotta burn this shit, alright? We gotta--"

But she wasn't listening, she was staring at the first image she had taken, when Billy was caught off guard. Max was absorbed in it, eyes glittering with something Billy had never seen before.

He snatched the picture from her hands and lifted it up to his face, brow wrinkled in disgust until--

This wasn't anything like staring in the mirror.

It felt more immediate, more real as Billy examined the image of a flawless stranger. Of a woman.

Of Courtney Love.

"Pretty," Max said.

And.

Yeah. He was.

They started taking pictures every time Billy got dressed up.

Max would help him get ready and then they'd do little photoshoots in his bedroom. He was a reluctant subject at first, awkward in his own skin until she suggested they smoke a joint before each session.

"To loosen you up a little, dick wad."

"What kinda brother would I be if I let my kid sister smoke pot?" Billy shook his head. "Absolutely not, Max."

She shrugged. "Then you do it."

So, he did.

And it helped. They switched up the music, finding it easiest to shoot to The Smashing Pumpkins, played with lighting and mood until she was satisfied with the "vibe," made immortal on film.

The images Max captured were like moments in time, archived in the shoebox under his bed. Billy looked like a rock star in every one--Debbie Harry on some days, Courtney on others; hair messy, cigarette trapped between his fingers, stockings ripped to shreds.

Max admitted that Courtney was her favorite, after a while, so that's the one that stuck.

And Billy loved every picture she took. Loved her artistic eye, obvious in the way she moved his lamp around the room to capture his features just so. Every session was serious like she was the photographer at Rolling Stone and he was her subject for the week.

It was addictive.

They had been taking pictures every night for a month when Neil caught them in the act.

The first punch felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and Billy hit the floor without so much as a fight.

He remembers blood on the carpet.

Blood in his hair. On the walls. A splitting pain in his ribs and between his legs.

Keep digging your own grave, William.

Max patched him up after Neil's car tore out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry Billy." He hadn't realised she was crying. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "It's all my fault, I didn't mean--"

"I felt pretty." He said.

They stopped taking pictures after that.

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana was like stepping off the Earth and floating through space.

Billy felt weightless.

Every mistake, every hidden secret cloaked in baby doll dresses and leopard print coats had been left in San Francisco where they belonged. Stuffed in the back of his closet with the polaroid's they were able to tape back together.

He tried to forget the way it made him feel.

"You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Billy could tell that from the way Steve's lips curled into a snarl.

He pushed his way into Billy's space, clearly drunk and high off something that made his pupils swallow the milky brown of his eyes.

Steve looked like he was swimming.

There were track marks in his arm. "You're like a vision," He reached out to touch, to feel, flinching back when Billy slapped his hand away.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, Harrington--"

"I think I'm in love with you."

And Billy had thought the same thing, the first time they ran into each other at the gay bar in Indianapolis, but. People talked.

Hawkins talked, like the city itself was an entity with a pulse and conscience that had been shot to shit in the eighties. Billy did his best to glare. "You don't love me, pretty boy."

"No, I." Steve grinned. He was high as a fucking kite. "I do. You're my guardian angel." He laughed hysterically, in a way that made Billy's skin crawl.

"What, your dealer tell you that?" He huffed.

And it was mean.

So fucking mean. If Steve was a junkie his skin wouldn't be so clear, so smooth. Like black cherries in milk, goddammit. Billy wanted to lap at the skin on his neck, taste the salt of his skin.

He wondered distantly if he'd be able to get high from it.

Probably. Steve smiled anyway. "Let me take you home."

"Such a fuckin' line," Billy said.

But he was already tugging pretty boy through the crowd.

Billy kept his dresses in the back of his closet where he kept his mother's suicide letters.

She had written more than one, consumed by her sadness in a way Billy had never understood until he had taken the fairy light inside him and smothered it.

Every once in a while, when Neil was out of the house and Max was at school or something, He'd take one out just to feel the weightlessness of the fabric settle against his skin.

Like little paper angels.

Like the whisper of something like hope but not quite, just out of reach.

He never did the full look anymore. Never put his heart and soul into it the way he had before, when Max was there to keep him from floating away, but.

Gradually he felt himself catch fire.

They had been together for three months when Steve peeled back the layers.

Neil was away on business, so Steve was sleeping over. Needed a shirt or sweats or to sleep in, catching sight of something bright red and shiny as he shifted the leather jackets at Greatful Dead t-shirts to the side to expose a stash of beautiful gowns that shone like an open sore against the soft light in Billy's bedroom.

Billy came through the open door, words dying on his lips as the bong in his hand shattered on the floor.

Steve held the dress up against the light, tongue poking out of his mouth in consideration.

"Max wants to be Debbie Harry for Halloween," Billy fished for his old excuse, eyes welling up with tears when Steve's jaw set in a firm line. "I'm helping her find the perfect dress, I--"

"Bill's--"

"That's not mine, Steve, I swear." Billy dropped to the floor.

Got on his fucking knees, hands level with his face in a silent prayer as he tripped over himself to rebuild the walls that had kept him safe. He was talking, spewing bullshit as Steve stood motionless against the closet door. Billy flung his arms around Steve's legs. Buried his face in his thighs, because.

He couldn't go through it again.

Wouldn't survive it.

"I never even seen that before, Stevie, please."

"Get up." Pretty boy commanded.

And.

Billy blinked teary, soulful eyes at him. "Huh?"

Steve shook his head. "I said stand up, baby. Get off the fucking floor."

Billy did. Steve watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Billy prepared himself for the gut punch, the harsh word, the look of disgust in those eyes that had never shown anything but reverence for Billy, but it never came. In a single, syrupy slow motion Steve held the dress to Billy's throat, scanning him up and down in a way that left Bill naked and squirming.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, as Steve smiled softly.

"Wanna see you." He said.

And. "What?"

"Can you put it on for me?" Steve asked. "Bet you look gorgeous. Like an angel, or a model or something--"

Billy let out a thick, wet sound. "I look like a beast, I'm--"

"No." Billy jumped when Steve nuzzled against his neck, the dress trapped like a gossamer curtain between them. "Bet you look like a deity. A goddess of rock n' roll. Like Courtney Love, right?"

And Billy had done a lot of things in his life. He was a builder of fortresses, a hider, an adventurer when the mood struck him. Billy protected himself and Max and his mother for as long as he could remember, carrying things that were too heavy for those with weaker shoulders, but.

He had never shown himself to someone he loved. No sugar, no cream, just.

Completely himself.

