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somethingpoetichere · 4 years ago

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lovebug- caliban imagine

sup. fic inspired by my favorite song in THE world. not as soft mushy as it may sound I promise caliban is a nice lil sarcastic SHIT with a big ole crush. mild sabrina bashing but its funny in context and I think it’s the way family behaves. reader is a Spellman, not a witch but DOES know about the supernatural/is part of the supernatural world. here with my once in a blue moon post lol. feedback would be appreciated!

called her for the first time yesterday

finally found the missing part of me

felt so close but you were far away

left me without anything to say

Caliban was not an idiot- he knew not to underestimate the Spellman half-witch that had gone and declared herself queen of hell. So he’d taken the liberty of learning everything he could about her, noting her habits and schedule and the people she surrounded herself with.

And then he found you.

You weren’t a witch- at least, he hadn’t found your name in his diligent searching through the Book of the Beast- but you were something. That he was sure of. There was something slightly off about your presence, tinged a little glittery, though not altogether unpleasant.

No, not unpleasant at all, he mused as he watched you make your way towards your car. Tucked into a little yellow sundress, you stood out like a ray of sunshine in the wave of doom-and-gloom that hallmarked high school. The school bell rang out behind you, and Caliban felt his knees go disgustingly weak as you smiled brilliantly at Sabrina through the crowd.

It was a stupid, stupid decision that Caliban would never have made in the right state of mind, but he reasoned that pissing off Sabrina was validation enough to get your attention. He ducked into your path on purpose, taking advantage of your momentary distraction as he gently bumped into you. oops.

You collided with a solid wall, books tumbling out of your hands as strong arms reached out to steady you. You let out a surprised yelp at the collision, peeking up curiously as the wall you’d hit laughed.

Oh, well that was a sight for sore eyes.

The golden haired stranger holding you was, well, gorgeous. Bright blue eyes peered down at you as he grinned, and you felt the whole world shutter around you. You’d definitely been watching too many soap operas with your auntie, but goddamn it if you weren't positively putty.

“Hi there, stranger.” You giggled nervously, and Caliban suddenly remembered he’d had his arms around you for far too long to be acceptable. He reluctantly retreated, feeling something claw a little uncomfortably in his chest.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He apologized, moving to pick up your books as you bent down to retrieve them. He ran a hand through his hair in barely concealed bashfulness, unsure of why he felt so... unsettled, all of a sudden.

“It’s alright, my head was in the clouds.” You waved off his apology, accepting the books he offered you with a grateful smile. “Are you new here? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“He’s new here!” Sabrina’s shrill voice interrupted, training her icy glare on Caliban, who fought back a smirk. “This is Caliban- he’s from... Australia! Yeah, down under!”

“Oh, I can show you around tomorrow! I know how scary it can be to be new here.” You patted his arm sympathetically, ignoring Sabrina’s stream of indignant protests. “I was with student council all day. If you’re a senior, we probably have most of the same classes.”

Caliban had shit to do. Caliban had trials to plan and souls to torture. But you were looking at him- all warmth and sunshine, and Sabrina’s look of pure horror only sweetened the deal.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, sunshine.”

so worth it.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban didn't understand why the mortals all bemoaned high school as hell on earth. It certainly wasn't so bad once you got past the wave of body spray and the questionable cafeteria food. In fact, darting to class with a pretty girl beside him was pretty enjoyable, all things considered.

You’d spent the day introducing him to the other students, passing him silly notes in class, and had even tugged him from the lunch room to hang out with your friends in the library. He learned that you pretty much did it all- student council, cheerleader, top of your class- all while managing to somehow know the name of everyone you passed with a smile in the halls. You were silly and sweet— smart as all hell with a wit that certainly kept the clay prince on his toes.

and he was smitten.

The groan that escaped your painted lips was delightfully sinful as you slumped in the seat beside him in english class. “I hate Romeo and Juliet. How do two people fall in love in a few days anyhow? And Mrs. Willows always makes us reenact the scenes, and it’s so corny.” The blush that colored your cheeks as he looked at you in concern was something he did his best to commit to memory- cheesiness be damned, Caliban was enjoying himself far too much.

Caliban smirked, skimming through the booklet he’d been passed as the teacher droned. The prince of hell had a certain flare for the dramatics, and Sabrina’s glare burning into the back of his head only fueled his antics. He had one scene in mind, and it was the scene that was certain to kill four birds with one stone- totally make you fall in love with him, he would somehow manage to kiss you (that part was a work in progress), piss off Sabrina, and also- piss off Sabrina.

And kiss you. So maybe five parts. Damn it, Caliban was going to have to make a list.

“Partners?” He whispered softly, gently tugging at your hand as the teacher sat back down. Caliban’s eyes were alight with a tinge of mischief that you either failed to notice or were simply amused by- and your answering nod was more than a little bashful. “We can do my favorite scene.”

“If you say the first kiss scene, I’m punching the daylights out of you.” You warned, playfully nudging his knee with your own. “It will be unkind and I will not feel bad.”

“My lady wounds me.” He dramatically rested his hand above his heart. “And we absolutely have to do this scene-” He raised his hand to silence your half-hearted protests- “because Billy told the guys in calculus that he was specifically going to be pissed if we did this scene.”

Okay, so maybe he’d stretched the truth a little bit. But Caliban knew that the mention of your seedy ex-boyfriend (who you’d enlightened him about during lunch) would absolutely get you to agree to the scene. And it wasn't like he’d lied— Billy Marlin’s glare was nearly as icy as Sabrina’s. And, it wasn't like the way Billy looked at you- with something akin to possession in his eyes- totally made Caliban want to fast track the kid to damnation right then and there. Nope.

“We can meet up later today to practice? I have cheerleading practice after school, but I’m free after that!” You grinned at him, and he felt the tension ease out of his shoulders as you rested your hand on his arm. The gesture was so effortless- but to Caliban, who’d never really experienced connection like this- you reduced him to all but clay again.

“I can drive you home after practice?” Caliban offered, enjoying the yelp that Sabrina let out from the back of the classroom. He shouldered your bag as the bell sounded, noting the way your eyes softened even further at the gesture. “We don't really have cheerleaders down under, you know.”

“You’re welcome to stay and watch.” You shrugged, ignoring the way your heart thudded erratically as he walked you to the locker room. “It won’t be too long today, and Sabrina has a date with Nick after, anyways.”

it was really just too easy.

i can't get your smile out of my mind

i think about your eyes all the time

you're beautiful but you don't even try

(you don't even, don't even try)

modesty is just so hard to find

Caliban wasn’t sure if he regretted his earlier offer. Sure, the sight of you tucked into the tight cheerleading uniform (did they make them that short on purpose?) was pretty much the pinnacle of male fantasy, and the smiles and winks you’d thrown his way whenever he caught your eye during your routines were something else altogether.

But getting the sight out of his brain as you rambled aimlessly in the car about today’s chapters of Dante’s Inferno, while he simultaneously tried to focus on the road and definitely not the way your skirt hitched on the leather seat...

Yeah, Caliban was pretty sure he was in love.

You weren’t too far off, in all honesty. Caliban’s large hands had a firm grip on the steering wheel, and you took the time to admire further up his toned arms as he drove. His hair fell in loose, windswept waves, and his side profile looked like it was sculpted by the freaking gods. Every so often he would glance your way, his perfect lips parting to reveal his perfect teeth and perfect smile and gods-

Yeah, you had the lovebug bad.

“So how did you meet Sabrina?” You questioned innocently enough, and Caliban had to restrain the urge to spill all of the hell-related gossip to you. How Sabrina had managed to keep all of her throne-seeking from you was beyond him, but it certainly added a thrill to his pursuit of you.

“I had some administrative issues the other day and ran into her. She doesn’t like me too much, I’ve gathered.” Caliban was careful not to lie- his entanglement with you had the added perk of pissing off your dearest cousin, but it was genuine on Caliban’s end. He found he didn’t really want to lie about things.

“Sabrina is... touchy.” You offered carefully, shifting in your seat as you pointed out directions to your home. “I don’t really understand why she doesn't like you, to be honest. I was actually going to have a word with her about being nice- you’ve been so sweet, and I was the new kid too a few years back. It's hard to find your place in the established dynamic of a small town.”

Caliban doubted you’d had too much of an issue, with the way the halls seemed to light up around you, but the accompanying smile you gave him was bright enough to soothe his imagined woes. “It’s alright, I reckon she’ll get used to having me around.”

“Used to you?” You mused with a giggle, leaning on the console in a gesture that brought your face much, much closer to his own. He was overwhelmed with your floral scent- something soft and summery and altogether you.

“I plan on being around you a lot, sunshine. If you don’t mind.” He grinned, turning to face you momentarily at the stop sign. Your eyes were wide with hardly concealed surprise at his words, and he watched the realization of the close proximity of his face flicker through them.

It happened so fast that Caliban was almost certain he imagined it- but your eyes had definitely glanced at his lips. The blush that tinged your cheeks as you pulled back confirmed it, and in a moment of calculated risk, Caliban moved to rest his hand on your exposed thigh.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

If Caliban squinted, he could almost picture that he was a normal teenage boy, driving a beautiful, normal girl home from school. The sinking sun was peeking through the windows, bathing you in an ethereal glow, and - at least for right now- everything was perfect.

you were perfect.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban draped himself across your bed, a languid smirk on his lips as you kicked haphazardly placed piles of clothes into your closet.

“I promise I’m not usually this messy,” you apologized with a sheepish smile, shoving a mass of shoes under your bed, “okay, that's a lie. I’m always this messy, I just didn’t expect company.”

Caliban hardly minded. It was adorable how embarrassed you were, and he took the time to take in your bedroom (drawn from his reverie only by the occasional delighted shout when you found a shirt you’d thought had been sacrificed to the laundry gods, or worse, Sabrina’s room).

The first thing Caliban noticed was the books. While your clothes lay in scattered piles, all of your books were meticulously organized and lovingly tucked into shelves that took up an entire wall of the room. Sabrina may have answered that Caliban’s only hobby was torturing babies (or her, which was the same thing, really— and also, what the hell? Caliban may have enjoyed the occasional soul flaying, but only when it was well deserved!)— but Caliban loved to read.

What was one lifetime in one world, when he could learn of a thousand others in just as many universes? Immortality could grow dull, and eternity had to be spent somehow. Caliban tried not to smile as you precariously placed the book that had found its way onto your nightstand back into its place, and supposed that it might be far more enjoyable with someone else.

You seemed satisfied with your damage control, and slumped onto the bed dramatically with a groan. It was then that Caliban’s hand found a stray victim of your clothing massacre.

“Nice.” He grinned, and you peeked up from your playbook to find him dangling a pink lace bra.

Shit.

“Give me that!” You lunged, but Caliban was too fast. He quickly moved them from your reach, laughing wildly as you wrestled him desperately for the bra.

“You are the worst.” A groan escaped you, and you huffed in fake-defeat as Caliban smirked victoriously at your retreat. You leaped at the chance, tackling Caliban with all your might. While momentarily surprised, he reacted quickly and shifted so that he was now pinning you to the bed, his hair dangling wildly in your face as you both laughed.

Caliban’s face was so close that you could see the flecks of green in his eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to flicker to your lips, but in the seconds it took for you to find your voice again, you’d lost your nerve.

“We should get back to the scene.”

The moment was broken, and Caliban retreated with a bashful look on his face. He ran a hand through his hair and moved to sit across from you, his cheeks tinted a little red as he politely handed you back your intimates and pretended to shield his eyes when you tossed it somewhere. You’d never been so freaking embarrassed in your life, but Caliban was smiling so softly at you, like you were—

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He motioned around with his hands dramatically, tone playful and light.

You were so dead. Caliban was freaking made for this romantic swooning nonsense that you’d tried to protest nearly the whole ride home, Billy Marlin be damned.

Giggling nervously in what you hoped seemed scene-appropriate, you tried your best to forget being a horny teenager to instead play a horny teenager. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Caliban’s voice lowered, a smile still tugging at his lips as he took your hands in his own. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim.” Your own voice softened in turn as Caliban began to trace mindless patterns on the backs of your hands with his thumbs, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” Caliban’s eyes were soft, and you imagined that Shakespeare had pictured the man in front of you when putting the words to paper. The words fell so naturally from his lips and he seemed engrossed in the scene— he was, for lack of a better word, enchanting.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.” Your voice was hardly more than a breathless whisper, the proximity of your faces and the intimacy (however imagined) stealing the air from your lungs.

Caliban paused, his eyes meeting yours intently as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he took your face in both of his hands.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.”

It was all too much. You could hardly be blamed for kissing him as fiercely as you did.

It was like fireworks, like every cheesy romance novel and play (cough, Romeo and Juliet) claimed it would be. You’d had plenty of kisses before, but never one that melted your brain like this. You forgot all about the scene, about how not real this was supposed to be as your hands tangled in his windswept hair and he pulled you onto his lap.

It was Caliban who first pulled away, only just so that your noses were touching. He was breathing heavily, eyes blown wide— and you felt your whole face turn red as reality consumed you again. “I am so sorry, I’ll just—”

“Where do you think you’re going, Juliet?” Caliban’s hands firmly gripped your hips, preventing you from moving away. His fingers thumbed the band of your skirt, and his next words were a whisper against your lips.

“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

kissed her for the first time yesterday

everything i wished that it would be

suddenly i forgot how to speak

hopeless, breathless, baby can't you see?

Caliban was in love. He’d spent the next three weeks with you reciting Romeo and Juliet, sharing shakes at Dr. Cerberus, and tugging you into empty classroom and closets at every opportunity to kiss you senseless. Every moment not spent with you was at least somewhat occupied by the thought of you, and Caliban found he wasn’t the least bit upset about it.

And Sabrina was pissed.

If she’d hated him before, she positively loathed him now. It was the latest point of contention between yourself and your darling cousin, who’d you taken to threatening with various kitchen utensils and promises to tell the aunties she’d been sneaking out to make her behave. And Caliban, for his part, was perfectly polite— even though he still had every intention of taking the throne from the inexperienced witch who promised to destroy the balance of heaven and hell.

Which presented Caliban’s own latest dilemma. He was going to have to tell you eventually— and in a way that didn't make you totally hate him. He had a plan. Okay, maybe a skeletal plan. Or no plan. Yeah, Caliban was going to wing it.

After today. He just had to make it through your reenactment of Romeo and Juliet with no demonic catastrophes or maiming Blly, and then he would tell you everything.

But even that was too much to ask.

Sabrina burst through the english classroom doors, yelling in barely concealed panic that there was a BIG problem and the principal needed Caliban now.

Caliban moved to leave with an apologetic smile in your direction, which you were absolutely not having. Despite your current frustration with Sabrina, she looked downright terrified, and you were both concerned for your cousin and overwhelmed with a gut feeling that something was up.

After a few moments, you excused yourself to use the restroom.

You hauled ass to the gym, where the screaming sounded to be coming from. When you entered, you were met with the strangest sight.

The gym was filled with winged... rats? And at the center of the chaos was Sabrina and Caliban, back to back and armed with what appeared to be lacrosse sticks. Caliban’s shirt was tattered from the rats, and you took a fraction of a second to banish the completely innappropriate and untimely thoughts from your head.

“And no one thought to call me?” You shouted angrily through the swarm, snagging a baseball bat from the rack and smacking it around with reckless abandon. Caliban hooted, laughing loudly as you took your place beside them. Rats tore at your clothes, but you were more frustrated that Sabrina had called your boyfriend (or whatever he was) over you.

“Why did you get Caliban! I was right there! Is there something wrong with you? Were you dropped on the head as a child? He’s not even from here Sabrina, he has no idea what-”

“For hell’s sake, he’s not the new kid! He’s not even from Australia! He’s a stupid clay prince from hell who is trying to take my throne and raze humanity, and his stupid plague king sent these after me, and now he’s dating you!” Sabrina spat out the word dating as if it was even more disgusting than the winged vermin tearing at your clothes.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on here?”

You were no less frustrated when Sabrina revealed her trek to hell and the all ensuing madness she’d partaken in, but you remained calm enough to not turn the bat on her clearly empty skull.

“And you’re the clay prince of hell... challenging her throne?” You questioned with a sharp glance at Caliban, who nodded reluctantly as he swatted a rat hurtling towards you.

“Do you even have a driver’s license!” You screamed, waving your baseball bat around wildly.

“I’m a demon prince of hell made out of clay, and you’re worried about if I can legally drive?” Caliban shouted back in astonishment through the wave of shrieking rats. The lacrosse stick he’d snagged was surprisingly effective.

“I was getting to that part, thank you for reminding me!” You hissed, debating whether to smash his face in with the bat. “How about we start with how you completely lied to me, and how our whole relationship or whatever it is a lie! Were you ever going to tell me? Or was this all part of some throne grab?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Caliban demanded hotly. “You were not a lie!”

“Really!” You whirled on him, eyes alight with anger. “Because I sure feel like one!”

The rats numbers were dwindling rapidly, and you smacked the last one heading towards you directly at Caliban’s face. It collided with a satisfying shriek, and you threw your bat down as you stormed out of the gym.

Sabrina and Caliban rushed after you, but you’d disappeared in the hall.

now i'm, yeah, oh!

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

now i'm hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again, (oh)

love bug again

You’d remained collected until you’d transported into the middle of the living room, collapsing into auntie Hilda’s arms in a puddle of tears as you told her everything. She’d muttered a stream of ancient curses about Sabrina, but beyond that merely smoothed your hair and told you that all boys were awful— especially demonic princes of hell.

“I hate him.” You glared half-heartedly into your cup of steaming peppermint tea. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid. Falling blindly in love with a stranger who had only sought you out for some elaborate game with Sabrina. Screw Caliban and his perfect hair, his perfect smile, his perfect— “I want to bash his face in.”

“No you don't, love.” Hilda smiled knowingly. “You’re angry, yes— and hurt. But you care for the boy. I’ve never seen you so happy as you’ve been these last few days. I think you ought to cool down and hear what he has to say.”

“I never want to talk to him again.” You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “I’d rather die.”

And because the universe was truly conspiring against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Well, best get over that quick.” Hilda warned, ignoring your stream of indignant protests as she hustled to the door.

“Caliban! Yes, do come in love. Oh, yes, we will be having a little chat later, but for now I think it’s my niece you must be speaking to.” Hilda’s cheerful voice trailed in from the foyer, and you jumped up to make a break for it.

You were halted by a familiar pair of strong arms tugging you back by the waist.

“Get off of me!” You shouted, pushing Caliban away harshly and ignoring the warmth that lingered where he’d touched you. “I want my baseball bat. Somebody get me my baseball bat! I’m going to bash your stupid pretty face in you asshole—”

“Five minutes.” Caliban pleaded desperately, “just give me a five minutes to explain, and then I’ll give you back the baseball bat to bash my face in, okay?”

You considered his offer for a moment, swallowing the sob crawling its way up your throat as you nodded reluctantly. If it made him leave faster, you’d do anything.

His shoulder sagged in barely concealed relief. “Okay. I am Caliban, Prince of Hell. I am not from Australia, clearly, and am not a transfer student. I am trying to take your cousin’s throne. She does not understand the realm of the damned— she thinks it needs to be generous, rather than a fair judgment of life. I am not her father, and I do not believe in reckless or cruel damnation. I do not wish any harm on Sabrina, and I’ve managed to keep the worst of the plague kings from her. Even if you were to reject me now, I would continue to try to protect her— you have my word.” Caliban paused as you released a breath you did not know you were holding. Your eyes finally dared to meet his, and you nodded for him to continue.

“I agreed to attend Greendale because yes, it did piss off Sabrina, but you were there.” He raised his hand to halt your protest. “You intrigued me, and I wanted to know you better. I will be fully honest that it had the added bonus of irritating your cousin, who I so delight in irritating, but my primary focus was you. You... enchanted me. I had never found myself so invested in anything before as I was in spending mundane days at high school— of all things— with you. Truthfully, it confused even me at first. And while the past you knew is false, I am real— and my feelings for you are true.”

“That is such bullshit, and you know it!” You exploded furiously, smacking his chest with untamed rage. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Who agrees to go to high school because they like a girl? Are you unhinged? Who doesn't just ask someone out if they were so interested, huh? No, you came here with your stupidly perfect little ‘oh I’m Caliban, and I’m so dreamy’ act, knowing full well that it would make me completely abandon all rationality. Well guess what, I did! I fell stupid head over heels for you, and it was all one big lie.”

Your voice broke on the last few words, anger shifting to broken sadness as you continued to pound relentlessly on his chest. “I was a lie.”

He caught your hands, holding them against his chest as he pressed you against the wall. “You weren't a lie, Spellman.”

His words were breathless whisper, his beautiful eyes pained and desperate as he gripped your hands harder. “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I enrolled in high school because you smiled at me. I learned every line of Romeo and Juliet to recite them to you. When we first met, you wondered how Romeo and Juliet could possibly fall in love after a mere few days, but I understand it now. I have never been driven so completely insane by anything or anyone like this before. The power you have over me is unmatched. I am completely and wholly yours. If you were to ask me right now to leave, to never bother you again, I would leave my heart with you and spend my eternity in endless sorrow. I would think forever of the way you smiled at me, the way you kissed me, how soft your hair felt in my hands, and how my heart raced every time you laughed. I would never forgive myself for the pain I had caused you, and you would haunt me every day, every waking moment, every dream.”

Caliban moved your hands to his lips, nearly kissing them as he pleaded to you with tears in his beautiful eyes. You were motionless, turned to stone by his heavy gaze.

“So please, don’t become my specter. If I am a stranger to you now, let me make you fall for me all over again. I would do it a thousand times, if you'd let me. I could think of no sweeter way to spend my eternity.”

When you’d thought that Shakespeare had been imagining Caliban when he wrote, you’d been wrong. There was no poetry, no book, no lyric that could possibly compare to the way he spoke to you— the way his eyes so desperately tried to convey his anguish.

You removed your hands from his, and his whole face seemed to shatter.

“You’re not a stranger,” you muttered softly, moving to take his face your hands. His face remained guarded, but he leaned instinctively into your touch. “You’re Caliban.”

When you kissed him, it was like falling in love all over again.

And you supposed you did.

“But we are having a long, long talk about everything.” You warned as you pulled back, poking his chest sharply as he nodded profusely. “And if you ever, ever lie to me again, I’ll set something worse than flying rats on you. I’ll let Sabrina have you.”

Caliban laughed wildly, picking you up and spinning you around as he kissed you over and over again in sheer relief and joy. “I love you, Spellman. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“I just want you, clay boy.”

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hornime · 4 years ago

Text

twinkle tits | tanaka saeko x gn!reader

she laughed again, causing a strangely warm feeling to bubble in your stomach. “i like you, you don’t take anyone’s shit.” her expression turned darker. “i’d love to break you.”

warnings: 18+, timeskip!saeko, kinda dom!saeko, titty sucking, mentions of unsafe driving

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: furudate told me that it’s canon that saeko has tit piercings in the timeskip.

you grumbled in annoyance as a red chrome motorcycle cut in front of you on the highway, forcing you to slam on the brakes and hold down your horn, probably for a bit longer than was necessary. as you both decelerated to stop at a red light, the rider, visage hidden by a mysterious black helmet with a tinted shield, turned back to look at you, making you seize up behind the steering wheel.

they seemed to think something over and rotated back to face forward on the seat, before raising their right hand and flipping you off.

are you serious? you thought. you’re the one who cut in front of me.

all you wanted was to give this person a piece of your mind, but you knew that 1) road rage just wasn’t worth it and 2) doing so would do nothing but make your commute unnecessarily complicated. it was one of those mondays, and the last thing you needed was to get pissed off before getting morning coffee in your system. all you wanted to do was forget about the incident and move on with your day.

unfortunately, the fates weren’t keen on making that happen.

to your frustration, the annoying bike, with, to your newfound knowledge, the even more annoying rider, turned into the lot of your office building, parking in front of a recently sold lot, which was conveniently located right next to your workplace. you debated for a second over where to park, for all you knew, this biker could be crazy or something, but you decided that, at this point, you really didn’t care.

you turned off your engine, gathered what you needed for the day, and stepped out of your car, intending to look straight ahead and get through the doors of your building with as little conflict as possible. thoughts bounced around in your head as the revving of the motorcycle a few spots away quieted: don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t enga—

“hey! you!” a voice called out. you cursed internally, before spinning your head towards the yell.

a woman with brown eyes that glinted dangerously and blonde hair that shone in the early sun was tapping her foot, the incessant click of her black stiletto on the concrete becoming more and more irritating. stiletto? you thought. how the hell was she wearing stilettos on a motorcycle?

your eyes couldn’t help but trail downwards towards her chest, her crossed arms accentuating her soft, leather-clad curves. as you were distracted by her body, she walked up to you, snapping a pair of red nails in your face and bringing back to reality.

“hey,” she insisted, a hint of amusement evident in her voice. “my eyes are up here.”

you looked up, embarrassed at being caught ogling her, and made eye contact. shit, you thought, losing yourself in her sharp features. she’s really hot. suddenly, you remembered what this crazy lady had put you through: and she almost made me crash. “hey,” you responded tersely. “who the hell taught you how to drive?”

you cringed at your bluntness, so much for avoiding conflict, while she raised an eyebrow in challenge, a spunky smile turning her lips up. “who taught me how to drive? what about you? you barely checked if anyone was gonna turn in.”

you chuckled in astonishment. there was no way this bitch was trying to flip this on you. “you’re kidding right? you drive like a literal madwoman.” you thought back, in hindsight, maybe you hadn’t looked to see if anyone was coming, but that wasn’t the point! isn’t it her job to be a defensive driver?

she threw her head back and laughed, a strangely charming sound for how loud and taunting it was. “yeah, i get that a lot. too fast, too reckless, and too cocky. i think it makes life more interesting.”

“well, i think it almost killed me.”

“lighten up,” she snarked, digging the tip of her pointer finger into your chest. “you look like someone that takes life too seriously. you gotta take a risk sometime!”

“a risk that might send me into my grave,” you deadpanned, “no thanks.”

she laughed again, causing a strangely warm feeling to bubble in your stomach. “i like you, you don’t take anyone’s shit.” her expression turned darker. “i’d love to break you.”

you flinched at her change in tone. what?

“well,” she continued. “i gots’ta go. lots of lives to ruin! yours is just one of many.”

you called out as she swiveled to walk away. “wait!” she cocked her head towards you. “where d’you work?”

she gestured to the lot she’d parked in front of. “saeko’s cycles. i’m saeko and i sell cycles. motorcycles. ‘s a work in progress. you?”

you nodded at the building next to hers. “there.”

she approached you again, extending her fingers to dance on your shoulder, sending hot chills down your spine. “we’re work neighbors then.” she grinned devilishly. “guess i’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

you gulped. she really was hot.

“guess you will.”

you both went your separate ways.

for the next few days, the pattern repeated: saeko would cut you off, you’d honk, she’d flip you off, and you’d engage in some banter before heading off to work. you looked forward to interacting with the driving demon everyday; you thought about her throughout the day, on the way home, at night in your bed with nothing more than your imagination, your hand, and an incessant ache for sex... she was driving you crazy.

on saturday morning, you grumbled at the sound of your alarm: you had to drop off some paperwork at the office. reluctantly leaving your bed, you drove your way to the building. a scarlet flash caught your eye, and you were surprised to see saeko’s motorcycle parked in its usual spot. why’s she here? it’s saturday. after completing your task, you reached for the handle of your car door, then stopped. saeko’s probably working in her shop, you thought. it’d be nice to stop by.

you peered in the doorway, hearing the clattering of what you presumed to be tools coming from the back. “saeko?” you called, making your way through shelves of biking equipment and gear. “it’s me.”

the blonde poked her head out from the other side of a muddied motorcycle, hair pushed back with a headband. “hey!” she stood up, wiping her hands on a damp cloth, approaching you in a red-lined vest and a black headband. she looked dressed up, almost for a performance.

“what’s with the getup?”

“oh,” she said, looking down as if she’d just noticed what she was wearing. “taiko clothes.” at your confused expression, she clarified: “taiko’s a kind of japanese drumming. i’m captain of a local team. this,” she pointed at her vest, “is a happi. and this,” she tugged at the headband, “is a hachimaki. i just came back from rehearsal.”

you stood, speechless. she looked really good in those clothes, but you were sure that she’d look even better with them off.

she cleared her throat. “you have a nasty habit of zoning out on my tits. like what you see that much?”

your eyes shot back up to her, the heat of humiliation creeping up your neck. “um, uh. i-i...”

she chuckled at your shame. “no it’s okay, i like the attention.” her gaze turned predatory. “and i like you, too.”

within an instant, saeko was on you, your mouths melding together in a raunchy and needy kiss, tongues clashing passionately. lips locked within each other, she guided your movements, leading you to a small room at the back of the shop.

suddenly, she shoved you off of her, raising her leg so that the toe of her black stiletto teased lightly at your crotch. she gently increased the pressure, causing you to yelp in surprise—and an odd form of pleasure.

“why don’t you take a seat, babe?” the pet name made you shiver. saeko continued pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the leather of a swivel chair, and you fell onto it.

eyes wide with lust and lips bruised with her animalistic desire, she thought you looked absolutely perfect, gazing up at her with a look of pure want. her eyes narrowed as she approached, towering over you. her hand grazed your throat before grabbing it. her hachimaki was hanging off the top of her head haphazardly, and she reached up and took it off, placing it on a neighboring table. she did the same with her happi, leaving you with an enticing view of her top half, clad in nothing but a lacy black bralette.

you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her, fervently tracing her delicious breasts. the area over her nipple was covered in a mesh fabric, and you could see—was that silver?

your head jerked up in shock. “you have tit piercings?”

“hell yeah i do,” she teased, climbing onto your lap and spreading her lags on either side of your knees. in this position, her bust was at your face-level, the barbells sparkling hypnotically. “you like?”

you swallowed dryly, convinced that she knew exactly what she was doing: spurring on your already overwhelming desperation for her body. “...yeah,” you whispered breathlessly. “i like ‘em a lot.”

she crossed her arms and lifted the erotic undergarment over her head, bare flesh now tantalizingly close to your mouth. “give ‘em a taste then.”

she didn’t have to tell you twice. your lips swiftly latched onto her right nipple, tongue swirling around the bud, and you moaned at the metallic taste of the piercing. you raised your thumb to play with the other one, and she gasped at the contact.

“you—you’re really good at this,” she panted. “you look cute like this. all needy for my tits.”

you mewled at her praise, releasing her nipple with a pop! and moving your mouth to work the other one. “i like you, saeko,” you mumbled into her skin. “i don’t even mind that you’re a shitty driver.” you looked up at her, eyes blown wide with arousal. “you’re really cool.”

“yeah, yeah, i know,” she giggled. unexpectedly, she pushed her body off of you and landed on her feet.

“why?” you pouted, trying, and failing, to conceal your disappointment, mouth feeling empty.

“oh, stop whining,” she chided, pulling her clothes back on. she motioned to a nearby motorcycle helmet on the corner of her desk. “put that on.”

“wha-where are we going?”

she sighed, kneeling to scrub some dirt off her shoe. “i know i said i’d break you, but i didn’t realize you’d get this dumb just from some sucking. we’re going to my place.”

she turned to glance at you, ravenous gaze reflecting her intense desire. “and once we get there, we’re gonna have a lot more fun. if we survive the drive, of course.”

you let out a sigh of amused exasperation. she’s gonna kill me.

#feeling ultra super gay today #for one woman only #this one #kinky.inky #haikyuu smut #haikyuu! smut #hq saeko #saeko x you #saeko x reader #saeko tanaka #saeko x y/n #saeko

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Text

spectators

part 8 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

paring: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: strong language, kissing, enough fluff for a rich person chair

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the Frankie and you appease the people who have been invested in their relationship this whole time.

Pope threw the ball straight up, and caught it.

Then he did it again – he was thinking.

Right hand, then left. Right, left. The ball was in the air less and less time, but the speed didn’t increase. Eventually he was just tossing it straight into his own palm, slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.

Frankie watched, not even nervous. Of all the reactions he could’ve predicted this was more or less what he expected.

“I’m proud of you,” this throw was for Catfish.

“Thanks.” He caught it.

“You’re fucking lucky,” Pope grinned.

“I know.” Frankie threw it back.

“When is the next date?” Benny plucked it out of the air, a strange look in his eyes. The rest of the team was already back in the locker rooms, but they had held Frankie back, curious. He had spent the morning practice practically glowing, playing well, but suspiciously distracted. Initially, there was an onslaught of teasing and questions and exaggerated berating, but now they had quieted, actually processing this, as friends. Will look satisfied, happy even, but Frankie kicked himself, remembering too late that Ben’s most recent romance hadn’t worked out.

“Tonight – she thinks the parties are bad news,” he said it carefully - Ironhead had been the one to start sharing their pasts with you, but it was really out there now, for you to take or leave. He moved past them towards the showers and he heard Tom snort, making an exaggerated whipping sound. The older man had listened to his abbreviated story with a stoic face, just raised eyebrows and his arms crossed. Frankie’s jaw clenched, wondering if he should retort, but he didn’t get the chance.

It was quiet, but Will added, “She’s not wrong,” in that even, reasonable tone of his. The tension fell, and then rose, sharply, a testament to the respect they all held for the first-baseman's opinion. Trudging through the hallway suddenly felt too fast, too dangerous, like the conversation should’ve stayed outside. A long moment filled only by footsteps as they all considered, before Ben spoke.

“Can I come?” Frankie stopped walking, turning incredulously and Santi smacked the rookie on the back of his head. Benny glared, but without any real bite. “Ow, fuck you - I’d rather hang out than go to another one of those stupid parties, wouldn’t you?” He looked defiant, meeting each of their eyes and gesturing with both of his arms, goading them to answer him, to disagree.

No one did, not even Tom, who glowered, the leather of his glove folded into deep wrinkles. Will’s blue eyes met the brown of Santi’s, and his mouth hooked into a smile. Deep laughter went a long way to thawing tension when it was genuine, and it was.

“Ben, you can’t crash Fish's date, we can do something else,” Will took his own turn smacking his brother but it was a bit of a bold statement. There were days when it felt like they really couldn’t so anything else, like there wasn’t other options that felt real – but they should be able to.

Frankie dragged a hand over his face before groaning a muffled, “Wait,” and sighing. He cursed, not even aware of what language it was in, occupied by the thought of what you would say if you were here. It was ridiculous but it felt right, and it was an opportunity for him to slow down again. “Honestly she would probably love if you guys hung out.”

There was a beat, where they stared at him, before the debate began. It didn’t last long, hushing as they reached the locker room, but by the time they were clean and dried and settled, it was decided. There really wasn’t a downside to it and really, they were all figuring you out, too. The lure of your smiles and home cooked food far outweighed the temptation of loud music and sticky floors and girls too tipsy to talk with, at least this time.