Billy took the dress and opened the safe in the corner. Pulled out his mother's makeup and painted himself into a masterpiece as Steve watched, motionless on the bed.

When he was done Billy was afraid to look in the mirror.

Terrified of what he'd see but Steve took him in his arms, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until Billy had built up enough courage.

"Ready? Steve whispered.

Billy let himself be turned around. Situated under the heavy sling of Steve's arm, until--

"Pretty."

Steve nodded. "Beautiful."

[thatvixenchick]

AUgust Day 15 - Role Reversal

Spideypool from Marvel requested by Violet

Wade was astoundingly disappointed that his new spider powers did not include him producing webs from his wrists (or elsewhere). Like, yeah, he knew Spidey made the webslingers, but still! No natural webbing at all, even from the dick! (He checked, just in case, to settle that one meme debate.) What a ripoff.

His super strength was through the roof, however. Considering how fragile spiders typically were, he didn’t quite understand that correlation, but whatever. He could yeet cars now. Cool factor overrides logic, okay? Now if he could only stop sticking to things at inopportune moments, all would be good. Well, that and the enhanced senses. NYC was loud as fuck, though it was less annoying than the boxes, so there was that.

Wade had been a little concerned that Spider-man had inherited the boxes, but it appeared that 4th wall powers had to be honed for a long time before such things started popping up. And hey, maybe Spidey was sane enough to avoid seeing them at all. Wade was honestly jealous of such sanity!

As for Spidey no longer having his own powers, well, Wade didn’t feel bad, really. After all, as previously established, Spidey made his own webslingers. He could make other things, too, like a suit to mimic super strength and sticky powers. If Iron Dick could do it, then so could Spidey! It wouldn’t take long for him to get back to superheroing, so it’d be fine. In the meantime, the enforced break might make him consider retirement. The world was full of heroes, after all. One less wouldn’t hurt anything, no matter how cool Spider-man was.

That didn’t mean Spidey was happy about the loss of his powers, so Wade had to keep two steps ahead. It was easy at first to avoid Spidey, what with Wade having the superjump ability and Spidey having a harder time webslinging for long periods of time. It was inevitable that Wade would be cornered, though. Spidey’s healing factor felt practically nonexistent. Wade couldn’t imagine how normal people managed to heal a scratch in a decent amount of time if Spidey’s healing was considered fast. He was clearly spoiled.

Well, as stated above, Wade was eventually cornered. Caught in a town about an hour away from NYC, in fact. Which was pretty pathetic. He was used to making a run for it, but his body kept demanding things like food, water, shelter, sleep, and pee breaks. It was totally inefficient. And that stupid spidey sense went off near constantly, making it impossible to focus on things.

Thus, Wade was curled up under a tree in a park. It was dark and the nearby streetlamp was dim, but he was found anyways. Not hard considering he couldn’t stop coughing, and his chest rattled with every inhale of breath. His lungs were taking on fluid, which was a total downer.

Spidey gagged when taking off Wade’s mask, but nobody could blame the poor guy. Wade couldn’t heal the open wounds anymore and was well aware of how bad they stank now that they were festering. He tried to bat Spidey’s hands away, but the movement only made him cough harder. Spidey was babbling something, but Wade was too tired to make it out.

He did, however, notice when Spidey took off his mask. “You’re so normal looking,” Wade wheezed, followed by a laugh that turned into hacking. He wasn’t sure what he expected Spidey to look like under the mask, but of all his daydreams, just an average guy had never really occurred to him. An angel, a savior, a model, the picture of masculine perfection? Sure. But not…

Not some guy with average brown hair and normal brown, bloodshot eyes, and short, wet eyelashes, and squishy cheeks covered in tears, and thin lips pulled back in worry. And what was with that expression? Why was Spidey so upset? He was gonna live forever now, capable of being a hero when he wanted or living a normal life with his normal face and a normal family. Nobody would ever be able to kill him, no matter what, and the best person on this planet would remain in existence, giving hope to everyone.

Spider-man deserved immortality, unlike some people Wade could name.

“You should be happy,” Wade tried to say, though he wasn’t sure if he got enough air to manage. He couldn’t really hear much anymore, despite the enhanced senses. “I’m happy.”

Wade didn’t remember much after that, so he must have blacked out. When he woke again later, he could breathe. He wondered if the fluid had been drained to make him comfortable while waiting on the inevitable, but no, he didn’t smell funky anymore. Or at least, he smelled the normal amount of funky. When he held his hand up to his face, he noticed it was glove free and covered in the usual sight. He watched his skin split and heal over the course of about ten seconds.

“Well, fuck,” he muttered. All that hard work gone.

“Why didn’t you come with me to see Dr. Strange when it happened?” a voice whispered.

Wade looked over to see a perfectly normal guy sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair. He had his head in his hands, eyes closed, body curled up. He looked tired, his average brown hair greasy like he’d been living in that chair for too long. It finally occurred to Wade that they were in a hospital room. He could hardly remember the last time he’d been in a medical facility. He frowned at the needles in his arm.

“Wade,” that voice said again, slightly more insistent. “Why?”

Sighing, Wade leaned back into the flat pillow under him and counted the tiles in the ceiling. “Because I hired that mutant to switch our powers in the first place.”

There was a strained silence before Spidey asked, “You’re still obsessing over that fight three months ago, aren’t you?”

Since they both knew the answer was yes, Wade didn’t deign to answer that. Three months ago, Spidey had been bleeding out and crying in Wade’s arms, shaking with fear and admitting that he didn’t wanna die, that he wanted to experience more things, live a life he’d never had a chance to because of being a hero. And there Wade was, asking to die at any available opportunity and failing. It was unfair, but as far as Wade was concerned, there was an easy fix.

Spidey had pulled through, and Wade vowed to make sure Spidey would never have to be afraid like that again.

“I don’t want you to die, either,” Spidey said.

Wade shrugged. “It’d make a lot of people real happy if I did, though, me included. But you? Nobody wants to lose you. Even your villains like you.”

With what was clearly bone weary exhaustion, Spidey stood up and walked over to the bed. His eyes were bruised with lack of sleep, his skin pale, his face drawn. Wade wondered how long it’d been since they’d swapped powers back for Spidey to look so bad already. It was just another reminder that the person under the mask wasn’t perfect, and the slightest bit of stress turned that normal, average face into something sickly.

And for some reason, that caused fear to claw at Wade’s chest. A perfect person, an angelic person, the pinnacle of masculine attractiveness, those people had all the luck in the world, and that luck kept them alive and happy. Spidey clearly didn’t have that luck. Normal, average Spidey could die at any moment.

“Take it back,” Wade said, and his voice sounded strange, thick, like he was crying. “Take my powers back.”

Spidey reached out and placed a warm, calloused palm over Wade’s cheek. That skin on skin contact crackled along Wade’s whole body starting from that contact point. It made this feel too real. It made Spidey feel too breakable. His skin could split at any time, bones could break, and Wade would be covered in Spidey’s blood again as Wade fought all of NYC’s worst villains to get Spidey to safety.

“Take it!” Wade shouted, his voice cracking.

“No,” Spider-man whispered, his thumb gently brushing along Wade’s cheekbone.

Like the unperfect, demonic, hideous man Wade was, he sobbed and shook and allowed himself to be held by the person who could die at any moment, the person he couldn’t protect, the person he couldn’t stand to lose. And when the name “Peter” was whispered into his ear, the world around him fell apart. And when a soft kiss was pressed onto his forehead, Wade knew that he wouldn’t survive losing this average, normal person he clung to.

Even if Peter never allowed Wade to off himself, Peter would one day die, and there’d be no one left to stop Wade. One day, Wade would find someone even half as worthy as living, and he’d find that mutant again, and he’d swap powers once more. One day, Wade would go to the grave with Peter because the lips pressed to his were as final as a death sentence.

Wade didn’t want to live in a world without Spider-man, but he couldn’t live in a world where Peter left the safety of his arms.

[pixiegrl]

You’re Just a Daydream Away

Ashton and Luke get to enjoy date night:

So, I started this fic because I was telling @lifewasradical​ a funny story about myself and she said you should put it into a fic. The fic then ran away from me and here we are. Enjoy!

On ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894160

It’s date night. Ashton’s never been more thrilled for date night than he is right now. They’re in the sweet spot of the season, between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s when Luke’s at his softest, hyped for the holidays and decorating, getting to go to Australia to see their families. He’s softer this year, excited to spend the time wedding planning with his mother and go around to see different venues and caterers and flower shopping. They’ve started suit shopping in California, but Ashton knows that while Luke’s happy to do it and excited, he’s a little sad he won’t be able to wear a dress. Ashton’s planned a whole surprise for Luke, talked Calum into becoming an ordained minister, so that they can have a smaller ceremony, just the four of them, so Luke can wear a dress, be himself, just for them, for Ashton, for himself. Ashton’s gotten most of the details sorted out, plans to give it to Luke as a Christmas gift, just to see his eyes light up and hear his laughter.

Which leads them back to here on date night. It’s one of the last chances Luke and Ashton will get to have with just each other, some time alone to themselves. They’re still coming off the high of their confessions after the foursome they’d had with Michael and Calum. Ashton’s still riding high, drunk on Luke’s love, his confirmation that he loves Ashton, only wants to be with Ashton. Wonderful, golden, starshine Luke loves Ashton. Reasonably, Ashton knows that Luke loves him, but it makes Ashton giddy to have the confirmation of it. To know that he’s enough for Luke. Ashton’s pleased, that even though he has to share every other part of Luke with the world, he gets this Luke, quiet, brilliant Luke, wrapped up in his florals and glitter and sunlight, all to himself. That Luke is still his, even after all this time.

Ashton’s drunk on it, captivated by Luke, staring at him openly and starry eyed in the middle of the restaurant. Luke’s laughing at something, nose scrunched up, dimples evident on his cheek as he tells the story, waving his hand around. His curls are loose and wild around his face, broken from the hold of hairspray the more Luke drinks, the less restricted he gets. He’s glowing in the lowlights of the restaurant, cheeks sparkling with makeup where they catch the light, complimenting the pink glitter of his eyeshadow. His lips are still slightly pink from his lipstick, most of it now on the rim of his wine glass, which has in turn stained his lips a slight red in the center. He’s wearing a beautiful white gown, flowing tulle and sweetheart neckline, covered in colorful embroidery flowers, flowy off the shoulder sleeves, collarbones shimmering with glitter. Ashton’s been captivated by the line of his necklace, delicate gold chain trailing down his chest, the small gold heart necklace sitting perfectly in the hollow of his throat. He’s a dream, a fantasy, glowing and shining. Like this, he’s Aphrodite, beautiful and regal and lovely. Ashton’s never been more in love then he is in this moment, caught in Luke’s orbit, his warmth.

“Ash, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Luke says, tone light and teasing, nudging his heel against Ashton’s leg. Ashton startles, blushing when he makes eye contact with Luke. Luke laughs again, loud and snorting, grabbing onto Ashton’s hand. Ashton squeezes his hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“I’ve been trying but you’re wearing glitter, Lu. With that top. How am I expected to concentrate on anything when you look like this?”

“Like what?”

“Ethereal. Dreamy. Regal,” Ashton trails off, blushing when Luke’s smile softens.

“No by all means, keep going. Who am I to stop you from your declarations of love?”

“Brat. If I keep stroking your ego, you’ll be insufferable.”

“But darling, I already am,” Luke coos, batting his eyelashes. Ashton laughs, drawing the attention of the other patrons, but he can’t be bothered to care. Not when Luke’s whole face is full of open, fond devotion. Not when Ashton’s so in love, it makes his whole chest ache. He wants to kiss Luke so badly, can’t contain himself, so he leans over the table and presses a quick kiss to Luke’s lips. When he pulls back, Luke is flushed red, barely containing the excited smile on his face.

“Tease. How am I supposed to wait now?” Luke says fondly when Asthon sits back down, goes back to eating his meal. 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait a little longer. I’ve heard this place makes a wonderful Tiramisu and I know how much you like sweets,” Ashton says, aiming for casual, like he didn’t pick a restaurant for date night based on their dessert menu, what they offered, what would be the best thing for Luke’s notorious sweet tooth. He’s good at hiding it, pretending he doesn’t like them, insists that he can’t because he has to look a certain way, maintain a specific public image, but Ashton knows Luke. Knows all his favorite desserts, knows that he likes to always have at least 2 candy options in their house at all times, knows that Luke eats flavored chocolate when he’s sad, milk chocolate, particularly Reese’s, when he’s happy, dark chocolate when he’s at his most content, gummies when he’s drunk. Knows Luke won’t argue with him about dessert during a holiday season in between tours, when he’s soft and happy and cares less about what the public thinks of him and cares more about being content and spending time with Ashton. 

Ashton’s proven right of course, when he sees Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of dessert, doesn’t miss the way he rushes to flag down a waiter, gets Ashton to order dessert and coffee, gazing fondly at Ashton the whole time, bumping their feet together under the table, the fabric flowers on Luke’s heels brushing against Ashton’s suit pants.