In the lull between the practice and the game, Frankie tried not to jump whenever his phone made a noise. One date in, and he was already daydreaming about just driving to your house and just kissing you until one of you had somewhere better to be. But you had a job, and things to finish so you had time for his game that evening, and he was acutely aware that while you had let that incredible evening – yesterday? – happen, he would need to slow down. He had already told you, he wanted to do this right.

He confirmed the plans for the evening, smiling as you agreed to host all his friends, and then tossed his phone into his bag. Then put a jacket on top of the bag, folded twice so it balanced precariously. When it buzzed he made himself take a lap around the building, and wanted to bang his head against the wall when it was a random email.

And all evening the thought of you. The game rolled in, and he squatted bitterly, annoyed his position left his back to the crowd. It meant he couldn’t look for you, and James. Logically he knew, even if you had told him your exact seats, he wouldn’t be able to make you out unless you were close, but that didn’t stop him from wishful thinking.

Catch, catch, walk, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

The game built, and tensions were high as the scores stayed close and the crowd whispered about playoffs. It was the worst time for him to be batting, the pressure too high to be on the shoulders of a catcher, but it couldn’t be helped.

He walked out, listening to the blast of an old song too familiar to recognize, and the rumble of the announcer.

Frankie looked towards the crowd, knowing you were out there and fruitlessly wishing he could see you. He stopped at the plate, shifting on the balls of his feet, feeling the dirt under his cleats and trying to imagine your eyes on him. His hands tightened, loosened, tightened again, the wrap on the handle of the bat protested the movement, and he tried to hear you whispering his name.

You were cheering for him, right?

The ball hit his bat with a satisfying crack, and he didn’t watch where it went before he ran.

James was stalling.

You were supposed to drive him home, as always, but after spending most of the game filling him in about you and Francisco, there was no convincing him to move faster.

He wanted to see the man who had kissed his granddaughter – more than once! – and look him over again. The sweet, elderly man could be quite determined, especially when it involved two of his favorite people in the whole world. It meant waiting until the crowds fled and dodging staff who would no doubt shoo you away, but the eagerness on his little, wrinkled face made him impossible to deny.

“Jimbo, you’ve already met him,” you tried again, listening to the shrieks of a fangirl. After the surprising home run, the catcher was in high demand, and it made your stomach twist.

You had woken up this morning still shy and baffled at what you were to him, what was happening. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, and you talked a lot, but not about... you, together. But James was certain, this was it, and he wanted to look Francisco in the eyes before he gave you his blessing.

His hand was in your elbow and you tugged, again, before withering under his look. He began lecturing you, about this being his job and you offered a compromise. This time, you weren’t invited, but you guided him towards the lobby where friends and family met the players, and when they let you in, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

Santiago found you first, and both of you got big hugs from him and the Miller boys, as they told you animatedly about how much hell they gave Frankie for bringing you home the first date. You barely got a word in, but you grinned as James joined their indignation.

In truth, your eyes were looking for Frankie, and you chided yourself at how much you ached for him, as always.

After a few minutes, Will pushed you towards the locker room, and you shot him a grateful smile. All the other players were clear, he told you, Frankie was being a baby about facing the fans. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, confirming that he was at loathe to run into anyone but you. They kept your grandfather occupied, and you knew they were in good hands as he was insisting he was hosting game night, that night.

Ducking into the hall, you followed the tile and the gaudy decorations, and found him.

Frankie, your Francisco was freshly showered, tshirt and jeans marked with drips from his curls, fiddling with his phone like he was waiting for you to text back. When he saw you, he dropped it into his bag, and your arms and eyes were suddenly full of him.

It was a crushing hug, he was eager and almost bursting with pride. You made a noise, you know you did, when only your toes were touching the ground, but he didn’t spin you around before he set you down.

He tried to pull away, he really did, but he couldn’t help but stay close, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were flushed as you congratulated him, telling him admiringly about how exciting his home run was.

Feeling him against you again was surreal. Mere weeks ago you had been watching him from a distance, and then burying ridiculous daydreams under the rug in your mind. And yet here he was, looking at you with the same softness as he had the night before, without regret, and like reality was better than a dream.

When he asked why and how you were here – not that he was complaining, you told him and explained about James. He only smiled, shifting closer to you again, telling you after all you put up with yesterday, he could certainly do this for you.

There was a pause, the air both clear and thick at the same time, and his head tilted, hands shifting on your hips. Thoughts of your family and friends and food slipped from your mind as his face drew closer, the tip of his nose tapping yours.

Brown eyes, searching your face, you almost felt like you could count his eye lashes. Frankie had little freckles, faint, spattered across the tan skin of his neck and face, and there were sweet little sparse patches in his beard.

“You know, we wont get any time alone, tonight.”

His tone was thoughtful, but he said it like he almost didn’t hear himself, and you could feel the edges of the words against your lips.

The hand on your hip slid up. Up and up, until it settled on the back of your head and he was pressing into you. Frankie’s kisses were deep and slow, like he couldn’t believe last night was not a figment of his imagination, and you wound your arms around him before you got lost in them. There were words in them, distant proclamations and promises and you pulled him into you, yearning to hear them clearly.

It could’ve been a minute or half an hour, between that moment and when he pulled away. With shock, you realized you had been pushed against the locker with his name on it, and his palm was cushioning your head.

There was a clatter of aluminum against the floor, and you jumped like caught teenagers. Then you were firmly planted on the ground again, and Frankie was turned around, shielding you like it was already instinct. Neither of you saw anyone, and his laughter was bashful and sweet. When he said you should probably go, and took your hand, you heard a genuine roughness in his voice.

Behind another row of lockers, Molly whispered into Tom’s neck, “Do you need to go, too? There’s that party tonight.” And he shrugged.

The environment at James' home was completely different than last time they were there. Things were less clean, there was less food, and everyone was twice as comfortable.

It was strange, what really knowing them did - they teased you more, and breathed easier, as if they had never met someone who hadn’t minded it all.

“Juice packets?” Will asked, confused at the drink selection, and you smiled when Santi winked at you. Tom hadn’t come but you thought it would be best to play it safe. It was important to you, that if they were choosing this over a party that it was lighthearted, sincere and simple.

“I just thought it would be fun,” you gave as your only explanation and he didn’t question it further. He did drink them three at a time, though, and when you laughed, you swore you saw his smile lines.

Benny was on your team, yelling and by far the most competitive, Santi and Will’s luck encouraging it every step of the way. They bickered like kids, bellowing laughter and rambunctious celebrations included. You made an extra rule – anyone who hit you with a pillow or playing piece had to buy you ice cream, next time the opportunity came up.

If should’ve been distracting, how James had pulled Frankie to the side to talk, but it warmed your heart. You didn’t need to swoop in and rescue him – they were talking like old friends, like Frankie was genuinely interested and invested in your beloved grandfather.

Every once in awhile, he would look up and meet your eyes, watching you with his friends with one corner of his mouth pulling higher. Once, you blew him a kiss and he scrunched his nose, like it hit him between the eyes.

Later, you scooted over to them, trying to steal him back, James leaned over and ruffled your hair before sternly, adorably telling you to let him have his turn with Frankie. When Frankie joined him, jokingly telling you to back off, you thought if it didn’t work out with him, Jimbo would adopt him.

The night stretched beautifully late, before your grandfather lectured them on the importance of sleep and Benny spun you around in victory. There were stars in the sky, and you listened to their chatter fade as they piled into their cars, surprised at how affectionate you felt for all of them, after so little time and such unlikely circumstances.

Frankie had stayed back, accepting goodbye hugs, and leaning against your car as you waved the other’s off. Of course, you asked, but he didn’t tell you what they talked about and he didn’t linger as long as you had hoped he would.

His kiss was sweet and chaste, like he knew he had all the time in the world.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

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leafs-lover · 4 years ago

Text

Almost Predictable

Summary: After some time together your sex life is lacking, and you will do almost anything to reignite that flame.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, smut, oral sex (m+f receiving), sex in public places

Word Count: 7k

“Hey babe" you squeal jumping in his arms, having not seen him in almost a week because of a road trip.

He quickly drops his bag and catches you, hands gripping the bottom of your thighs. “Hey" he smiles while you bring your lips to his “missed you” he mumbles against your lips.

“Missed you too" your fingers snake into his hair, pulling his chain back with them. You smell his familiar cologne while you continue to place quick kisses on his lips. He continues down the hall his shoes hitting the hardwood.

Upon entering the bedroom he sets you down on your feet, your hands pulling his face down to yours. You stand on your tippy toes to meet him in the middle locking him in a passionate kiss. Fred’s hands rest on the small of your back, you feel him smiling against your lips. You step away pulling your tee from your body.

It’s your favourite band tee that you’ve had since you saw them perform in college. Through the many years and washes it is faded, the design partially chipped in some fabric. The hem has stretched from the wear, it now hanging off your shoulder.

You throw the shirt in the corner, revealing your bare chest having forgone a bra when you got dressed this morning. Fred smiles seeing your exposed chest and he walks forward placing a soft but passionate kiss against your lips.

Before Fred would have picked you up and pressed you against the wall seeing you like that. Or he would have turned you around bending you over the end of the bed fucking you from behind. He would have changed positions, sending orgasm after orgasm ripping through you.

It started off slowly, so slow you didn’t notice. Beginning with him no longer fucking you in every room or on every surface imaginable. Your morning coffee being drank at the table while he scrolled on his phone, where before it was you lying back on the island screaming out while his head was between your legs.

Next was the repetition. Positions weren’t changed up, alternating which one of you on their back against the mattress. The pace remaining constant, becoming almost predictable.

The last and final thing you noticed was the spontaneity. He used to pull you aside anywhere, team galas, parties one time he even pulled you away at the Christmas party pushing you to your knees and shoving his cock down your throat. If there was a door with a lock you were going to use it.

You always tried to fix your outfit and makeup before returning but the girl’s smirks and the guys not so subtle comments making it obvious they knew. Even if your hair wasn’t a complete mess the marks he left on your body telling your story.

Long behind you were the days of car sex during an impromptu late night drive or being woken up by him sucking on your clit, but now after a few years that fire is gone. It’s not that the sex had become bad, because it wasn’t. It was just missing that spark it used to have, and this time while he is on top of you slowly thrusting in and out feels no different.

He stills on top of you, nipping at your collarbone. He slowly pulls out glancing over at the clock “we are meeting everyone at 9 so you have plenty of time" he says kissing your lips. He walks away leaving you lying naked on the bed.

A couple hours later you sit at the table eating your dinner quietly. You can feel Fred’s gaze lingering on you while you stare down at your plate.

“Everything okay (Y/N)?” he finally breaking the silence.

“Hmm oh yeah" you respond pushing some carrots around on your plate. You reach forward grabbing your water taking a sip, locking eyes with him.

His gaze has narrowed and he huffs “just tell me. It will be so much easier if you just tell me.”

You lean back in your seat staring at him setting your glass on the table. You hear the sound of it hitting the table and begin the run your fingers around the rim of the glass buying time.

“It’s nothing” you lie turning your attention to your dinner. You stab some carrots bringing them up to your mouth. Fred watches you chew them and when you reach to get some more he reaches across grabbing your fork bringing your gaze up to his.

“Come on we live together, I know when something is wrong and when you’re lying to me" he groans.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s” you say pausing for a second. “It’s just…have you…I just think…well I…” you stammer out.

His brown eyes glare at you, waiting for you to respond. Your heart feels like it’s practically ready to burst from your chest.

“What is it (Y/N)?” he grunts.

“Do you feel like the sex has changed" you blurt out.

“What?” he says half laughing but more out of awkwardness “do you?”

You take a minute and a few deep breaths staring into his chest unable to meet his gaze.

“It’s nothing” you quickly respond. “Forget I said it, I have to get ready.” You push your chair back getting up from the table practically running to the bathroom. You lock the door behind you leaning against it you take some deep breaths.

You can’t believe you just said that that those words actually came out. Finally you groan and pull your phone out. You set it to your playlist, the playlist you typically use at the gym or when you are giving the kitchen a deep clean. You set the volume on the speaker louder than normal and step into the shower.

You probably stand in there way too long, the stream making you run through that moment a million times. You are baffled that you said something. Especially because it’s not bad, it’s just missing a little bit of spice.

Finally the water is getting cold, and you can’t turn it up higher. You reluctantly turn it off and step out onto the cool tile floor, wrapping yourself in a towel you stare at yourself through the fogged up mirror. You grip the edges of the counter, knuckles going white taking a few deep breaths.

You turn off the music and unlock the door. You expect to see Fred sitting on the bed waiting to talk to you, but instead the sheets are crisp and the pillows still in place. You can hear the faint volume from the TV in the living room.

You sigh throwing on some casual clothes and begin doing your hair. At 7:30 you feel Fred brush up behind you turning on the shower. He says nothing, standing there waiting for the right temperature while you finish your hair.

He jumps in the shower and you walk to the closet. The steam making it hard for you to do your makeup properly. You look to the outfit you had considered wearing, black jeans with a floral tank top and a leather jacket. You like this outfit but it’s comfortable, safe and that’s not the look you want to go with anymore.

You scan the closet trying to decide what to wear when you hear the blow dryer start while Fred dries his hair. You walk up beside him and begin brushing your teeth. You make sure to not look into the mirror, but you can feel him burning a hole into your flesh with his gaze.

At 8:30 you walk out of the bedroom to find Fred waiting on the couch. The TV and all the lights are off except for one lamp, dimly on in the corner. Even still the space is illuminated by the bright Toronto skyline, Fred staring aimlessly out the window.

He turns the dryer off and finishes his hair while you start your makeup routine. After finishing his hair and brushing his teeth he stands beside you, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You see from your peripheral vision his mouth open and close a few times, his eyes are soft and full of concern. You can tell he is struggling but he finally walks out of the room with a soft huff.

“Can you zip me?” you ask holding your heels in your hand.

Fred turns to see you next to him, so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t hear you walking towards him. His eyes run up and down your body taking you in. You hear him mumbling under his breath but you can’t make out what he is saying, but given that his eyes haven’t left your body you imagine good things.

You opted for your favourite little black dress. The fabric around your waist clings to you showing off your figure, the hem likely being a few inches too short elongates your legs. And if the dress didn’t show off your ass, the bright red heels will help it pop.

He stands up brushing your hair to the side to expose your back. He slowly zips you up, tightening the fabric as he goes. You can hear his breath catch in his throat as the zipper reaches the top. You hold your hand out, passing him your white gold necklace that has two initials hanging from it. An F for Fred and your initial resting just above your chest line.

He fumbles a little bit, eventually getting the clasp to fasten around your neck. His hands move to your shoulders, resting there while you stand in silence. You feel his breath on the exposed skin of your neck, goosebumps running down your spine; this outfit having the impact you wanted.

You put your heels on, helping to close the height difference between the two of you and pull your coat over your shoulder waiting for him. He stops in front of you, narrowing his eyes staring down at your face. He gathers his belongings but before he reaches for the door he walks up in front of you leaning down for a kiss. You quickly turn your cheek “lipstick babe” you whisper.

His grip on your shoulders tighten and you can feel the cool metal from his chain on your collarbone. Before he has the chance to do anything you step towards the door “we should get going or we’ll be late” you call over your shoulder. You have a giant smirk plastered on your face walking away but you don't dare let him see. When you finally reach the door you drop it replacing it with a neutral expression when you look at him. He scowls slightly before sighing and following you to the door.

“Wow you weren’t messing around when you got dressed tonight” Steph laughs hugging you. You place a soft kiss on her cheek laughing and moving on to greet the other women “yeah I was just in a mood” you explain laughing.

“You’re the worst” he groans opening the door. But really you know you haven't had the full impact you planned on tonight.

“Wish I had of known I would have changed my outfit” Audrey says while you hug her. Upon walking in the door you left Fred and found the women, you glance around the bar seeing the group of men tucked away in the booths in the back corner. You see Fred who is sitting at the end of the table, his long sleeve clinging tightly to his broad shoulder.

While you chat with some of the women you constantly feel Fred’s eyes locked on you, watching your every move over the rim of his glass. After a few drinks you, Steph and Audrey make your way to the dance floor, the remainder returning to the table.

You dance and laugh, belting out parts of the lyrics. You peer over at Fred periodically and rarely see him engaged in conversation, most of the time his eyes follow you. While dancing you see a brunette man around your age leaning against the bar watching you dance. You shoot him a smile continuing to dance with the girls.

As the song ends you all decide to take a break from dancing, the other two return to the table but you walk over to the bar, standing at the end closest to Fred. The man from earlier watches you while you wait for the bartender, busy filling the other drink orders. You glance at him from the corner of your eye before turning back to look at the bar.

You watch him take you in, eyes lingering on your chest the thin straps and cut of the neck showing off your chest. It's almost reminiscent of the way Fred looked at you the night you met, years ago.

You direct your attention to him sending seductive glances his way, even going as far to wink at him. He smiles at you; raising his glass to you and taking a sip. You turn your attention quickly to Fred, him staring daggers towards the stranger. You can sense the anger, and can almost see the vein in his neck from afar; he brings his glass to his lips throwing back his entire whiskey in one quick swoop.

You see him leave his post making his way towards you. He stops a few feet from you and you turn to look at him, elbow resting on the bar but still able to see Fred from the corner of your eye. He is tall, not as tall as Fred but who else is? He has dark hair similar in length to Fred’s brushed to the side. You can tell from his physique that he frequents the gym, but he pales in comparison to your Danish boyfriend.

“Hi I’m Josh” he says holding a hand out for you.

“Hi I’m (Y/N)” you reply shaking his hand.