“Now who’s being a tease,” Ashton says as soon as the waiter leaves. Luke laughs, head tilted back, exposing his long neck, glittering in the light.

“I love you,” Luke says, voice soft and quiet, locking eyes with Ashton. Ashton smiles back, reaching over and grabbing Luke’s left hand, rubbing his thumb over the engagement ring.

“I love you. I’m so lucky to have you, that you picked me. Luke Hemmings, with the world at his feet, pretty golden boy lead singer, picked me.”

“Me? What about you? You’re Ashton Irwin, coolest drummer of all time, everyone desperate for your attention and time and you picked me over everyone else,” Luke says. Ashton knows it’s pointless to argue with Luke about who’s luckier to have the other, instead drawing him in for a kiss, taking off the last of Luke’s pretty pink lipstick, sticky and smeared. Luke smiles into the kiss, humming lightly. Ashton pulls back before Luke can push anything further, tolerating Luke’s huff and faux pout that dissolves when Ashton goes back to rubbing his thumb over Luke’s ring, over his pulse point on his wrist.

“Maybe we’re just too cool for each other,” Ashton says. Luke laughs, smile fading into something smaller and private, fond, as he stares at Ashton over the table. It’s nice, seeing Luke like this, unafraid to be himself in public. It’s taken a bit, getting Luke to the point where he’s comfortable wearing dressing and lingerie in public, in a way that getting him to wear makeup wasn’t. This Luke though...this Luke might be Ashton’s favorite. Happy and content, shining brightly. Luke is insistent on keeping his two images separate, lead singer Luke who dresses more masculine and private Luke, willing to go into public in dresses where he thinks he’ll blend in, but Ashton thinks he might prefer private Luke. But Asthon loves any version of Luke, as long as he gets to have Luke.

Luke practically squeals when the waiter brings the tiramisu, covered in powder and cream, looking sweet and rich. Ashton knows he’s going to lose half the cake to Luke, doesn’t mind at all if it means he gets to see Luke’s bright smile as he takes the first bite, moaning a little at the taste. Ashton doesn’t have any strong feelings for sweets, but seeing how happy they make Luke makes him happy. They enjoy the rest of their dessert in peace, Ashton sipping his coffee and watching Luke savor the cake, leaning across the table to feed Ashton little bites of it.

They finally finish, Ashton flagging the waiter down for the check while Luke giggles across from him, bumping his foot into Ashton’s leg. Ashton ushers Luke out of the restaurant, one hand on the small of Luke’s back, pleased when Luke leans into the touch all the way out to the car. Luke slides easily into the passenger seat, immediately putting a hand on Ashton’s thigh once he’s sitting in the driver seat. Ashton puts his hand over Luke’s, interlocking their fingers on the drive home. Luke’s humming softly under his breath, staring out the windshield.

He doesn’t have to wait long to get his hands on Luke once they get home. They’ve barely crossed the threshold of their home before Luke’s tugging Ashton into a kiss, pressing himself back against the door and pulling Ashton into him. Ashton goes willingly, pressing kisses to Luke’s lips and neck while Luke giggles, tipsy, tilting his head back to give Ashton more access to his neck.

Ashton gets his hands up Luke’s skirt, letting it fall open around the slit in the side, getting his hands under Luke’s thighs. He can feel the bands of the shoe wrapping, trailing all the way up Luke’s thighs. Luke gasps when Ashton touches the sensitive part of Luke’s thigh, along the back of his knee, getting one leg up and wrapping it around Ashton’s leg. Ashton takes it for the invitation that it is, getting his hands securely under Luke’s thighs and lifting him up. Luke giggles, letting out a small shriek, wrapping his legs around Ashton’s waist and squeezing. Ashton laughs, clasping his hands under Lukes thighs and smiling up at him. Luke gazes down at him, smiling softly. His curls frame his face perfectly, skin still sparkling and glittery. He’s the sun, Apollo, golden and bright, the center of Ashton’s universe. 

Luke giggles again, running one hand through the back of Ashton’s curls, leaning down to kiss him. 

“We should go to bed,” Ashton says, making no move to actually leave the positions they’re in, nipping at Luke’s neck. Luke smiles fondly.

“Maybe I’m just content to stay right here,” Luke says, leaning back to rest his head against the door. Ashton laughs, nuzzling into Luke’s neck. 

“The day you stop being a diva and let me fuck you somewhere that isn’t a bed is when the world will end.” 

Luke huffs in mock offense, smacking Ashton lightly. He immediately pulls Ashton back in for a kiss, taking the chance to tug lightly on Ashton’s hair. 

“Take me to bed,” Luke murmurs, digging his heels into Ashton, skirt falling open more. Ashton squeezes at Luke’s thighs, hoisting him a little higher and taking a step back from the door. Luke laughs, bright and electric, burying his face into Ashton’s neck and pressing kisses to it. 

Ashton manages to get them up the stairs in one piece, kicking the door open and carrying Luke in. Ashton catches a glimpse of their reflections in the vanity mirror, Luke’s shimmer, curls bouncing, Ashton’s hands on Luke’s thighs. Ashton has an idea, crossing the room in a few strides. 

Ashton hoists Luke up, setting him on the edge of the vanity. Luke laughs, high pitched and breathless, delighted, digging his fingers into Ashton’s shoulder, pressing his heels into Ashton. Ashton grins, pressing kisses to Luke’s collarbone, fitting his hands under Luke’s skirt, miles and miles of white tulle and embroidery flowers, to squeeze his thighs. Ashton takes one hand off Luke, and makes to move some of Luke’s bottles and makeup and trinkets off the vanity, clear room so he can get a better grip on Luke.

“What are you doing?” Luke shrieks, pulling back suddenly, smacking Ashton. Ashton startles, looking at Luke. There’s barely contained annoyance on his face, hand of Ashton’s wrist, stilling him. 

“I’m moving your things.”

“Not like that you’re not.”

“Like what?”

“Just swiping them off the vanity! This is expensive makeup! Jewelry! The bottles are glass! You can’t just push them on the floor they’ll break!” Luke insists, voice high pitched and huffy. Ashton rolls his eyes.

“Well, what do you want me to do then?”

“If you’re so determined to be on the vanity, you have to take each piece off and put it somewhere safe.”

“Are you...are you serious?” Ashton asks. He knows Luke can be a diva, but this is ridiculous. 

“I can just leave,” Luke says, pretending to detangle himself from Ashton and hop off the vanity.

“Not on your life, you brat,” Ashton says, grinning, pulling Luke back into a kiss. Luke giggles, trading kisses with Ashton. Ashton trails his hands up Luke’s calves and thighs, running his hands over the straps of Luke’s heels, going all the way up his legs, covered in small fabric rose buds. 

Luke pulls back, giving Ashton his usual big doe eyes. 

“What?” 

“The vanity Ash,” Luke says sweetly. 

“Maybe I don’t want to now since you’re going to make me work for it.”

“Liar,” Luke teases, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s cheek. Ashton sighs, pretending to be put out. Luke giggles, perched on the edge of the vanity, resting his heels on the bench of the vanity. It gives a good angle of his legs, making them look long and lean, covered in the shoe lacing and flowers. Luke turns his head, propping his chin and on his shoulder and smiling at Ashton.

“Well. Get to it,” He says, arranging his skirt, so it falls open around his legs, giving Ashton a view of the pink lacy panties he’s wearing.

“Tease,” Ashton huffs, but turns to the dresser, determined to stay true to his word. Carefully, he starts to pick up each container of eyeshadow, of blush and highlighter, all of the tubes of Luke’s lipsticks, gathering them all up and turning to the dresser, dumping them onto the surface. Luke still huffs in mock outrage, but doesn’t say anything as he watches Ashton move each piece over. He gathers up each bottle of perfume, placing them next to the makeup. The jewelry is easier, picking up the box trying to fit it into what little space they have. 

Satisfied that he’s cleared the vanity, Ashton turns back to Luke, “There. All cleaned.”

“Well maybe I’m tired now. Maybe I just wanna go to bed,” Luke says, teasing smile on his face.

Ashton rolls his eyes, “No you’re not you diva. You made me clean the whole thing for you. The least you can do is kiss me for my effort.”

Luke laughs, reaching an arm out, pulling Ashton into him when he gets close enough, pressing a kiss to his lips. Ashton hums into the kiss, running his hands up the back of Luke’s legs, pushing him further onto the vanity. Luke giggles, wrapping his legs around Ashton’s waist and squeezing him slightly, pulling him in closer. Ashton pushes the layers of tulle aside, getting his hands under the skirt and finally brushes his fingers over the edge of Luke’s lacy panties. Luke whines, arching into the touch, pressing himself to Ashton. 

“Ash, please,” Luke whines, squirming under Ashton’s touch. Ashton gets his hand into Luke’s panites, wrapping it around his dick, and rubbing his thumb over the head. Luke whines, burying his face into Ashton’s neck and pressing kisses to the skin there. Ashton grins, continuing to work his hand on Luke’s dick, listening to Luke pant in his ear.

“Wait, Ash stop,” Luke says suddenly, getting his hand around Ashton’s wrist. Ashton stops, pulling back slightly, putting space between him and Luke, giving them both a chance to breathe.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?”

“I don’t...I don’t think I want to tonight. It’s dumb because we’re like here, but I think I just wanna get into bed with you and cuddle,” Luke says, blushing, glancing away from Ashton.

“Luke I just moved all your shit. You couldn’t have told me before I moved everything. Now I have to put it all back. You’re lucky you’re cute,” Ashton huffs, kissing the top of Luke’s head. Luke melts a little into the kiss, humming.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, of course not love. I just want you to be happy that’s all. Do you wanna shower first and then get into bed?”

Luke hums and nods. Ashton smiles, kissing Luke’s temple this time, taking a step back.

“Come on, I’ll heat the shower up if you wanna get out of your dress and get our pajamas,” Ashton holds a hand out to Luke, helping him step off the dresser, get his balance. Once he’s steady, Ashton lets go, makes his way to the bathroom.

“Hey Ashton,” Luke calls. Ashton turns, glancing back at Luke, drinking in the sight of him in the middle of their room.

“Yeah Luke?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now change so we can shower. If you take too long, I’m going to start without you.”

Luke huffs and rolls his eyes, but blows Ashton a kiss before he leaves the room. Ashton pretends to catch it, pressing his hand to his heart, grinning when Luke’s face lights up. Yeah, Ashton really does love Luke.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Four

The water is beautiful, pristine and blue, with frothy white peaks from the waves as they crest and fall over each other. It was somehow even bluer than the sky, that was wide open and only dotted with fat white clouds, the sun beating down on their shoulders with the full brunt of summer. 

Ben was going to be lobster red by the time they were done today. Poe could already see the pink starting to spread across the bridge of his nose and the broad set of his freckled shoulders. No matter how many times he re-applied his sunscreen, Ben managed to burn. 

And he was going to burn to a crisp if Poe couldn’t get him off of this cliff and down into the water below. 

“Come on.” Poe was trying for seductive, cool. He was pretty sure it was coming out wheedling, given the look that Ben was shooting him right about now. “It’s not even that high.” That was a bunch of bullshit, it was at least twenty feet between the edge of the cliff and the water. But that wasn’t how you sold yourself to people. You had to look on the bright side.

Ben’s eyebrow flicks upwards in answer, sarcastic and silent all at once. Poe wonders, distantly, if anyone else has to have conversations with their boyfriend’s eyebrows, or if he was just lucky. ‘Lucky’. Heavy on the sarcasm there. 

“It’s one jump. I won’t make you do it again.” Poe was true to his word about that. With every hike and every cliff dive, and every octopus tentacle on a plate or slimy oyster in a shell, Poe’s request had only ever been: once. Try it once.

It was the same way his mom used to do to him when he was a kid. ‘You try this once, and if you don’t like it, that’s just fine. But you have to try new things out in the world, mijo.’ When he was really little, Poe knows he gave his mom hell about it. Little kids are made for comfort and routine. They wanted things to be the same all the time. But his mom, she was a stubborn woman. A smart one too. Because over time, Poe came around to almost all of it. It made him adventurous, once he was old enough to get brave all on his own.

And Ben needed that too. He needed time to get brave all on his own. Because as much as Ben wanted to pretend like he was buttoned up and calm, there was an adrenaline junkie hiding beneath the skin. Poe had found him by accident, a few too many drunken kisses behind Peter and Eddie’s bar turning into hands inside of pants in a back alley while pedestrians walked down the street a few feet away. 

Now he wanted to nourish that adrenaline junkie, to show Ben all the fun you could have if you just swallowed down your fear and kept moving forward. And hell, the fear could be part of the fun if you looked at things the right way.

Because it was never about not being afraid. Everyone was scared sometimes, and Poe would like to punch the guy in the mouth who taught Ben Solo that men weren’t supposed to be afraid. That they weren’t supposed to cry. That he had to be stoic and quiet at all times. 