“That’s a pretty name” he replies stepping closer. You look up at his face seeing his dark green eyes staring down at you.

“Thanks” you smile glancing over your shoulder to see Fred’s anger almost boiling over.

“You look stunning” he yells over the music.

“You look good too” you reply. He has on a button up white t-shirt tucked into his pink skinny jeans. His shirt so tight his biceps look one movement away from tearing it off. He has it paired with brown loafers and matching belt. While he does look good, his outfit couldn’t be further from your boyfriend who is wearing dark washed jeans with a tight grey long sleeve. Both men look good, but you prefer the simplicity of your boyfriend’s style. He always said he didn’t need to sparkle and shine with his outfits because you brought enough for the both of you.

You continue to chat with Josh for a little bit, laughing at his jokes even going as far to put your hand on his arm which may have been one step too far. At this point you can feel more than Fred’s eyes on you, some of the players and WAG’s noticing. Steph walks by shooting you a concerned look given you haven’t spent any time with him, but you know exactly what you’re doing. Better yet Fred knows what you’re doing.

“Can you excuse me? I have to run to the washroom” you say shooting him a smile and grabbing your clutch. You turn around locking eyes with Fred; his eyes narrow while he finishes his 5th whiskey, or was it 6th? You turn your gaze in front of you, smirking at Fred from the corner of your eye while you walk by.

You enter the bathroom and reapply some lipstick fluffing your hair. You stand at the counter for a few minutes wasting some more time, before finally leaving. As soon as you open the door you feel a large hand wrap around your wrist pulling you into the men’s room. He presses you against the door, knees spreading your legs open.

“Hi Fred” you whisper looking into his eyes, pupils blown with anger.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he chews out, words like venom.

“I was just going to the washroom” you respond knowing that wasn’t what he was talking about.

“Where’s your friend?” he asks thumbs digging into your hip holding you in place.

“Hmm…oh Josh. The bar I think” you say dumbly not breaking eye contact.

“Josh know you have a boyfriend? He know I’m taking you home tonight” he asks face inches from yours. “He know you’re mine?”

“No. Didn’t come up” you respond shrugging at him

His hand traces lines up your exposed thigh, causing you to practically drip through your underwear. Fred’s hand leaves your thigh and you hear him unbuckle his belt. He grabs your wrist leading you into a stall slamming the door shut behind him.

“Guess we better make sure he knows your mine” he growls undoing his pants and boxers, they drop down his legs hanging on his thighs. His hard cock slaps back against his stomach. You reach down to the hem of your dress, going to pull it up to your waist.

You pull your head back stroking it with your hand, eyes glued on Fred. He grips your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. He throws your arm at your side; his thumb touches your chin opening your jaw for him.

“No” he growls eyes nodding to the ground, his hands guiding you towards the floor. You rest your knees on the sticky cool tile floor licking your lips, staring at the pre-cum that has oozed out of the tip. You grip it with your hand, sliding your tongue along his vein. When you reach the tip you wrap your lips around it licking it clean moaning as the salty flavor fills your mouth.

You choke slightly and Fred smirks at you from above. “Such a little slut” he spews “trying to make me jealous huh?”

He chuckles from above you, nudging his hip forward guiding his cock into your mouth. He releases your jaw, hand sliding around to grip your hair holding you in place. He begins to rock his hip, dick sliding in and out of your mouth. He sets a fast pace, not allowing you much time to adjust, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust.

You hum around him while he continues to fuck your face. Spit is dribbling down your chin onto the fabric of your dress. Your vision getting blurred, tears developing in the corner of your eyes, your body tingles while he doesn’t stop. You hear the door open, your eyes go wide. You know they know what is happening; the number of legs and positions leaving little to the imagination.

You hear some chuckling and hushed whispers but Fred doesn’t stop just continuing his pace. You stare up at him wide eyed and he smirks, ramming his dick down your throat causing you to choke. You can tell he is close by the expression on his face but he doesn’t stop. You continue to hear whispering and laughing. You are unable to control or focus on the sounds leaving your mouth let alone those leaving strangers.

Fred pistons his hips while you hear the music from the bar get loud. The music gets quiet as the door closes, the other men leaving.

“Like that eh, people knowing what a slut you are” he groans. You hum in agreeance and feel his dick twitch spilling inside your throat. He releases your hair and thrusts a couple times before pulling out causing some to spill down your chin.

He helps you to your feet and you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand. He pulls his pants back up his large thighs re-attaching his belt. He steps forward, hands sliding to your ass gripping it firmly, lips crashing into yours. He locks you in a passionate kiss, pressing you against the wall of the stall for a few minutes.

When he pulls away he reaches behind unlocking the stall door, letting you out first. As you walk by he slaps your ass making you jump. You walk to the sink washing your hands and trying to repair your smeared mascara when you notice something in the mirror. You turn your head and realize some of his cum fell from your chin your hair and the fabric covering your breast.

“Fuck Fred” you groan grabbing some paper towel in an attempt to clean it but he just smirks at you.

“Told you I was going to make sure he knew you were mine” he says smiling.

“This dress can’t be washed” you grumble.

“Here” he says taking the paper towel from you. Instead of wetting it first he brings it directly to the fabric. He collects most of it, but some is smeared leaving a white mark where the globs fell.

“Freddie” you whine and he just laughs. You have a feeling he did this on purpose, marking his territory.

“Relax I’ll send it to the cleaners with my suits tomorrow” he replies with a devilish grin. You exhale loudly shaking your head at him.

“What?” he asks, edges of his lip curled up proud of himself.

“You did this on purpose” you reply wetting some paper towel in an attempt to clean the fabric.

“Why would I do that?” he asks and you scoff in response.

“So when I go back to talk to Josh he will see that and your smug look and know what happened” you retort.

“Oh you’re going to talk to him again?” he asks calmly, adjusting his hair in the mirror.

“Thinking about it. Why, you have a problem with that?” you ask giving up on your dress moving to your hair.

“Just thought you might want to spend some time with your boyfriend, you know the man you came with” he responds focusing his gaze on you.

“You jealous babe?” you ask reapplying lipstick, all of it now smeared on Freddie’s dick. He steps up behind you, turning you to face him. His hands firmly grip the counter on either side of you, his face coming within centimeters of yours.

He rolls his eyes at you, not giving you a response “you are jealous aren’t you. Jealous that I spent the first hour on the dance floor not looking at you once. Then I walked away and started up a conversation with a pleasant man who wasn’t you. A very attractive man at that. Are you thinking about Josh talking to me babe?” you tease his face so close you can smell the whiskey on him. “Thinking about Josh’s eyes raking over my body while he tries to imagine me naked. While he imagines kissing me, sucking marks on my neck.”

You can tell you have struck a nerve with him, his eyes becoming dark. He bends a knee, raising a thigh between your legs; you feel his denim press into your clothed core. You’re so wet you wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wet spot when he pulled away.

You bring your lips to his ear “Josh….Josh” you whisper into his ear. “He definitely is thinking about –“

“You know babe, he reminds me of you, or at least of that night we met. You couldnt stop staring, and once you finally joined me on the dance floor you couldn't keep your hands off.

You know Josh is probably thinking about what it will feel like to have my lips wrapped around his dick” you say causing Fred to shutter at the thought. “What it will be like to push his hard cock deep inside me. What it will sounds like when I moan his name.”

“Fine, I’m jealous” he huffs throwing his hands in the air. “You make those sounds for me, you say my name. No one else”

You smirk at him taking a few steps closer to him taking in his brown pupils “what are you gonna do about it Freddie?” you ask.

His eyes narrow while he looks down at you “coat now” he orders opening the door.

You smile at him, raising your eyebrows walking out the door. He grabs your hand pulling you by the table towards the coats. You look over at Auston who just shakes his head at you, while Mitch laughs watching you practically run to match his large strides.

Once outside he grabs the back of your neck, ducking you into a taxi. You slide in pressing yourself up against the door, Fred sliding in right beside you. His hand firmly grips your upper thigh the entire drive, his thumb stroking under the hem of your dress. He smirks feeling the damp fabric covering your core.

His hand slides further, stroking over the lace sending a shiver through your spine. He pushes this to the side, his index finger harshly thrusting into your folds. You moan at the unexpected feeling, the taxi driver looking in the review to check on you. You bite your bottom lip when you feel his thumb press into your bud.

You swallow, digging your hand into your thigh so tight you think you might be drawing blood. Every move of his fingers is calculated, coinciding with the words leaving his mouth. He slides a second finger in and you whimper at the feeling thumb pressing into your swollen bud. You can feel your orgasm beginning to develop at the moment he increases the pace of his fingers causing you to gasp and squirm.

Looking out the window, unable to handle the feeling and his smug glances. He makes casual conversation with the driver about the team and progress for the season, having immediately recognizing him. His finger slowly pumps in and out of you; he is so nonchalant it’s almost as if he doesn’t know what he is doing to you.

Except he does.

“You okay?” the driver asks.

Five blocks you think to yourself.

“Yeah she isn’t feeling that great, had some bad food at dinner” Fred lies through his teeth. Although the driver doesn’t seem too concerned about his response, resuming the conversation with Fred.

You know Fred can feel your orgasm developing but he keeps going, your back involuntarily arches towards his hand searching for a release. Your hand falls onto his jeans tightly gripping his thigh through the denim.

Your orgasm continues to bubble, every stroke causing you to grip his thigh firmer, you almost lift out of your seat trying to contain your release. Before you can tumble over the cliff the taxi stops in front of your building and you feel Fred lift up, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

His fingers slide out of your dripping cunt, to open his wallet and you sigh. You jump out of the taxi not waiting for Fred and run towards the door. Your steps are no match for your giant boyfriend who quickly catches you in the lobby.

As soon as the elevator door closes Fred returns his attention to you, his tongue licking up from the valley of your breasts to the sweet spot below your ear. His hands gripping your thighs holding you against the cool wall while he nips along your neck.

“Freddie” you moan, he rubs his fingers over your clothed core sliding them back inside you. Your head falls back against the wall, palms pressing into it for stability. His fingers fuck in and out of you, quickly bringing you back to your high.

“My name is the only name to fall from those pretty lips. Mine” he growls you grind your hips against him in response. Your orgasm is right on the edge, when he brings his other hand to pull the fabric covering your nipple down. He pinches and squeezes in combination with his thumb pressing against your sensitive bud.

“Cum for me” he almost demands knowing you are there. Your eyes close and you clench around his digits, body struggling to stand as you tremble in pleasure. He pumps his fingers in you a few more times working you through your high as your body threatens to fall over while pleasure runs through you.

Suddenly the door dings and Fred steps towards them wiping his hands on his jeans. He steps into the doorway, holding it open with his hands waiting for you but you remain frozen taking a few deep breaths.

“Coming smuk?” he asks nonchalantly your eyes snapping to meet his.

“Need a minute” you whisper warm cum dripping down your thigh.

He chuckles at your response and takes a step toward you. He quickly throws you over his shoulder “nope, no time” he laughs a soft squeal leaving your lips. He carries you down the hall hands resting on your ass holding you steady. He reaches into his pocket for his keys, fumbling through them until landing on the key to your condo.

He opens the door, keys jangling against the wood of the floor. He kicks the door closed with the heel of his shoe quickly making his way down the hall. The sole of his shoes echo off the hardwood, when he enters the bedroom he turns the light on setting you on the floor.

His mouth attaches to your neck, hand tracing over your arm sending shivers coursing through your body. You grip his waist moaning while he nips at your ear. Your hand slides under his shirt, feeling his warm skin and the curve of his back muscles.

You pull is shirt over his head tossing it to the side. Fred spins you around sucking, pushing your hair off your neck. His body presses up behind you mouth biting your collarbone. His hands run over the front of your body, pulling the straps off your shoulders. He unzips your dress allowing it fall into a pile at your feet.

You take a few steps toward the bed; his hand catches your wrist, spinning you back to face him. Your bodies a few inches from each other. He looks over your matching strapless bra and underwear “this is nice” he says lingering on the black lace floral cut-out.

“Thought of you when I bought it” you smirk at him.

He smiles hearing you say that “better be the only person you were thinking of.”

You roll your eyes at him shaking your head. He undoes his belt removing it from his waist, the metal from the buckle clanging off the floor. He leads you to the bed, pushing you onto it when the back of your legs hit the mattress.

Your legs hang off the edge of the bed while he drops to his knees. He pulls you closer to him, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He places soft kisses on the inside if your thighs a soft moan escapes your lips.

He flattens his tongue pressing it against your clothed core, pressing inside you whimpers falling from your mouth. He continues to flick his tongue through the fabric and your head falls back into the mattress. Your eyes close when you hear the fabric being torn from you.

“Frederik” you huff pushing yourself onto your elbows. His head pops up a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

“Was in the way” he jokes throwing the shredded lace aside.

You shake your head at him but he just ducks back between your legs mumbling in Danish. His tongue licks up your folds, cleaning you from your last orgasm. Your head falls back onto the mattress, his tongue flicking your clit.

His tongue slides inside your folds licking inside your walls. He continues this while your legs begin to squirm, back arching off the mattress. He throws an arm over your stomach pinning you against the mattress. Each flick of his tongue finding your most sensitive spot, the fire in your stomach burning hot.

He sucks on your clit, his beard rubbing against your thighs. Your hands run into his hair gripping tightly at his roots tilting his head against you. His tongue hits deep inside you, your legs clamp around his head holding him against your pussy.

“Freddie” you moan hips lifting up closer to his face. “I’m so close” you whine grinding down against his face.

Soft moans leave your lips, but he presses his tongue in further. He brings a thumb to your bud pressing hard into it. You feel his nose pressing deeper into you, beard burn developing on your thighs. Your orgasm is developing in the bottom of your stomach, your heels digging into his back drawing him closer to you.

He brings two fingers down scissoring you open allowing his tongue to reach further depths. You gasp at the feeling practically pulling his red locks from his head. Your hips jolt forward, body trembling you scream out in pleasure. You feel your walls spasm around him, body shaking your breathing erratic.

Fred continues flicking his tongue is and out, continuing to work you through your thigh. His tongue places a few slow licks inside your walls, a state of euphoria washing over you. After you finish he stops his tongue, pulling away from you.

He drops your legs crawling up your body, his hands tangle into your hair. You see your juices dripping from his face while he brings you in for a deep passionate kiss, you moan tasting yourself on him. Your tongues swirl around each other mouths, your chest still heaves, out of breath. Your hands gently run up his back, you finally pull apart gasping for air.

Fred stands up pulling his pants and boxers down in one swoop, your eyes falling down his sweaty chest to his hard member, precum leaking down it. “Flip” he demands.

You force yourself over crawling onto your hands and knees. Your limbs still trembling you are unsure if you can support yourself. His hands grip your hips, pulling your body back to the edge of the bed. You feel his cock poking at your entrance, coating it in your juices slowly. Without warning he rams into you, pushing your body forward.

“Fuck” you cry out.

Your cheek falls onto the mattress, ass sticking up in the air. He pulls out and slams back into you. A loud guttural moan escaping your lips, even after all this time his size always takes your breath away. Normally he allows time for you to adjust, gives you walls a chance to stretch around him. Not this time.

He fucks in and out of you dragging his thick cock along your walls; he brings a hand from your hip and slaps your ass. You yelp, your ass burns while your face falls further into the duvet.

“Deserve more for trying to make me jealous” he spits out slapping your ass again hitting the same spot as before. You wince at the pain knowing you are going to bruise feeling his hand connect with you once again.

“Fuck” you groan. His hand returns to your hips firmly pulling you back against him. Your ass hitting his stomach, you feel him hitting your cervix with every thrust. You whine out, pleasure overcoming your body while you feel your third orgasm approaching.

Strangled groans leave your lips while Fred thrusts in and out of you. His pace is fast, each thrust purposeful hitting you where you need him. He knows where your trigger points are, what is needed to send you falling over the edge.

His hand soothes over the mark on your ass as you rock your hips back onto him. Your hands reach out in front of you grasping the duvet when you feel him slap your ass again. You mumble his name, face turning into the mattress. You feel the soft cotton against your forehead “cum for me baby” Fred growls behind you slapping you again.

You cry out, your muscles tightening around his dick. He thrusts a few more times sending your body falling over a cliff into a pile of ecstasy. You feel your muscles relax, releasing around him as you spill out around him. You lose control, your vision going black moaning loud enough the Miller’s next door will for sure complain.

You feel him slip out releasing your hips from his grasp. You feel your release dripping down your thighs while you fall onto the bed. You lie on your stomach panting; attempting to capture your breath. You feel him grip your ankles and flip you over onto your back. His eyes are dark but he grins seeing you absolutely wrecked beneath him.

He nods and you slide up the bed making more room for him. He climbs on top of you wrapping hands through your hair bringing his lips down to yours. He brings you in for a deep sloppy kiss, tongues swirling around in each other.

You gasp and arch your back feeling Fred slide back in between your sensitive folds. You take a few deep breaths while Fred hooks your leg around his back and starts to slowly rock into you. Curse words leave your lips; one of your hands reaches to the hair at the nape of his neck but your fingers end up tangled in his chain.

He runs his hand up the back of your thigh, gently stroking up to your ass and back to you knee. His dick slides in and out of you “fuck baby” you mumble.

“Don’t baby me after that stunt you pulled earlier” he growls in your ear ramming deep inside you. You whimper from the sensitivity of your previous orgasms, head falling back into the duvet. Fred uses that to bring his lips to your neck biting the exposed flesh.

Your pelvis lifts higher, his hand gripping your ass pulling you against him. Your pussy squeezes around his throbbing cock. Your other hand falls onto the bed clenching the sheet while he pistons in and out. Placing kisses on your neck and collarbone his hand squeezes your ass pulling you up into him.