There was way too much inside of Ben to settle for being stoic. He deserved better than that, and Poe was going to be the one who gave the world to him on a damn silver platter. He just had to get him off of the ledge first. Baby steps.

“Listen, I’m nervous too. It’s a long way down. My heart is going a mile a minute. Feel it.” Poe reaches out, taking one of Ben’s big hands and bringing it to his chest so that his boyfriend could feel the rapid fire beating of his heart beneath the cage of muscle and bone. Up close like this, Poe could count each and every one of Ben’s eyelashes. If he wasn’t in a hurry to get down in the water, he would stay here as long as it took to do so.

“But that’s okay. It’s okay to be nervous. It’s okay to be scared.” Ben still manages to look a little bit surprised every time that Poe says that. But he was going to beat it into that pretty head of his until it became the norm. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. “That’s your body going ‘hey pal, this seems kinda shady. Are we sure we want to do this?” Ben huffs a laugh under his breath, and makes no effort to pull away. 

“The thing is, the body doesn’t know what our head knows, now does it?” Poe inclines his head towards the water. “This is a safe spot. This is an allowed diving spot. There’s signs up by the legs and everything. Which means people have come through here and looked for sharp rocks and made sure that we weren’t going to hit anything on the way down. So in times like these, we respect our bodies for looking out for us, but we also respectfully disagree.”

Ben is watching him like there isn’t anything else in the world that matters, and Poe wants it to stay like that forever. It’s why he talks so damn much. Poe Dameron has always been a talker, he’s gotten himself out of more than a few tough scrapes with just his words, but when it gets him Ben’s undivided attention, he starts tacking on extra thoughts and extra words to fill in the blank and keep those pretty eyes on him. 

“We can jump together. We’ll hold hands and everything.” Ben scoffs, but instinctively his eyes trip down to the hand still splayed against the tan skin of Poe’s chest. He wants to, he’s just fighting against some old thought or hang up that was keeping his feet on the ground.

Fuck toxic masculinity. 

“I’m serious. I want to jump holding your hand. And it doesn’t make me less of a man for wanting to do it.” Poe’s chin juts out, defiance written across every line of his face. He doesn’t even know if this is what the hold up is in Ben’s head, but he’s already on the wind up, so the words were coming out. Sorry Ben.

“If anything, it makes me more of a man. Because I’m man enough to say when I need something and right now, I need my boyfriend to hold my hand and jump off a cliff with me.” And as his little spiel winds down, Poe’s disdain and his anger shift like the breeze changing direction and he grins. “We’re not going to Thelma and Louise it, Ben. We’re just jumping into the ocean so we can swim.”

And just to round out all his options, Poe steps in close against the hand on his chest until Ben’s arm bends at the elbow and he’s able to step in closer, to put them practically chest to chest. (Even Poe has to admit they haven’t been eye to eye or nose to nose since tenth grade. Stupid Solo growth spurt.)

“Just think of how much fun we can have in that water, babe. You and me and nobody else close enough to see what my hands are doing under the water.”

Would Poe actually try getting Ben off underneath the waves in the ocean? Absolutely, if Ben showed even the slightest inclination that he wanted it. And given the way Ben’s tongue had just darted out to wet his bottom lip, Poe was pretty sure that he had him on the hook. 

Now just to get him over the ledge.

There’s a dark glint in Ben’s eyes that Poe is crazy freaking in love with. His boy had a dark side, Poe just had to get it to come to the surface sometimes. “So? What do you say? It’s an adventure. All you have to do is take that leap.”

Ben shakes his head, a strand of dark hair spilling across his forehead. “Everything is an adventure to you.” See, Poe knows how to read Ben. And his mouth might be saying ‘Poe, you’re a dumbass’ but his eyes were saying ‘I want to do this too’. 

“So!” Poe finally steps back away from Ben, and with a half glance behind him, perilously close to the edge. He throws his arms out wide, and hears the sound of a pebble skitter off of the side of the cliff. Poe knows he really can’t hear it hit the water, but his brain decides he can hear the weighty thump of it hitting the waves.. “What good is living life if you don’t have any adventures. What are we going to tell our grandkids about, Ben?”

Yeah, so he’s pushing it there. Maybe one day Ben would decide he wanted to settle down, to really settle down and do the whole boring office job and a wife with two point five kids and a dog. But Poe is banking (hoping) that it isn’t the case, and that he’ll have Ben with him until they’re old and grey. 

Who said you couldn’t have adventures with kids? His mom and dad used to take him hiking and swimming and kayaking all the time when he was a kid, and Poe loved every damn second of it. He loved waking up in a tent to the smell of coffee over the fire and the soft sound of his parents talking quietly. 

He wanted to give kids of his own that same kind of life, one of these days. A life where they knew they were loved, and that they were safe even when the world wasn’t always safe. That they could be brave and reach out and try things and still know that at the end of the day, their family had their back.

Not any time soon, but one of these days. 

“Poe…” There’s a warning in Ben’s voice, and he’s got a hand outstretched, like he could tug on some invisible cord and get Poe away from the ledge. Tough luck, pal. You were going to have to come and get him. 

“What? You too scared to come and get me?” Listen, Poe lives a spaghetti at the wall kind of life. And he was just going to keep throwing things at Ben until something stuck and they were in that crystal clear water beneath them. Seriously, the rocks were starting to burn the bottom of Poe’s feet. It was hot out here. 

“Are you…” He sees the second Ben catches on to what he’s about to do, and Poe even hears the mumbled ‘don’t you dare’ before he starts clucking like a chicken. And Poe goes all in on it too, tucking his hands up against his armpits and flapping his “wings”. “Bock bock!”

Who knew that in a stream of care, and constructive criticism and even a commentary on the state of masculinity in the world, that it would be good old fashioned childish insults that got Ben to move. 

Poe has just enough time to think ‘victory!’ before that big, broad shouldered body connects with him and they go hurtling off of the edge of the cliff, Poe whooping the entire way down. The water feels solid for a moment before they break through and cold rushes around him, bright and bracing. 

He finds his bearings, kicking his feet to make his way back to the surface, shaking the hair out of his eyes like a dog. Ben isn’t far behind, sputtering and laughing all at the same time. Ben’s smile had the same effect on Poe’s stomach as jumping off of a cliff. 

A real nice swooping. 

“See?” He’s going to be smug now, Ben. No two ways about it. “I told you it would be fun.”

[animetrash101blep]

Living with the Exchange student

Leopika fanfic part one

A tall sender male rushed down the hall way towards the hall, his shirt was untooked and his tie was loose . He looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, to be fair he basically had. You see, Leorio had over slept, his alarm went off but he pressed sooze. Smart idea. When he finally woke up he had 15 minutes to get up, get dressed and get to school. It was his first day back after summer break, he was a third year now. He was supposed to set an example for the first years, with being in the eldest year group and all, but no. Here he was late to the welcoming ceremony. Thankfully he hadn't been give any important jobs, he could sneek in the back and blend in like nothing happened.

That was what he hoped for but he wasn't the only one running late, he collided with a fair blond that came from the opposite direction to him. The was a load oof from the pair of them and Leorio stepped back, he got his balance fine but the blond wobbled. They was much shorter than Leorio and had full forces collided with his chest causing him to stumble. As they was about to fall Leorio reached out his hand and took the other rist pulling them forward stopping them from falling, the blonds free hand come up to hold his head as his gaze moved up form the other males hand to his face. He had a strong face, a sharp jawline, spiky hair and rather masculine features. This was the opposite form him.

Clouded grey eyes met with his own, Leorio felt his cheeks flush ever so slightly, the blond had such delicate and feminine fecures. He was totally Leorio type, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a guy. Honestly it confused Leorio for a moment he thought he was staring into the eyes of a girl, one he would definitely shoot his shot at. Those long eyelashes, pink lips, soft jaw line didn't look fit for a male. But sure enough he was wearing the male uniform, which would only mean he was male himself?...

When the other pulled their hand away Leorio had realised he had been staring a little too much. He felt even more embarrassed after running into him.

"I'm sorry!"

The two said in sink, they started at each other slight perplexed before Leorio smirked.

"oh hah it's cool I guess, you should watch were you're going thought. Next time you might not be so lucky as to run into such a nice guy like me."

The blond male frowned his brows unimpressed by Leorio's words. He took back his words, he wasn't sorry at all. If Kurapika had been just a little taller he might of headbutted him instead and knocked some sense into the guy he thought.

" tch.. " he rolled his eyes as he walked to the doors reaching his hand out to push it open "whatever.." he said in a very melo tone before pushing the doors open and creeping inside.

His reaction didn't sit well with Leorio either, the guy had such a pretty face but his attitude was so cold. He let out a huff before creeping into the hall after him and joining his class on the far end away from Kurapika.

The two were on different ends of the hall but he couldn't peel his eyes away from the boy, Kurapika felt uneasy and could sense the eyes on him. He scowled and looked over in Leorios direction, this caught Leorio by surprise. He frowned and pouted and turned his head sharpy away.

"can Leorio Paladiknight please come to the staff room."

A female chimed from the coms threw out the school, Leorio was sat at the back of the class room gazing out the window when the call got his attention. Everyone turned to look at him he looked just as confused as they did, Leorio was in fact a very sensible student. He got good grades and did as he was told most the time and on top of that he was of course rather popular. He was a easy going guy, it wasnt too hard to be friend him.

But being popular wasn't all that great, he didn't have a best friend. He didn't have close friends. Just friends. They got along but they wasn't close enough to invite him out with them and because he didn't go out with them he didn't have any inside joke or understand these. With being popular people assumed he would be rather busy so no one ever asked and Leorio never felt like it was his place to ask them, so he just got on with his work.

He stood up from his desk tooking his hand into his pocket and with the other free hand he ran it threw his dark messy hair with a sigh.

"I wonder what I did this time.... Ah!... Did they find out I was late?.."

He groaned as he head out the class room and grumbled his way along the hall ways. He soon came to the staff room door, and with a deep breath he pulled the sliding down open.

Inside he notice one person that shouldn't of been there, one person he had hoped to avoid. He was burning a glare threw the back of the blonds head which Kurapika could feel. He looked back behind him to find Leorio standing there, the two was both rather confused to see each other.

"your name is Leorio?..."

Kurapika asked clearly displeased with the information, Leorio had no idea why that would of bothered him so much.

"hmph, that's Leorio senpai to you. You are a first year right? Well I'm a third year, so that makes me your Senpai."

Kurapika rolled his eyes, the word Senpai wasn't something he felt comfortable using. You see Kurapika was an exchange student and where he comes from the term Senpai didn't exist. They didn't refer to the elders in a special way like Leorio was used to so Kurapika refused to ever call him Senpai.

"so you two have met?"

A female teach asked who was sitting in the chair in front of them, she had hot pink hair and two pigtails. She was rather young as well for a teacher.

"briefly.."

"great! Well Leorio this is Kurapika, he is our exchange student this year, please make him welcome. He will also be staying with you and your cares while he is here in Japan, I'm sure Mrs Chihiro has already informed you about this?"

"wait wait wait! Your the guy who's supposed to be staying with us??"

"seems so..."

"ughhh..."

Leorio groaned, Leorio was adopted. Because his parents were cares they already past everything they needed to take in a exstange student, that's why they had ask them if they would take Kurapika in while he was staying here. It was easier and quicker than finding another suitable student whos family fit the criteria needed when they knew of one already. Leorio had known of Kurapika's coming for months, he had been looking forward to it. Now?... Not so much.

More chapters on archive of our own

[smorshflaaf]

Wake - NCT Jaehyun x Male Reader

a/n: first time doing this!!! + stan nct + might continue on doing this so heads up if you have any requests!

“Iced Americano, please.” Your eyes transfer their focus from the table you were cleaning to the source of the husky voice. Others would undoubtedly squeal at the sight of a member of one of the most famous boy groups in Korea. However, try as you might to express at the very least shock, you couldn’t help but feel indifferent at the man. He was Jaehyun, a member of NCT, but for you he was just another customer during your night shift at the cafe. A distraction to keep your sleep-deprived self from sleeping at one of the booths. You could feel the drowsiness building up into a yawn, but you immediately scold yourself, resuming on your work.

Finishing up, you deliver the tray to the area behind the counter, setting it on the sink. He seems to be done with his order, as you hear the counter printing the receipt while washing the dishes. Soon after, your ears prick at the sound of heels against wood, and you take a deep breath in preparation of the fangirling you were just about to witness.

“Hey Y/n! He’s here again!” Kyung-hu, your coworker, whisper-shouted in your ear. Where you lacked in response towards the male idol who seemed to frequent your cafe, Kyung-hu made up for it. Excessively, if you say so yourself. You glance to see her scrunched up face, eyes showing her excitement as they shone under the mellow light. She was one of those city girls who blended well with your age group. She knows the trends, dresses up accordingly, has a rigorous skin care routine, and most importantly, likes k-pop. Kyung-hu was someone people wouldn’t expect you were friends with. But, it might be the contrast between your personalities that was also the reason you two got along so well.