You feel him stutter indicating he is close. His mouth trails down the valley of your breasts soft kisses being left in his wake. His mouth attaches to your breast, swirling around the areola your knuckle white gripping the sheets so tight.

You feel the tingling in your core, an explosion waiting to erupt from you. You’re a mess underneath him, mascara stains your cheeks while his cum has dried in your hair. You feel another orgasm approaching unsure if your body can handle it but Fred knows the signs as soon as you do.

“Freddie” you groan.

“What do you want?” he groans pulling his head away from your breast “what do you need?”

“Cum for me” you whine wanting to finish with him.

“Is that what you want? You want me to cum inside you eh? Fill that pretty little pussy up with my cum” he says while his cock slides in and out at a fast pace.

“Fuck Freddie” you whine hand sliding down his back slick with sweat “I need it so bad.”

He smirks staring down at you ramming deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. He keeps his pace, dragging his cock inside your walls

“You want me to spill deep inside of you, filling you with my seed? I’ll put a baby in you, little baby Andersen.” He brings a thumb down to press circles into your swollen bud causing tears to prick the corners of your eyes. You fall over the edge for the fourth time unable to wait for him.

He finally stills collapsing on you, you feel the sweat that has been developing on your bodies as you press together.

“You’d like that eh my baby growing in your belly" he groans continuing his pace waiting for you to finish. Your orgasm is incredibly intense having so much stimulation before.

"Everybody would know you're mine if you were big and round, full of my growing seed" he grunts driving into you. Your walls flutter around him, pulling him inside you. A few more thrusts and you feel him twitch spilling deep inside you.

“Fuck” you laugh running your hand down his back, his head resting on your shoulder. After a few minutes he pulls out, you wince not fully recovered from the earlier activities. He rolls off you onto his back, his warm cum spilling out and down your leg.

“That was" he pants out of breath, turning to look at you with a huge smile.

“I know" you agree rolling to your side, hand resting on his chest.

“Are you still on birth control?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly laughing in response “yes I am.”

“Okay cause I know what I said, but I don’t think I’m there yet” he replies kissing your forehead. “Like if you get pregnant that would be great but I would prefer to not have a baby in 9 months" he laughs.

“You enjoy the process of making babies without actually making the babies" you respond smiling.

“Yeah exactly” he says and you lean forward to kiss him tasting his salty sweat that has collected on his upper lip.

“Good because I enjoy practicing to make them too” you say with your hand running through his beard.

“I’d rather Mrs. Andersen come before baby Andersen” he says the edge of his lips curling into a smile.

“But I think I want to practice making one more” he says pulling you on top of him. You laugh feeling his half hard member under your core, his cum dripping out while your rock your hips against him grinding down on him.

You feel him fully harden underneath you and you rise up. He easily slides into you, the mixture of juices providing the lubrication as he bottoms out. You gasp, your head falling back, hands resting on his abs.

“You good?” he asks, but instead of concern he has a devilish grin on his face.

You rise up and drop back down on him “fuck” you moan “you’re going to be the death of me Andersen” you joke rising up again, exhausted whimpers of pleasure leaving your lips.

“Death by orgasm seems like a nice way to go” he laughs pushing his hips up into you. He rises onto his forearms, tangling his hands in your hair pulling your mouth down to his. He sucks hard on your bottom lip “ready babygirl, I want to hear you scream this time" he grins lying back in the mattress.

#frederik andersen #Freddie Andersen #fred andersen #frederik andersen fic #frederik andersen smut #freddie andersen smut #freddie andersen fic #fred andersen smut #Fred Andersen Fic #nhl fic #nhl smut

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thethirdamell · 4 years ago

Text

Problems

I wanted to do something for the 2021 Handers Gift Exchange (@handers-time - Thank you for setting this up.) so I wrote a tiny one-shot as an extra gift for @un-shit-yourself about Werewolf Hawke. I hope you like it! Ao3 Link

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Hawke made a face. Hawke made a lot of faces, but Anders had never seen him make that particular face before. It looked downright feral, golden eyes gleaming in the dimly lit caverns of Darktown, a snarl curling his lip beneath his mustache and revealing impressively pointed teeth Anders may or may not have imagined sinking into his shoulder while Hawke fucked him silly right there in his clinic.

Anders didn’t think about it at first.

He mentioned, off-handedly, that Gallard had been giving him problems. A game of Wicked Grace gone wrong. Sure, maybe betting his ear hadn’t been the brightest idea, but Anders had more body parts than coin most days, so what else was he supposed to bet? He’d had a good hand - no, scratch that, he’d had a great hand - but Gallard had better, because Gallard cheated, and Anders knew Gallard cheated, but he’d played with Gallard anyway.

So, the ear. Anders rather liked his ears. They were where he kept his earrings, after all, and maybe it was greedy of him to want to keep both of them, but no one had ever accused him of being generous. No one except for Hawke, in that damned flirtatious way of his, smirking with one too many teeth about how if Anders was going to keep giving things away to refugees he could sure use a shirt just like the one Anders was wearing now if he wanted to take it off.

Anders wasn’t sure how that conversation had swung back around to Gallard, but swung it had, and Hawke had made a face. Hawke made a lot of faces, but Anders had never seen him make that particular face before. It looked downright feral, golden eyes gleaming in the dimly lit caverns of Darktown, a snarl curling his lip beneath his mustache and revealing impressively pointed teeth Anders may or may not have imagined sinking into his shoulder while Hawke fucked him silly right there in his clinic.

Anders was sure they’d kept talking, but the rest of the conversation was wind. He was too distracted by the sheer wildness that came out whenever Hawke was passionate about something. It manifested in the way he moved, powerful hands doing all of his talking for him while Anders imagined all the other things those hands could have been doing. Fisting in his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat for Hawke to worship, holding him against the wall aaaaand Hawke was gone.

Sigh.

Hawke took his hands with him when he left. Anders wondered if he could get him to bet them in a game of Wicked Grace. Now there was a bet Anders would have been more than happy to match. Hawke could have his hands, and his cock, and flames take him, Hawke could have the rest of him while he was at it. Gallard though. Gallard was not his type and Gallard could not have his ears and Anders was just going to have to set that expectation the next time he came knocking, but Gallard never did.

He just vanished.

Which was nice. It was nice that he vanished, but the thought of him popping up again was not so nice, and Anders was not looking forward to that happening, so it was even nicer when he stumbled across Gallard’s corpse. Someone had stuffed it down a coal chute, and someone else had opened said coal chute, and that poor someone was him. Gallard, or what was left of him, came flopping out, half-rotten from a week of decay and covered in soot.

Anders stumbled back, gagging, but there was no mistaking the elf. Anders would recognize those reflective eyes anywhere. They were a shade like old moss, an expression of abject terror on Gallard’s face over whatever he’d seen just before he’d died. Anders didn’t doubt it was horrifying - considering it had eaten him. Just a little. Just his ears, crunched off both sides of his skull, so Anders didn’t think about it.

It seemed like a hate crime. Hate crimes happened in Kirkwall, but then it happened again. Anders mentioned, off-handedly again, that guardsman Orwald had been giving him problems too. Badgering the refugees. Demanding protection money and destroying shelters when he didn’t get it and confiscating their belongings in the process. Aveline promised to look into it - the same sort of way she promised to look into everything - but Hawke had made that face.

Guardsman Orwald stopped showing up for duty. Guardsman Orwald started showing up around the undercity. A hand here. A foot there. A conspicuously gnawed upon torso and a chewed up thigh. Guardsman Orwald kept showing up around the undercity for a whole month before they finally found all of him - or all that was left of him - and Anders finally started thinking about it.

He mentioned, maybe not so off-handedly, that Ser Mettin had been giving him more problems. Harassing the Mage’s Collective. Knocking down the doors of mages and mage sympathizers and outright killing them without even trying to capture them, and Hawke made that face. Anders followed him that evening, and Hawke followed Ser Mettin, out of the Hanged Man and down one of Lowtown’s many alleys, but Hawke wasn’t dressed for a fight.

He was wearing what Hawke always wore: a cheap pair of trousers and a cheaper tunic. The kind of clothes that would be lucky to last one fortnight and fell apart in two. He didn’t even have a weapon outside of his knuckles, but he spent plenty of time cracking each one when he cornered Mettin in the alleyway. “I heard you have a problem with mages,” Hawke growled.

“You’re going to have a problem if you don’t keep walking, serah,” Ser Mettin shot back, a hand to the hilt of his sword, and damned if Hawke wasn’t outmatched. Ser Mettin was in full armor, iron cuirass emblazoned with the flames of Andraste’s pyre and the sword Hessarian used to run her through when she burned on it. Anders hated the heraldry. It said everything it needed to say about how templars treated mages. About what templars did to them.

They called it mercy.

They called it justice.

They should have called it murder.

A surge of righteous anger burned through him, like the Veil tore inside him, and hands of molten lyrium were trying to claw their way out of the Fade. Anders took a deep breath - and then another - trying to calm down, to force it back, to shut the door, to keep from becoming what he knew he was meant to be. Not here. Anders couldn’t lose it here - but apparently Hawke could.

“I like problems,” Hawke smirked. “I like causing them.”

Hawke-...

Hawke changed.

His body warped and contorted, the crack of bones and snapping of tendons like something out of Anders’ nightmares. Maker, he looked like a man possessed, ripping apart his shirt as his shoulders expanded past it. Claws tore through his fingers and toes, ripping apart his cheap leather shoes, and he changed. He changed into Rage. It had to have been Rage - and Hawke had to have embraced it - but Rage burned. This-...

This howled. Hair - no, fur - claimed every inch of Hawke’s skin, and all at once, he wasn’t Hawke. He was-...

He was a wolf.

He was a bloody werewolf.

“Demon!” Ser Mettin screamed, wrenching his sword from his scabbard only for Hawke to swat it aside with a vicious swipe of one massive hand - paw? - that shredded Ser Mettin’s gauntlets and took off three of his fingers. They bounced across the street like scraps of meat thrown to the floor of a banquet hall to be swallowed up by the sort of slathering mabari Hawke seemed to have become.

Hawke dove on him, powerful claws tearing through iron and flesh and painting the wall with Ser Mettin’s blood when Hawke pinned him to it. Ser Mettin drew a dagger from his hip with the only hand he had left, driving it into Hawke’s shoulder again and again, but he might have been using a feather for all Hawke seemed to notice. Bloodied claws dug into Ser Mettin’s shoulders, and before he could even scream, Hawke’s fangs were in his throat.

Chunks of flesh and veins caught in his teeth, and mingled with drool the longer Hawke kept his death grip on the wailing templar. Ser Mettin’s grip on his dagger went slack, his attempts to fight Hawke off growing weaker and weaker as he bled out, until the life finally fled from his eyes. Hawke kept hold of him, seemingly lost to the ecstasy of his kill, a satisfied rumble from somewhere deep in his chest filling the silence of the night with the steady drip of Mettin’s blood.

Hawke swallowed whatever was left of Mettin in his mouth, and dropped him in the process. He ran his paws - hands? - over his head and through his midnight fur, the color so dark it absorbed any traces of blood before licking his muzzle clean. Anders watched - frozen, fascinated - when Hawke turned and noticed him.

Starlight glinted off his golden eyes, as gorgeous in this form as any other, and for one miserable moment Anders was terrified he’d lost him. That Hawke had given into this form the way so many mages gave into their own demons. That he was just Rage and there was no getting him back and Anders had lost him the way he’d lost Karl and-

And he was fine.

And he was naked.

Hawke clamped his hands over his crotch - as wide-eyed and panicked as if Anders had just walked in on him in the wash. He spun in a fast circle and snatched up a blood-drenched bit of cloth that made as poor a loincloth as it had a tunic.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Hawke said.

“It looks like you’re a werewolf,” Anders said.

“Okay…” Hawke cleared his throat. “I guess it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Anders demanded, picking his way across the bloody abattoir Hawke had made of the alleyway to his side.

“Now?” Hawke decided.

“Now would be good,” Anders reached out to wipe some of the blood from his face. Hawke turned a shade of red to match it, apparently more concerned by the fact that Anders had seen him naked than the fact that Anders had seen him transform, but after watching him kill a templar, Anders honestly couldn’t say which sight was more appealing.

“I’m a werewolf,” Hawke said. “Is that-... Is that a problem?”

Anders grinned, “I like problems.”

#anders #handers #dragon age #handers gift exchange #m!handers #werewolves #werewolf!hawke #on god I hope I am doing this right #because I have never done this before and idk what I'm doing #despite the deceptive summary there is no smut here #soz #just gore

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right.

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things.

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet.

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted.

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking.

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride.

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car.

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision.

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day."

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

Emp-Ire, “Patriot.”

Still working and am still in a bit of a writing slump.

I have only been able to write the very few things that REALLY interest me right now. So thank you for your patience with me going off on the occasional tangent, ok maybe more often then not going off on a tangent, but thanks anyway :)

A crisp morning breeze needled his skin, the icy tendrils causing goosebumps to break out over Adam’s bare chest and shoulders. Overhead a layer of dismal grey clouds blocked the sky over an alien landscape.

He was so tired.

And he hurt.

All around him other bodies shifted in the cool morning air, and he would have sworn he could see their breath puffing out in great gouts of steam, though that might just have been his imagination. He was so cold, what the hell was wrong with wearing a shirt, or at least some real pants.

But no, apparently pants were reserved for those who earned them, everyone else was relegated to nothing better than short leather skirts, or underwear which he found mildly infuriating. Even some compression shorts would have been nice. Another cold breeze ran past him and he crossed his arms over his chest palms pressed flat over his freezing nipples in hopes that by warming them up they wouldn’t just fall off.

Also his toes were numb, courtesy of the sandals he was wearing.

Looking around him, he could see that the other men and women didn’t appear to be nearly as cold as he was, in fact, they were probably being kept nice and warm by the sheer awesomeness of their big manly muscles or something.

Standing in a line with all of them he felt like the awkward nerd kid trying out for the football team. Each and every last one of them had washboard abs, or similar since genetics is more kind to some than to others.

And then there was him.

Chicken chest, noodle arm bastard that he was, with only the faint line of abs hanging out waiting for the moment he flexed intentionally to pretend his abs were bigger than they actually were. He hunched his shoulders just a bit, feeling very very small in comparison.

“Hey, how are you doing? Looking good everyone, looking good…. Hey…. hey.”

Adam lifted his head just in time to watch Ramirez strut up like he owned the damn place turning heads with the sheer gravity of his confidence.

He walked up to stand Next to Adam, “Fuck you, dude.”

“What?”

“How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Strut up like you and I aren’t literally the most pathetic people here.”

Ramirez patted him on the shoulder, “Confidence is key my friend. If you pretend to be awesome, soon you’ll believe it and eventually it will be. Self fulfilling prophecy and all of that. The mind is a powerful tool. Also chicks dig confidence.”

“What about men?”

“Them too, I don’t discriminate.” he held his arms out wide, “Everyone could do with a little bit of Ramirez in their life.” He looked at Adam pointedly, “How about you?” He flexed, “Want some of this.”

Adam snorted, paused and then said, “You know what, if I swung that way, sure.”

Ramirez put his hand over his chest, “That is probably the nicest thing you ever said to me. But the Ramirez is an open door and I open both ways.”

“You’re not a swinging door, you're a revolving door.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know man, it just sounded good. But if you were a door, you would also open from the bottom up, I just couldn’t think of an object that opened on both the x, y and z axises.”

He tapped his chin, “Gotta love how my morning has mostly involved being compared to a door, besides I don’t open to just anyone, I am age restricted, and no pets allowed.”

Adam grimaced, “Gross.”

“No I am not gross, if I was pet friendly THAT would be gross.”

Adam paused, “How about…. aliens ?”

Ramirez shrugged, “If it’s sentient, I Will try anything once. You kno, can’t knock it till you've tried it.”

It was at this moment that Adam became acutely aware that they were the only ones talking. They may have been speaking rather quietly, but at some point the other men and women had stopped speaking. He paused and turned his head to look. Ramirez’s voice faded off into the silence as the two of them turned to find a tall, heavily muscled woman standing before them. Her hair was tied back and her midriff was bare. She carried a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, and she waited very pointedly for the two of them to stop talking.

The look on her face could have coagulated his blood in his veins.

He shrunk back.

She walked up, looked at the two of them and her face pulled into an expression of disgust.

“Flabby.” She announced smacking Ramirez in the thigh with her spear. He yelped and grabbed his leg, “Soft.” The spear jabbed Adam in the belly driving the wind from his boy, “Pathetic,” She announced, “No weakness, not on my island.” She jabbed at him again and, on instinct, Adam caught the haft of the spear.

He knew pretty immediately he had made a mistake as her eyes widened, and then he was slammed to the dirt head ringing from the metal of the shield on his skull.

He groaned and rubbed at his head.

“Thank you for volunteering.”

Adam didn’t know what he had just volunteered for, but it sounded like he wasn’t going to like it very much.

As it turns out.

He was right.

She announced immediately that they were going to play a game. He thought that seemed weird for the biggest badasses this side of fake Greece but ok. But it turned out her idea of a game was just a fun way of saying I am going to make you regret you ever lived.

They were the wolves, he was the rabbit. He had a two minute head start, and then they would chase him. If he got caught, they were allowed to beat him up for a few minutes, and then he got another two minutes head start.

This lasted all morning.

About two or three hours. He couldn't tell by the end.

He had never been so exhausted in his life, andhe thought training with the Drev had been hard.

By the end he determined that they were about the same amount of hard, but the Drev didn’t do nearly as much Running. Towards the end his two minute head start counted for almost nothing, and he was in a nearly continual state of getting the shit kicked out of him. Ramirez huffed and puffed at the back of the pack like the big bad wolf had asthma.

And Adam threw up…. Three times.

Three times.

By the time it was over he was covered in bruises and could barely walk. He thought, like during training, they would get a lunch break or something, but nope by the end of the day they were back to the sandy training field where it was either, wrestling, bare knuckle boxing, sparring, or some other ungodly torture.

There was no stopping.

Occasionally, they were allowed to kneel on the dirt and have something to eat. He wasn't sure what the spartans had eaten back in the day, but this looked like meals clearly prepared by people who studied the science of getting jacked. Mostly protein and vegetables. Whatever drink they were using was some kind of water, but cut with something else he couldn’t have been sure about, probably electrolytes.

Either way he had a hard time keeping it down.

Ramirez on the other hand was part of the passing out gang.

The two of them together barely made a functioning human. And by the end of the day they crawled themselves back to what constituted as the barracks, which was just one long building with mats laid out on the floor. He was so tired that he slept like a log through the entire night until they were woken up to do it again the next day. He slept whenever he could, using anyone and anything as a pillow.

He became way more intimately familiar with Ramirez than he had ever wanted to be but at that point he was too tired to give much of a shit. Even Ramirez was too tired to say anything sarcastic or inappropriate.

He honestly couldn't have said how long they were there, every day seemed to bleed into the next with only the changing of the weather and the night to let him know anything was going on at all.

The change in himself was so gradual that he barely even noticed until one day…

“SHIELD WALL!”

Adam and Ramirez raced forward interlocking their shields with the group of men and women before them. Others piled up behind bracing their spears over the shoulders of their comrades.

“Remember the wall is only as strong as its weakest member!”

Across from them a group of other trainees raced forward and slammed against their shield wall.

Adam and Ramirez shouted their exertion.

“Push back!”

They pulled back slightly and then drove forward shoving the other recruits back and to the ground tossing a few of them bodily three or four feet back.

“BRACE!”

They returned to their interlocking position, spears bristling outward like some sort of demonic porcupine.

They did that exercise once or twice more until ordered to break off, separating into individual units which charged the other groups' spears raised.

Adam Batted another combatant’s shield aside, slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, kicked another oncoming from the left, dodging out of the way as Ramirez covered him from the right with a sharp jab of his spear which caught another woman by the bottom of the shield and sent her deflecting to the right.

They clashed on the training field for a good half hour of continual battle, when another group of fresh, armored combatants charged them. He was tired, but as the enemy charged inward, he shook it off, roared a battle cry and charged them.

“Shields!” He ordered without thinking, and a small group of remaining fighters bunched up with him and Ramirez. They managed their wall right before the new combatants hit, “PUSH!” And with a massive have they threw them back, causing them to trip over one another. They broke their wall to take on the remaining group now fractured.

Adam went straight down the middle with Ramirez guarding his back chagrin at the armored combatants.

They were fresh, and Adam had the distinct impression that they were also not trainees.

Three of their number had already gone down under the onslaught, but he brought up his spear, knocked the shield to the side and tagged the other man with a glancing blow in the throat. He staggered away holding his neck. He spun left clobbering a woman with his shield. Ramirez cut past him stabbing straight down the middle and catching another one straight in the breastplate.

Two more of their number went down to the right.

There was no way they could make an effective shield wall now.

One more went down on their right.

Ramirez went to his knees shield held up before Adam, who used the shielding to strike past with his spear.

Ramirez ducked and Adam leaped over him crashing into another line of men shield on one side spear on the other.

The man before him went crashing to the dirt. He caught incoming strikes simultaneously and ducked under both allowing Ramirez to take one while he dealt with the other. They were split off from each other in the confusion and he didn’t see what happened as he was blindsided by another shield.

The power in that was awful, and he went flying back at least two feet staggering until he skidded in the sand and regained himself. The armored man came charging at him with a roar, and they clashed shields again. The other man was clearly stronger, though not by much. Adam strained against him, feet digging into the dirt before suddenly slacking and rolling off to the side.

It nearly caught the other man off his guard, but he was good, and caught himself before he could fall forward.

Adam snarled as they exchanged a flurry of blows. All the other combatants had backed off so the two of them could fight. He advanced pushing the other man back, though it seemed impossible that he would be able to score a hit, the other man was just too fast. It went on for a while.

Adam got tagged in the right hip, but kept fighting, it was nothing compared to the beating he had received only yesterday. He cut in again slamming his shield against the other man to throw him off balance. It didn’t do it as well as he had hoped, but for a split second he saw an opening. He would have to time it perfectly.

It was probably as much luck as it was skill that he managed to pass the spear through the little hole between the shield and man scoring a long cut across the man’s left bicep. As soon as he did someone shouted the halt, and he froze in palace.

The man before him lowered his shield and pulled off his helmet to reveal.

The King!

Adam stepped back in shock, quickly raising his spear in salute.

“Sir!”

The man smiled grimly turning to look down at his bleeding arm. He turned back to look at Adam, “Exhausted, training all day, and you still managed to cut me, I think that is a good sign.”

The entire field was returning to rest position.

Ramirez climbed out from under his shield, dazed but somehow unscathed.

“How long have you been with us now, two months maybe more.”

“I can’t remember.”

“Two months of improvement I think, and today many of these men proved themselves worthy of being real soldiers….” He turned to look at Adam, “How about yourself, what do you think you deserve?”

Adam planted his spear against the ground, “I’m still standing aren’t I.”

James, the king of sparta, laughed, “Spoken like a true Spartan.” He turned to look at the others, “I tend to agree with your assessment.” He waved a hand at those who are still standing, which included Ramirez, to Ramirez’s evident surprise.

He looked down at himself then around then grinned nodding as if it was very obvious he deserved to be there.

Adam smiled slightly.

He supposed he did.

And now that he realized it the two of them didn’t look at all out of place in comparison to the other men and women there. He stood up straighter, “Thank you, sir.”

“Just right in time then. We set out for Argos tonight, one last test before I let you go.”

The men and women raised their spears to thor king.

***

It felt good, almost familiar, with a cloak fluttering at his back, a spear in hand and a helmet on his head. Granted it was almost nothing like the Drev, but it still felt good enough that he could forgive it. He was, in fact, very proud of his accomplishment as he now stood on the rocky outcrop next to the King of the Neospartans and an entourage of warriors, his sandals feet rested hard against stone and a bare wind tugged at the red plume on the top of his helmet, the same wind that caused the red cloak to flutter behind him in the breeze.

“What is in Argos?” He wondered allowed, not entirely sure if he was allowed to ask, but curious enough to risk it.

James looked down at him from the pinnacle of rock, “You know we dislike the New Athenians?”

Adam nodded “Yeah…. About that, is it just tradition… or…”

James shook his head, “No, nothing like that. We would be fine working with them. This is a real place with real people who have their own real beliefs. It isn’t just some elaborate LARP. No, I was here when this colony started, and there was no difference between us and the New Athenians but after a while there rose some… disagreements.”

Adam tilted his head, “And what disagreements are those?”

“Moral disagreements. I am a patriot, admiral. I may be the king of Sparta, but I was also born on earth and am a True believer in the unity of the GA. Division Will only weaken us. But there are factions among the New Athenians who don’t believe the same, which would be fine. I understand a group of people who disagree with the current political system. That should be allowed by all means, but the way they are going about it is just wrong.”

“What do you mean.”

“They Are supplying information, weapons, and lodging to rebel forces who wish to destroy the GA and everything it stands for. They aren't just doing it through protests and reforms, but through violence, and hurting innocent people. They don’t care how they win as long as they do, and that is something I cannot abide. I have on good authority that some of them are working with Kree operatives and anti-alliance forces to plan assassinations against key members of government.”

Adam’s eyes widened in shock, “Really!, than why haven't we heard about this.”

James shook his head, “Despite their radical ideals, they are a very small and mostly powerless group who don’t pose much of a threat to GA members themselves. In fact, most of them are all bark and no bite. I figure that it's my job to keep my little slice of the galaxy clean, and I have managed it so far.”

Adam shook his head in surprise…. “So the Oracle….”

James nodded, “She recognized you, and likely sent you here in hopes that we would kill you for being spies, which we have done before. She honestly should have killed you herself, but the New Athenians don’t like to get their hands dirty, they like to keep their hands clean and let others do their dirty work.”

He turned to look at Adam, “Based on my studies, you are an important piece in an intergalactic chess game, holding the GA together with a volatile humanity.” He turned his head back to stare out at the horizon, “Like I said, protests, petitions, and legislation is all well and good, but as soon as your course starts to hurt innocent people you lose my sympathy. You are no longer the heroic rebel, but you are a blight and you must be stamped out.”

The fire in the man’s golden eyes was enough to make Adamstand back a little.

“I see.”

“I am glad you do, you need to see what goes on at the small scale. You need to know that there are people here fighting for you and your ideals. You built what the GA is today, whether on purpose or not, and that is something I intend to uphold.” He pointed downwards, “And we are going to start here.”

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beasback · 4 years ago

Text

What We Deserve Chapter 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Word count: 1506

Warnings: Angry/Depressed Dean

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Dean? Sam squinted slowly peeling his eyelids open. Dean was up awfully early for school. It wasn’t like him, unless...

“Any word from Dad?” Sam yawned.

Dean smirked while tying his shoes on his mattress. Sam was always observant. Perks of being a hunter.

“He called this morning, said he doesn’t know yet. Could be a few hours, could be another week. We weren’t supposed to be here this long.”

Sam sat up stretching in arms above his head. “At least you've got Amanda. She’s cool.”

Sam didn’t really know Amanda. She was a senior and popular. Barry made sure to tell Sam he thought Dean was cool when he saw them sneaking out of the janitor’s closet one time.

Dean groaned, “Dude, she wants me to meet her parents. I don't do parents.”

Sam snorted.

“Besides, you have Y/N and what’s his name? The kid with the glasses.”

“Barry,” Sam rolled his eyes seeing the empty bed beside him. “Where’s Y/N anyway?”

Throwing his brown leather jacket over his shoulder Dean replied, “I drove her home this morning so she can get ready for school.”

Sam nodded in approval. Sure Dean complained out loud about Sam and Y/N always hanging out in the motel but he always took care of them.

“Careful Dean, you might actually convince everyone you’re a good guy.” Sam joked.

Dean didn’t find the joke humorous though. Sam realized that when a pillow hit him in the face.

“Get ready.” Dean growled.

Dean’s left hand came up to rest on his latest conquest’s cheek deepening their kiss. The brunette’s right hand trailed down Dean's chest. The omega jumped, grasping Dean’s wrist as someone knocked at the door.

Dean pulled away calling out to the janitor on the other side of the door, “Five more minutes, Jerry.” before bringing the omega in for another kiss.

It wasn’t his first time making out in the janitor’s closet. Dean had been to different schools, in different places, with different girls. Truman High was no exception. Usually he met Amanda, a blonde senior beta in the closet but ever since he turned alpha he started to crave the touch and smell of a sweet omega.

The door creaked open behind Dean letting light flood the small closet. The young alpha released the omega and spun around, his eyes wide at the sight of Amanda standing in the doorway.

“Amanda, hey!”

The brunette’s eyes peaked at Amanda before returning to Dean. She knew Dean and Amanda had a thing but he was an alpha now. Amanda’s eyes searched Dean’s for an explanation after she caught the omegas brown eyes staring at her.

Dean turned to the omega asking “Uh, Gettysburg address, 1863, right?” He then turned to Amanda who simply blinked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

The omega pulled her lips into a thin line. This was awkward. Shoving her hands in the back of her jeans pockets she bowed her head not daring to look at Amanda nor Dean as she exited the closet.

“History test next period. We're studying.” Dean weakly replied.

Amanda shook her head and spun on her heel. Dean frowned following Amanda out into the hall.

“Come on, baby. She means nothing to me. Don't be mad.”

Amanda spun around, her friends sauntering down the hall stopping behind her to watch the scene unfold.

“I'm not mad, Dean. I thought maybe... underneath your whole "I could give a crap," alpha bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on.” Dean stared at Amanda in disbelief. He expected her to yell at him, hit him, to do something out of anger. “I mean, like the way you are with your brother.” She shrugged, “But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool, but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad... lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.”

Dean’s gaze dropped briefly. He could see Amanda’s friends behind her whispering. People in the hall watching. He knew he was a sad lonely little kid. Despite the beta’s calm demeanor, her words cut him like a hot knife through butter. Maybe making out with the omega in the janitor’s closet was a cry for help. Sure as a teen alpha male his sex drive was high but he was also hot-headed and angry. He was looking for a reaction from someone, anyone.

Hurt and infuriated, Dean’s voice became cold. “You feel sorry for me, huh? Don't feel sorry for me.” Amanda scoffed, turning on her heel to join her friends. “You don't know anything about me. I save lives. I'm a hero.” Dean watched her blonde hair bounce with every step she took away from him. She was leaving. It was a stab to the heart much like her words, but isn’t that what he wanted? “A hero!”

The beta’s friends inspected Dean from head to toe scoffing.

“What?”

The three females raised their eyebrows at Dean pressing their lips into a thin line. He knew he saved lives, he didn’t need their approval. Any other day Dean wouldn’t have said anything. He would have kept his mouth shut about the family business like his dad insisted. Any other day but today. As the women walked away from Dean he noticed a few people lingering in the hall.

“What?!”

Sam shuffled down the crowded hallway, both hands clutching the steps of his book bag on his back. Between the mass Sam’s hazel eyes met Y/N’s Y/E/C. She waved Sam down and without missing a beat Sam pushed through the crowd to meet Y/N halfway.

“Good job buddy” an upperclassman called out. “Sam, great job with Dirk the jerk” another shouted as he slapped Sam’s hand. He could see Y/N high fiving a couple people from the other end of the hall and the corners of Sam’s mouth twitched upward. Sam wasn’t used to all of the attention. He finally felt normal, he didn’t feel like a freak.

Watching from the middle of the hallway Dean wanted to praise Y/N and Sam. To Dean, Y/N always seemed to fit in yet she chose to hang out with Sam and himself on occasions. He imagined this would be her life when they moved on from this town. It’s better to be popular in high school anyway. It’s for the best. They would be gone and she would be taken care of.

Sam was a different story. Dean was proud watching Sam fit in and he could see Sam getting out of this life, going to college, living the white picket fence life. Despite his happiness for his little brother, he still felt consumed by his rage, he felt like he was drowning. His life was crumbling around him and he couldn’t wait to get away from it all.

Walking through the hall, hands in his leather jacket Dean felt his phone vibrate. Glancing at the caller even though he knew only one person called his phone.

“Dad?” The hunt was over and John was on his way. Goodbye Truman. Dean was getting a chance to start over, to climb out of the hole he had been digging himself in. Dean sighed in relief, “Finally.”

Sam sat on the wall by the steps as Dean paced back and forth in front of the school.

“How’d Y/N take the news?” Dean asked?

Sam shrugged.

Y/N knew Sam and Dean were passing through town, they weren’t staying long. At least they weren’t supposed to. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months Y/N formed expectations in her head. She thought they would at least end the year together. She would get to sit next to Sam and cheer on with him as they watched Dean graduate. She thought they would spend the summer together, they would find a place to live permanently, Dean would go off to college and her and Sam would walk through Truman High’s doors once again next year.

Dean stopped pacing his hands in fists in his jackets pockets. “I can't wait to get the hell out of here. This place sucks.”

A horn followed by the unmistakable rumble of the 67 Chevy impala had Dean spinning around. As the sleek black car rolled to a stop Dean practically sprinted to the car. When he noticed Sam not following he called over his shoulder not stopping, “Come on, Sam.”

Sam huffed moving for the first time since he sat on the wall. He slung his backpack over his shoulder making his way to the impala. Glancing up at the window Barry waved weakly to Sam with a frown on his face. Sam smiled in return before climbing in the back of the impala. He would always think of Y/N, Barry, his teacher Mr. Wyatt and his time at Truman fondly, a time when he was normal.

Taglist: @vicmc624 @sesamepancakes

#alpha!dean x omega!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #alpha!dean #alpha!sam #dean winchester #sam winchester

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cajunquandary · 4 years ago

Text

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay.

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas.

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay.

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands.

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute.

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices.

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality.

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away.

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her.

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs.

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?”

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette.

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat.

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms.

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean.

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather.

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought.

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving.

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul.

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed.

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register.

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food.

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger.

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it.

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!”

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view.

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day.

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her.

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature.

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had.

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her.

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm.

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead.

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him.

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently.

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters.

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss.

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times.

Until this one.

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare.

Until this one.

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain.

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them.

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?”

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red.

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke.

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go.

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response.

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area.

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands.

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow.

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly.

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation.

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.”

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits.

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!”

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers.

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly.

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip.

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone.

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her.

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail.

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her.

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek.

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach.

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp.

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her.

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth.

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth.

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down.

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home.