“HE GLANCED AT US!” Her enthusiasm rose even more at the interaction you both had with the idol, discreetly pointing at the area where the idol was seated. Indeed, Jaehyung glanced at the both of you, but this was only for a few seconds as he directed his attention back to his cellphone. This shouldn’t mean a lot, but to Kyung-hu it did. “That was the second time we made eye contact. First, when I was taking his order. He must’ve been attracted by my beauty. Who wouldn’t after all?” You could only open your mouth in disbelief as Kyung-hu said this, the corners of your lips turning up at her bold statement as she bats her eyelashes.

“You’re so full of yourself. Don’t you think it’s because he’s waiting for his drink?” You said blatantly, pointing to the espresso machine. Kyung-hu immediately snapped back to her senses, muttering a quick ‘oh shit’ before rushing to get the espresso she prepared. You flick the water off your hands as you finish washing the last plate, smiling as Kyung-hu rushes to finish the order of her beloved idol. Leaning on the sink, you watch with amusement as she finishes the order within 2 minutes. 

“Hey Y/n, it’s done. Serve it now to the king over there.” Kyung-hu dramatically gestured to the drink and to the idol, who was now expecting the beverage to be handed over. You could only sigh once again at her exaggeration, just nodding in compliance. Kyung-hu could have served the drink herself, however the fact that her hands shake uncontrollably whenever Jaehyun visited meant the job was automatically given to you. Getting the wooden tray with the drink on one hand, you made your way to where the idol was seated.

Jaehyun bowed, with you doing the same as you put down the beverage in front of him. “Enjoy.” Smiling, you were just about to leave after fulfilling your duties when curiosity struck you out of nowhere. You couldn’t explain why this was happening and you suddenly wanted to talk to him. Again, you didn’t actually care about the presence of the idol before. Well, not until now. You fiddle with your fingers, and after inhaling, you face Jaehyun with intent enough for him to stare right back at you.

“You seem to come here a lot. May I ask why?” You ask straight up. Jaehyun, who was in the middle of sipping on his drink, raised his eyebrows at your inquiry. Putting down his coffee, he gulped before looking back at you.

“I guess I just find myself drawn to this place.” He shrugged. You nodded in understanding, and by now you should be going back to the counter, but you find yourself standing still in the same spot. Strange. Jaehyun started looking around the cafe. Given that it was 10pm, a time where most people might be drinking soju at some bbq place, only a few customers could be spotted. These same customers were also caught up in their own businesses to be bothered. Deciding that this moment was fine, Jaehyun looked back to meet your eyes.

“Do you have any time to spare? I just want to ask something.” You stare at the idol who was currently inviting you to spend some time with him. You found his offer quite alluring, as such you immediately checked the counter if there was something that needed to be done. Finding only Kyung-hu gasping and clearly pointing at you like you just did the most shocking act, you look back at the male expecting your reply.

“Yeah, sure.” A smile graced Jaehyun’s lips as you sat down across him. “What is it you wanted to ask about?” You find yourself initiating the conversation. You don’t know if it’s because you were actually talking to someone of high stature, but you admit you find yourself a little bit reserved. Placing the tray you were just holding down on the table, you watch as Jaehyun searches for something on his phone. Indicated by his brightened facial expression, Jaehyun finally faces you.

“You see, I kind of want to give a special person a gift.” His words were laced with such admiration that you find yourself amused. It seemed like someone had a thing for somebody, and it was the man in front of you. You nodded in understanding, giving him the signal to continue.

“Sadly, I don’t know what that person likes, and if that person will like my gift.” He shows you his phone, and it was a picture of what seemed to be a bracelet. An expensive one, at that. Placing the phone back in his pocket, he resumes. “What I only know is that that person is quite simple,  might be in college.”

Jaehyun pauses, and smiles at a thought. “-And has a nice smile too.”

Staring and actually talking to him, it was only now you were able to fully digest the facial features this man was gifted with. You could understand why girls from your college would scream at mere pictures of them. His handsomeness was further accentuated by his melodic yet strangely masculine voice. It was hard to explain how attractive he was, and it was harder to explain the knot that was forming in your chest. If there was one thing that was clear to you, whoever this man liked was a lucky one.

Pushing back your unprecedented, small, yet still valid feelings, you clear your throat. Sincerely thinking about your answer, looking up at the hanging light gracing both of you with warm yellow, you put your hands down on the table.

“Well, since you said that person is simple, I think an expensive bracelet wouldn’t be necessary. I think that person would appreciate quality time to destress from school works. You did say that person is in college." You pause for a slight second, distracted by the stare Jaehyun held on you as you spoke. It had this intensity your indifference couldn't handle, as if Jaehyun was trying to remember this moment in its entirety, up to the tiniest detail. Gathering your thoughts, you disregard the heat forming on your cheeks.

"The problem is you need to ask that person out, but I think it would be worth it since you’ll get to see the smile.”

Jaehyun, who was listening intently to your advice, nodded in understanding. “I see. Thank you-? I’m Jaehyun by the way.” He was asking for your name.

“Y/n.”

“What a nice name.”

You reach out for the wooden tray you placed on the table. Standing up, you assume that your work was done. For a brief moment, you subtly wished there would be more moments like this. You dismiss the thought right away. “I’m sorry, but I think I need to go back to work.” 

Hearing this, Jaehyun stands up as well, gathering his belongings. Standing close to him, you become aware of the contrast in both of your heights. You’ve only served his drinks when he’s already seated, after all. Also, Kyung-hu was the one who always took his order, so this fact was made apparent to you only now. He had the perfect 2 inch height advantage over you, and that said something since yours fell somewhere in average. ‘That’ person surely is blessed.

“Ah, I need to go as well.” Jaehyun checks his wristwatch, and looks back at you. A few seconds of silence lay in between the both of you, your feet in place despite having excused yourself to get back to work. You know this. Yet, for some reason, along with the peculiar feeling that formed in your gut, you didn’t move. Jaehyun was seemingly in the same state you were in as well, looking around, thinking of the right words to say like you did right now.

This awkward pause was broken by himself soon enough. He chuckles, reaching for something in his pocket. His smile, made even more charming by his dimples, made itself appear.

“We’ll go out afterwards.” Jaehyun states, holding your hand and placing the bracelet in your palm.

You couldn’t help but smile.