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #hands that heal #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x ofc #dean x jay #fluff #smut #supernatural

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valeskakingdom · 4 years ago

Text

Request

Hi! I wanted to make you a request for a jerome x reader bc I saw that you write so well! Anyway, could you do a one shot where jerome and female reader meet when hes been kidnapped by Theo and she's an assasin that works for him that interrupts his speech that he's doing to the maniax (and if you could do her with a few tattoos, dressed in leather and covered in blood bc she just ended a "work" For Theo it would be great but you're not obligated) and they are fascinated by each other and begin to be friends and.. Idk if you can use your mind to make them sleep together 😂 and one last thing she has a strong personality but it's not like she never smiles like she has emotions ahahha (so she's not bitchy like I've seen doing in other fics), and she's kinda dominant in bed.. Like she is a switch, if you don't want to do it bc you don't like the idea it doesn't matter

Requested by @rott3nheart

Thank you!! Okay so, I tried to do my best on it. Honestly about the switch thing I kinda felt uncomfortable but still I tried to do my best. Hope you enjoy reading:)

PS: here's part 2

Jerome x female reader (part 2)

Warnings: mention of sex, murder and violence

"Don't you have an own room?" You cooed with a smirk. You were proud of yourself. Your little teasing worked and you had his full attention.

"So you were not teasing me doll? Swinging your little hips to drive me nuts." Jerome pressed his forehead against yours, your noses touched. His lips hovered over yours and his exhaled breathed touched your cold skin.

"What are you gonna do about if I maybe did, huh?" You smirked mischievously "Wanna punish that bad girl?"

Before Jerome could answer you opened your door to enter your room, you expected he'd come in, too - and he did.

Not answering to your rhetorical question, Jerome entered your and admired all the weapons hanging on your walls. You could say, you were a weapon fanatic as an assassin. You had everything: pistols, rifles, axes, whips...everything.

You loved your weapons - even more than humans. They were everything to you. And every weapon told a different story like how and when you killed which victim, how you felt at that point, what time it was.

"I see you like my weapons." You chuckled letting yourself fall in your bed with a sigh. You looked at Jerome. You could tell him whatever you wanted, he wouldn't listen. He was too fascinated of your weapon collection - you could see it. His eyes examined every detail of your pistols, he felt every inch rifles, his mouth stayed open with a huge smile on his face. His eyes expressed astonishment, some kind of lust, you could see how he imagined to kill someone every time he touched a gun.

"This is heaven..." You heard him whispering, then he took one of your guns "How'd you get all those weapon? You've got even more than me."

Smirking you walked to Jerome looking at your collection with pride. You didn't pay attention to his comment, you just thought about all your kills: your first kill, your most violent kill, your favorite kill, your worst kill... Then you had an idea.

If fact, you noticed you liked his appearance, and he was pretty hot, you liked his craziness, he interested you....you kinda liked him, let's admit that. He was different than others, very different. He literally sticked out of the crowd.

You looked at him - viewing from head to toe. Jerome was an authority. He stood there like a model, he thought of every soft move he made. His craziness, God, you loved it. The first moment and he was like a buddy, the second moment he was a bad boy, the thrird moment he was a killer. It aroused you, it turned you on hardly.

You never seen a man like him, so it was natural for you to play with him - maybe even to keep him.

"This here," You took a gun, it was a SIG - Sauer P226, "is my favorite over all others. I used it for my favorite kill. I'm about to say it was a special kill." You looked at the gun for a while with a short smile. You remembered everything. You killed ex lover with that gun after you found out he was betraying you. Of course, you didn't freaked out like usual girls, oh no. You waited for him to come home, you had a nice dinner, a wild make out session that turned out to sex - then you tortured and killed him.

"Tell me about it, I love stories." Now you had his full attention.

"This kill was so different from usual one," you slowly walked behind him, then you placed the gun's front side on his neck and let it travel down his spine "It was full of sensation, passion and lust. I've never felt that before," Jerome's body slightly shivered in arousal and so he let out a deep breath; then you pressed the front side against his neck, your arm was tightly wrapped around his torso that you could pull him close to your body, your lips were leaned on his ear "And I'd do anything to feel this again."

You could hear his slightly stammered breathing, he loved what you did. Your teasing succeeded. He loved how the gun travelled along your skin, how you seduced him. He just waited for you making the first step that he can finally rip your clothings off from your body and let you all this feel again. He knew he could do it, he knew he could give you all what you wanted.

"Challenge accepted, doll." Within a second, Jerome turned around and literally threw you into your bed.

Jerome took his shirt off before he laid on you and kissed you deeply. He bit your lower lip while, his tongue slipped into your mouth and fought for dominance, he pressed one his legs between yours to spread them. You hands were placed on his head, your fingers were tangled in his hair and slightly pulled on it. Gasps and moans filled your room due to this make out session. Jerome pressed his body close on yours that you could feel the bulge in his pants, growing because of you. It turned you on. Your nipples hardened under your lacy bra and your panties soaked. Pins and needles were sent down your whole body through his touch.

With no hesitation he ripped your shirt off from your body shortly before he made his way down, along your jawline to your neck. You moaned a little as he hit on of your sweet spots; immediately he started to suck and slightly bit on that part. His teeth almost parted that sweet flesh of yours that some blood dropped down the wound. That was one more reason for Jerome to suck on you, he wanted to taste you. He wanted to taste the sweetness of your blood, to feel it on his tongue what made him shiver. He was like a predator that finakkycaught his little prey to devour it.

His hands wandered down your sides, touching every inch of your body. You enjoyed completely - you loved it. You didn't regret anything as you didn't care about not knowing him. You just wanted him inside you, you wanted him to pleasure you, to make you feel good.

"Gonna fuck you 'til you're sore, you little whore." He unclasped your bra and threw it behind him.

Jerome made his way down - he kissed your , your collarbone, and stopped at your breasts at first. With one of his hands he kneaded your breast, his fingers slid along your nipple letting you moan softly. Pins and needles spread along your body with every time Jerome touched your nipple.

On your other breast, he licked your nipple, swirling his tongue around it, slightly nibbling on it with his teeth.

You whimpered a little, it already felt so good how he did it, you wanted more of it. Your core was throbbing already, you panties soaked, your need to feel him inside you increased rapidly.

Then he made his way further down, he kissed your stomach, his hands slides between your thighs to part them. He gripped the hem of your black leather jeans and pulled it down with your panties included.

"Already wet for me, huh? Just waited for me to fuck you." Jerome inserted one finger into your wetness and pumped, permanently curling up his finger - fast and hard.

You moaned - first quiet, then louder. You couldn't hold it back though, he just did it so perfect: always hitting your spots, using the right place making you just wetter. You core was throbbing more, almost aching. You wanted him to touch you, to fuck you, make you sore. Just the imagine that he was fucking the shit out of you make you more needy and hornier.

You felt he was inserting another finger into your entrance slightly stretching you. He was pumping faster and harder, more and more hitting your sweet spot. Your whole body was tensed not handling this incredible feeling Jerome gave you. You arched your back shortly before you bucked your hips. You couldn't control what your body was doing, the pleasure was too much.

You felt your walls pulsing against his fingers with every movement he was doing.

Your breathe became uneven, your sweat dropped down your forehead, inadvertently you rolled your hips against his fingers to feel them deeper inside you, and your legs shook. Your voice became higher as you moaned letting Jerome recognize you were close. He pressed his thumb against your clit rubbing it in circling motions to pleasure you more.

"Oh God, Jerome, I'm gonna-..." You couldn't even speak out your sentence, you came undone. Jerome pulled his fingers out licking your juices from his fingers.

You whimpered, you were so needy for him. You hated that he pulled his fingers out.

"Such an eager slut, aren't you? Eager for me to fill you up." He pulled his pants down, within his panties. His long member plopped out of his panties, already hard, ready for you.

Jerome's cock was throbbing, all his blood was rushing down his cock. You couldn't wait for it. Finally he'd stretch your entrance wide, finally you'd feel him inside, he could mess around doing with you everything he imagined.

You wrapped your legs around his waist pushing him forwars, right against your body.

Jerome positioned himself and entered the inside of you, immediately starting to thrust into you. You let out a sharp trying to adjust with his size and thrusting pace. Every thrust was giving you chills, your whole body was shivering, your nipples hardened more with every touch of his fingers in your body, your body cramped more when Jerome hit your g spot making you moan louder.

His face was buried inside the crook of your neck sucking and biting it. You knew, he'd leave marks on you, but you didn't care. You were all his right now. You wanted to feel all the pleasure he was giving you, no matter whether it would hurt or not.

You dug your nails deep into his skin as he hit your g spot - harder, faster, and oftener.

His grunts in your ear let you enjoy the whole act more. You knew he was grunting because of you, because you made him feel like that. You both rolled your hips in sync; you wanted to feel him deeper inside you, just you being around him. Jerome wanted to make you moan, make you cry out his name loud. He couldn't get enough of it. You moans were like music in his ears that sent him chills on his body. He loved it, he loved it when you moaned out his name and wanted him to go on harder. If you'd ask him, he didn't want to stop. This feeling of your tight warm walls clenching on his dick made him addicted to you. He could go on all day without a break, no matter whether it hurt or not - he just wanted to hear your moans.

"God, I'm so close!" You were close, your moans became louder, your body was more tensed, your core was aching, and the inside of you was throbbing.

But that was the moment when Jerome stopped and pulled out. You were confused and frowned at him. Did you do something wrong? What did he plan to do on you?

"You're not gonna come until I want you to, doll." With his strength he turned you around that you laid on your stomach "On all four kitten."

You bit your lip in arousal. You loved his dominance and how he commanded you around. But you wanted to tease him a little, so you decided not to obey directly. You wanted more him being rough with you, you loved it.

"Make me" you challenged him with a wink.

"Oh? Seems you're being a bad girl, huh?" He purred into your ear as he leaned forward suddenly smacking your ass. You whimpered in pain a little, he smacked it really hard. Maybe he left his fingerprint on your ass? Well, you hoped. You loved being marked, especially by him. He smacked your ass harder, letting you whimper more in pain. It was sending you chills and it turned you on imagining how he punished you for being a bad girl.

Then Jerome pulled you upwards that you were on all four. One of his hands was placed on your waist, the other wanted up your spine to your head to grab a bunch of your hair. Without any warning he thrusted into you and pulled on your hair, you body shivered through the more intensive feeling he gave you with his member.

You arched your back as Jerome pulled on your hair roughly thrusting hard and faster into you. You almost cried out his name loud but instead you but your lip hard not wanting that others hear you.

"I wanna hear you, you little brat. Everyone should hear you!" Jerome grunted fastening his pace drilling his member deeper in your wet cunt.

You literally screamed in arousal. Your whole body was shivering, a big knot was built in your stomach, you nails were dug deeper into the bed sheets. You couldn't handle the pleasure, this intensive feeling he caused by his deep and hard thrusts. It was incredible for you. You've never felt this big amount of pleasure before. Youve never wanted anything more than this. You didn't want him to stop at all.

Your walls clenched tightly on his member signalizing him that you were close again. You knew this time you couldn't hold it back, it was too much for your. Your core was throbbing and aching hard, your legs as the rest of your body shivered and you uncontrollably moans or even screamed.

"Oh, fuck! Jerome, I'm-..." You couldn't even speak out your sentence due to your moans that you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Come all over me doll." And with a few more thrusts you came all over him with a loud moan, and he did too.

You both collapsed on the ground being out of breath. You could feel your heartbeats, they fast and hard. You felt all your blood rushing up to your head. Your ears became warm and it felt like your head was pulsing, too.

You enjoyed this little break in total as you closed your eyes. Jerome was literally fucking the shit out of you - but you loved it, and you would let him do that again. He let you feel something you've haven't felt before, you couldn't explain what it was though. Maybe the big amount of pleasure? His roughness? Maybe you just liked him for his craziness and you kinda felt honored that he was somewhat interested in you?

You looked at him breathlessly. He stared at the ceiling having a little grin on his face. His breathing as his heartbeats were uneven though, you could really see it.

"Well done, doll," Jerome looked at you, his grin widened "Ready for the next round?"

#dc #dcmultiverse #gotham #jerome valeska #dc villains #dc villian #gotham city #gotham fandom #gotham jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #cameronmonaghan #cameron monaghan x reader #cameron monaghan #gotham fanfic #gotham jerome #gotham x reader #jerome valeska fandom #jerome valeska x you

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beyondcanon · 4 years ago

Text

fanfic: a family wedding

here i am, out of a 5-year retirement, back on my bullshit. a new offering, from a new fandom. enjoy:

wynonna earp/wayhaught. Waverly and Nicole's wedding turns everyone into a bridezilla. Complete. Read on AO3.

Waverly rubs her temples. She wanted a quiet night in, to watch some RuPaul and hopefully later spend long moments sitting on Nicole's face.

The house has been full of people for the last three weeks, bustling with activity and constant bickering.

Nicole rubs Waverly's back and kisses just beneath her ear. It makes it a little better. "It's time for the contingency plan, baby."

Waverly sighs. "Why does everyone have to be..." She searches for the right words. "Like this?" She gestures around, defeated.

"I am the best cowboy!" Doc grunts, pushing past Mercedes. "I won't be made to wear a tux!"

"We're not all from the Old West, old man." Jeremy stands by Mercedes’s side, who gives her best I am always right smile. "We have to be color-coordinated!"

"You can go dressed as a magic elephant, for all I care." He sips his whiskey.

This is why she can't have nice things.

Nicole squeezes Waverly's shoulder. "You're a planner, aren't you?" She gives her that little adorable smile. "So let's plan our wedding. Make it amazing."

Wynonna arrives with cheap booze and Shorty's chicken wings. "Anyone want to try wedding samples?" She settles them on the table with a loud thud

No no no nononono—

"Enough!" Waverly stands up, stomps her foot on the ground, and claps her hands. "Everyone sit down!"

It shocks everyone enough and the house falls silent.

"Yes, baby girl?" Wynonna smiles pretty, like she's doesn't always have a fire burning under her ass.

“The madness stops now." Waverly walks to the cupboard and takes the bright pink folder she's been hiding for two whole days and nights. "It's my wedding." Her gaze softens when it meets Nicole, who winks at her.

"I'm going to lay some ground rules." She takes several papers and passes them around. "I have assigned you each a role in this mess."

Everyone starts reading, nodding, flipping through pages. They are taking it much better than Waverly imagined.

"You have our wishes and specific deadlines for each task." She looks at each of the lunatics in their eyes. "You'll stick to your role, and you won't make final decisions without me or Nicole present. Understood?"

They nod.

Nicole gets up from the couch to stand by Waverly's side, a comforting hand on the small of her back. "We have three months. Can we count on you?"

The entire house rumbles with cheer.

"A round of shots for everybody!" Wynonna shouts before rushing to grab the glasses.

It takes no time for everyone to be comparing assignments.

Nicole pulls Waverly aside and whispers in her ear. "That was so hot, baby."

"You liked it?" Waverly bites her lower lip, grabbing Nicole's shirt to pull her even closer. "I've saved the best for later."

Nicole smiles, that handsome devil, arms around Waverly, and leans for a wet, dirty kiss.

—

Nicole called it saving costs, but Waverly calls it porn:

A white tank top, dirty and clinging to her body, tight jeans, brown boots, drops of sweat on her glorious, exposed, lean, muscled back.

Power tools, gloves, woodwork? In the middle of her front lawn?

"I know." Wynonna shows up by Waverly's side, leaning against the door frame, and stares.

Doc, sexy if mustaches and Old West are your things, is cutting wood, black tank top, rough jeans, black boots, grunting in concentration.

"Oh yes," Waverly nods, half a glass of lemonade forgotten on her right hand. "I love a good DIY project."

Nicole is setting up the frame of the structure, drilling holes, and what else. She looks back and smiles, much like that first day on Shorty's.

Waverly gnaws her straw, short of breath.

Doc cleans his forehead. "I'm going to the store to get more supplies."

Waverly shows up, hair down and big, big smile. "Lemonade?" She offers the tray.

He takes a glass and Nicole settles down her tools with a content sigh, hair sticking to the back of her neck.

Waverly salivates as she extends her tray to her future wife.

One thing you can say about Doc is the man can read a room. He looks between the both of them before tipping his head as a thank you. "Be back later."

"Maybe you want to come inside and rest, after all your..." Waverly squeezes Nicole's arm," hard work?"

Nicole smiles, dimple and all, and takes a few steps closer. She smells like wood, grass, and vanilla. "There's a lot to do. We only have a few weeks."

Waverly looks up into Nicole's eyes. Grabbing her belt, she sneaks a few fingers between Nicole's jeans and her glorious warm skin. "Resting is so important when you work this hard, baby."

"You're not wrong."

Waverly, so coy and innocent, blinks and pulls them inside.

In appreciation, she waits for Nicole to finish her drink to only then go down on her on the kitchen table. 35 minutes later, she comes back for air and cleans her face with the back of her hand.

Now that's refreshing.

Mercedes, in a long white dress, looks every part like the socialite she is.

"This is unacceptable!" She shows her scary vampire teeth, and the poor catering people retreat two to seven steps. "Being vegan is not an excuse to serve us this rotten, tasteless..." Her mouth contorts, incapable of finishing the sentence.

Waverly opens her mouth to defend the catering, because what you'd expect from a small-town, backyard company — Mercedes lifts a commanding finger and grabs her phone.

Nicole, all parts, hero and sexy beast, places an arm on Waverly's shoulders, and whispers: "Let her do her thing, baby."

Every hair on Waverly's body stands. That's very convincing.

"Marco?" Mercedes smiles and tucks a strand of her behind her ear, vampire teeth concealed. "Yes, so long." She chuckles. "I know. Where's Ibiza when we need it?"

Looking at her own pristine, manicured nails, she sighs. "Listen, I need a favor. I'm organizing a wedding, and you know how food is essential to having a good time. But I can't seem to find good service in this town." She punishes the employees with a cold, cold glare.

"I was wondering if you could spare me Giovanni for a few days, so he can take charge." She smiles, nails running on the table. "I still remember that banquet in 2014, don't you?" She offers the wedding info and hangs up.

Waverly tilts her head.

She looks back to the catering employees and offers a plastic smile. "There you go. You will have a new boss."

Nicole clears her throat. "Excuse me?"

"My taste buds need something of a certain level, Nicole." Mercedes puts her phone on her Prada leather purse. "And you both deserve to know what good food is. Giovanni will take care of the menu, the supplies, and he will be here to avoid a succession of inevitable disasters."

Waverly leans forward. "Who's Giovanni, again?"

"A personal friend, an underwear model, and a rising star in Italy's high dining scene. Just opened his first franchise in New York, so. Right by our side. Lucky for us!"

New York City isn't exactly a short drive away, but Waverly isn't going to tell Mercedes that. Neither was Giovanni.

Thirteen dresses later, Waverly finds the one.

The store lights bathe her in the spotlight, with the seamstress fussing over the hem of the dress — flowing, pearl white, structured but still fluid when Waverly spins around.

She turns to Wynonna and makes a pose.

"Baby girl, you look..." Wynonna looks at her like she's everything, eyes already watery. "Perfect."

Waverly beams, cheeks flushed, heart racing. This is it.

She's going to marry the love of her life in this dress.

After everything. Despite everything. She's going to marry the love of her life.

She tries a delicate, golden necklace on. It shines under the gentle dressing room lights.

Even better. She touches it with the tips of her fingers. "I can't believe it."

Wynonna coughs, smirk back to her face. "Nicole’s panties are going to combust as soon as she sees you."

Waverly slaps her sister's arm. "Wynonna!"

She will, though. She totally will.

And Waverly is not going to be using any underwear, so.

Good luck to Nicole in dealing with that information.

The demon bar is closed, with only a few employees restocking on the back, under neon lights.

Rosita, cigar on one hand and whiskey neat on the other, raises her eyebrows and smiles as Waverly approaches with a pie.

"Peace offering?" She sets her drink on the table as a beautiful bartender drapes herself around her, a hand on her bare chest under her blazer.

Waverly focuses on Rosita's dark eyes. She will not stare at that gratuitous PDA nor the bartender sucking on Rosita's earlobe.

Rosita smirks and pulls the pie closer. "Smells good."

"There's more." Waverly takes a top-tier, aged whiskey bottle from her purse and places it on the table.

Rosita's eyes shine — she opens immediately and takes a sip. "That's the good stuff. Gonna save it for a special occasion." She leans back on her seat. "But my birthday is not in four months."

For a breath, Waverly hesitates. "My wedding is next weekend."

"I've got the invitation. Beautiful lettering."

The bartender leaves, looking at Waverly from head to toe and making her squirmish.

She clears her throat. "Can I trust there will be no supernatural shenanigans? For a whole weekend?"

Rosita looks at her, kinder than a moment ago, and finishes her drink. "I own you that, at least." She stretches her empty glass to the side and the bartender pops up with another, touch lingering before leaving.

The woman is living in her customized heaven.

She turns back to Waverly. "To be fair, Doc has already a. showed up with two shiny guns and b. chose a few demons for security. It's all settled."

Waverly's eyes widen. "He what?"

"You know he's a worrier, darling." Rosita takes a puff of her cigar. "Do you mind if I wear red? I've been meaning to ask you."

Waverly rolls her eyes. "Wear whatever you want. As long as you stay out of trouble."

Rosita pouts her pretty, full red lips. "Me? Trouble?" She purrs, full of mischief. "Never."

Jeremy shines when he has goals and deadlines.

He begins his Powerpoint presentation about the wedding, running decisions, costs, and purveyors.

"It's your wet dream, baby," Nicole laughs when he opens a detailed excel sheet.

"Oh, hush, you," Waverly nudges her to-be wife and shuts her up with a kiss. "Continue, Jeremy. You're perfect the way you are."

He’s dumping even more information when Waverly notices something. "Wait." She scoots closer to the computer screen. "My first rough budgets were at least two times what you're showing us."

"See, uh, the numbers," Jeremy stops, mumbles something, stops again.

Nicole raises an eyebrow. "Jeremy."

He gives them a sheepish smile. "Everyone wanted to chip in."

Nicole blinks, frozen. "What?"

"It was supposed to be a kind of a secret?" He gives them a weird chuckle. "But my graphs were so nice, and I thought Waverly would want to see them, and... now we're here."

"Everyone wanted to chip in," Waverly repeats, dumbstruck.

"Yeah, uh, Wynonna is paying for your dress, Doc and Nedley are taking over half of the booze budget, Mercedes said she had a special deal with some Giovanni man about the food, and I don't have much but there's enough for some of the flowers, and Contessa sent me a check, and then..."

"That's... very nice of you." Nicole pulls Jeremy for a hug. "All of you." Waverly follows them into a group hug.

Jeremy sinks into their embrace, relieved. "You should start this new chapter without debt."

Silly, silly people. Waverly sniffs. She's not crying.

Doc's scrubbing, sanding, and painting the fences. He smiles somewhere under his mustache when Waverly arrives. "Afternoon."

He's been fixing the property every day, and it shows.

"It's looking great, Doc." Waverly can't help but grin.

"Everything for our girls," he answers, never stopping his work. It's different, being taken care of.

Waverly looks at her own feet for a moment. That gets Doc to pause. "You didn't have to talk to Rosita."

"I know." He nods. "I'm sorry if I overstepped. I wanted to make sure everyone would be safe and focused on celebrating." A long pause. "We had enough suffering already."

"You didn't have to do that," Waverly says quietly. "Thank you."

Waverly enjoys a moment of peace on the couch, cuddling against Nicole as they each read a book.

Rachel walks in circles in the living room, white earphones over her ear, until she screams, "I GOT IT!"

Waverly enjoyed a moment of peace, that is. She closes her book, followed suit by Nicole. "Yes, Rachel?"

"Listen, a two-day ceremony is not easy, okay?" Rachel gesticulates. "There are so many moments, the music has fit the mood. So I made four different playlists."

Nicole pulls Waverly to her lap, equal parts gratuitous and welcome. Waverly rests her side against her fiancée, hand playing with gorgeous, silky red hair.

The closer they are to the wedding, the harder it becomes to stay away. She wants to be touching Nicole all the time, every time.

Rachel clears her throat. "You do make The Notebook look bleak."

They both smile, turning their attention to their unpaid DJ.

"Back to business!" Rachel sits by their side and shows her phone screen. "There are four playlists. I call them: Drunk in Love, Let's Get That Party Started, Soft Rock for Old People, and Live, Laugh, Love. Each lasts several hours."

Nicole nods, impressed. "I hope there's plenty of throwbacks."

"Yeah yeah," Rachel waves. "Plenty of the 90s and 2000s for old people do their old people dances." Her face turns very serious. "No Macarena. I have standards."

Waverly smiles.

They decide to get ready at Nicole's because they need a moment.

Waverly leaves the bathroom in a tight, golden dress that doesn't quite reach half her thighs.

Nicole, sitting on the edge of the bed, puts her phone aside. "Nedley says everything's going well and we should—" She looks at Waverly and stops dead in her tracks. "Oh. Baby."

"We should?" Waverly takes a few steps towards her high heels, putting her earring on.

"Baby." Is Nicole... breathless? Waverly turns to look at her future wife in slack pants and dress shirt still undone, sexy lace lingerie. A vision.

Nicole's lips part open, chest rising and falling quickly. "You're a vision."

Waverly dismisses her with a wave and a smile, face turning hot. "I haven't even finished my makeup."

Nicole gets very close, very fast. "We're going to be late."

We still have half an hour, and we're almost ready—" Waverly frowns.

Nicole pushes her against the dresser, bodies in full contact, lips grazing Waverly's. "We're going to be late," she says, voice dropping an octave, hand on the back of Waverly's neck.

Waverly's breath catches on her throat.

Oh.

She places one hand on Nicole's chest, licking her lips. "Nicole..."

"You're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen." She grabs the back of Waverly's thighs, and soon Waverly is sitting on the dresser, legs spread open. "I need to have a taste." She joins their lips in a slow, wet kiss. "I promise I won't ruin your makeup too much."

Heart pounding wild, Waverly lets out a shaky breath. "Take off your shirt. I wouldn't want it to get wrinkled."

Nicole obeys.

Waverly and Nicole walk into Shorty's, arms linked and sway on their hips. A pair of retired demon bartenders offer champagne, and they each take one.

The crew cleaned up the place nicely for the rehearsal dinner. There's a giant table in the middle of the room, candles all around, soft music playing on the speakers.

This is where it all began. This is where they would come together as a family before the big day.

They take their seats, Nicole's arm resting on the back of Waverly's chair. Her shirt is two buttons open too sexy.

Waverly stares like she hasn't spent the last hour kissing, biting, and licking those wonderful assets. Can anyone tell Waverly came two times in Nicole's car before arriving?

Wynonna looks at them with a very particular smile, eyebrows wobbling.

Yes, they can.

Nedley raises his glass. "Let the feast begin!"

The bartenders arrive in a choreography of endless drinks and trays of food.

It's lovely, and Waverly's heart could explode.

Belly full, head dizzy, Waverly looks at Nicole, who's talking to Wynonna like old pals.

She lays her head on Nicole's shoulder and her very nearly wife turns to kiss Waverly's head before returning to the conversation.

How did she manage to find someone like this? How does someone get that lucky?

Doc stands up, charming in his modern cowboy look. He clinks his glass. "It's time for a toast." Oh, man. Everyone falls silent, eyes darting between Doc and the couple.

"Waverly, you're sweet as a summer peach. You're the heart of this ragged group of outsiders." A lengthy round of claps. "Nicole, you have some gut. You're not afraid to stand up for creatures much stronger than you and fifteen times as dangerous. You could have a quiet life, and still, you chose us. You're out of your mind."

They laugh and toast together. "To insanity!"

Nedley clears his throat. All eyes go to him. "Nicole, I'm so proud of the woman you've become and the family you made for yourself." He says it slow, gentle, measuring his words. "Waverly, you found yourself a good one. Every bit good and sweet as you are. You both deserve all the happiness in the world. Marriage is a wild ride and life can be tough: good luck."

Waverly nods and toasts with him, holding back tears.

"I made, uh, a quick chat about—" Jeremy begins before Wynonna boos and throws a grape in his direction. "Tough crowd," he says, standing up and getting a laugh out of most people. "Seriously, though. As the wedding planner, social media manager, and chapel coordinator..." He pauses and looks around. "Which are three of the most important jobs," he raises a finger and ignores Doc's huffing by his side. "Thank you for letting me live vicariously through you both. You are the gay unicorns. Thank you for not dying, several times."

Another toast! Can Waverly even hold this much alcohol? She giggles.

Wynonna stands up: tight black dress, plenty of cleavage and gun strapped to her thigh and whiskey on her hand. "Nicole, thank you for making my baby sister happy." She locks eyes with Waverly, so soft and content. Waverly smiles and squeezes Nicole's arm. "We've been to hell and back. We learned to like each other, even though you're a goody-two-shoes who fucked my sister on every surface available on my house." The whole table laughs; Waverly hides her face on the crook of Nicole's neck. "Oh yes, Sheriff, I know. I wish I didn't. One more reason I need therapy." More laughs. She raises her glass. "Thank you for putting up with us."

The bartenders serve their shots. "To sound insulation!" Wynonna shouts.

Waverly downs her drink, feeling it burn on the back of her throat. Oh, Nicole will have to carry her home if they keep this up.

Downing two shots in close succession, Wynonna looks at Rachel and gestures with her head.

The girl gets up from her seat, orange juice on a champagne glass. "Marriage is totally a failed institution, but—" She fidgets with her dress. "If anyone can make it work, it's the two of you. It's gross, really." She gets a thunderous laugh from the others and gives a small smile. "To lesbian moms!"

Nicole raises her champagne glass.

Gunshots and people screaming.

Of course.

Wynonna, Doc, and Nicole jump immediately, retrieving their guns as they out the bar.

Waverly huffs, reflexes slow, and no gun anywhere near.

"Stop right there!" She can hear Nicole scream, already outside.

When she gets to the action, four demons are trying to rob a store. Great. Talk about trusting Rosita.

Nicole points Peacemaker at them. "If I were you, I'd listen to the Sheriff."

They growl, posture wobbly as if drunk or drugged on something. "Can't a demon have some fun in this town?"

A thunder falls, and a deep voice echoes. "What did I say?"

Waverly looks and approaching at a distance: Rosita, red overcoat, and hair flowing in the autumn wind. She's almost floating right above the ground, the definition of power.

"Not today, boys," she orders, with an easy command. "Not tomorrow. And not the day after that." She's already very close. "Is that too much to ask?"

She looks at the humans trapped inside and the doors open. "Get out." The young family scurries away, no questions asked.

She slaps the demons in quick succession. "It's like you can't take a fucking order." They try to fight, but Rosita is quicker, stronger, and doesn't take a single blow.

It's a beautiful one and a half minutes.

Wynonna breaks a smile, gun still pointed at the group. "You go, girlboss."

Rosita rolls her eyes, a high-heeled boot on a demon's throat, a hand on another's throat, as two lie on the floor, passed out. "I'm sorry about the disturbance. You may go back to your festivities."

Waverly feels a bit guilty. Maybe Rosita's not so bad.

"See you tomorrow." Rosita drags the demons back to wherever they came from.

Nicole shrugs and sets her gun back on its holster. "C'mon, baby. Night's still young."

Waverly takes her hand, tripping just a little on the walk back to Shorty’s.

By the end of the night, Nicole does carry her to bed, with a big glass of water and some aspirin. -

Read chapter Two.

#fight for wynonna #wynonna earp #waverly x nicole #waverly earp #nicole haught #wayhaught #fanfic: a family wedding #so.... hi?#is anyone still there?

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h0esvck · 5 years ago

Note

Request : Halloween sex? Thank you

It's not Halloween but who gives a fuck, I wanna dress up in cute slutty outfits rn lemme be

Namjoon

You had decided on the outfits for Namjoon and you to wear to the idol Halloween party tonight. When he was handed a wolf outfit (which even had a collar) he got an idea of what the couples costume was about, but nothing could've prepared him for how sexy and cute you looked when you came out of the bathroom. And just like how oblivious and innocent Little Red Riding Hood was, so were you to the way Namjoon was hungrily staring at you, practically licking his lips at the sight of you. "Ready to go?" You asked with an innocent smile as you grabbed your bag of things. "Yes, I'm ready," he said subtly implying he was more than ready to fuck the living hell out of you.

You hum as you drive to the party before walking inside hanging off Namjoon's arm, your big bad wolf who would do anything to protect you rathed than hurt you. You showed off your outfits with a cute smile that could melt anyone's heart. And it truly did melt Namjoon's but at the end of the night Namjoon was still a man, and he still desired to have you, naked and trembling beneath him as he makes you cum so hard around his cock. So that's what he did. As soon as you got home he was upon you like a wolf and it's prey. Ironic considering your outfits. He started with pinning you down on his big bed, and forwarding your legs, laying them over his shoulders as he ate you out until you came. You were still moaning and twitchy from the pleasure of your orgasm when he began to fuck you into the mattress while still wearing his collar. "O-oh god," your back arched and you clenched around him, panting heavily and whining his name as he fucked you so good, hitting all the perfect spots to make you cum again. "God, Namjoon youre gonna makd me cum-!" Your back arches and he leans down and kisses you, fucking you harder and deeper to make you whimper and scream in pleasure. You cum again and Namjoon pulls out before turning you on your belly and fucking you from behind whispering dirty things in your ear. "Is this what you imagined when picking out our outfits? Big bad wolf corners you in his bed and fucks you silly?" He goes faster and you cry out, your pussy sensitive from cumming twice. "Bad girl, such a bad girl, gonna eat you all up," he smacks your ass making your head jerk.

You cum another two times before he's satisfied and cums as well. Your pussy was definitely sore after that, but you didn't give a single fuck.

Seokjin

Seokjin grins as he fixes his collar in the mirror, he has the fake fangs in and blood running down his chin. His hair is styled up and he has contacts in that make his eyes shimmer red in the perfect lighting. He looks absolutely dashing in his medieval vampire costume, it fits him so well and he knows it. He continues to stare at himself into the mirror as he calls your name to come out in your outfit he chose as well. "(Y/N)!~" he calls. "The party starts soon, and I'd like to meet up with the boys early for photos so I can show off my girlfriend to them," he is subtly asking you to hurry up in the bathroom. You smile as you hear him, youre applying vibrant red lipstick as you speak. "Almost done dear~" you finish your make up and you open the door to see Jin checking himself out. You snicker and walk up behind him, hugging him from behind. "Mmm, you look good, " he turns and looks at you before his eyes widen. "And you look," he takes your waist in his hand. "You look even better."

"Is that so?" You raise a brow with a giggle and he smiles. "I'd rather show you than tell you how amazing you look," he leans down and kisses your lip, getting some of the fake blood on your chin. You also had two fake puncture wounds in your neck with blood dripping out for where Jin had bitten you.

He grabs your waist with both hands and turns you to slam you up against the lifesize mirror. "I'll have you dripping with more than blood," he said before kissing you, fondling your breasts and making you moan. He doesn't even take off your clothes, he pushes your skirt up and he and slides your panties to the side where he slides in and fucks you. "O-oh Jin," you whimper and bite you lip as he fucks you against the mirror. You hold onto his wide shoulders for dear life as he fucks you at speeds that felt inhuman, god you were gonna cum so fucking hard. You were so wet and dripping just like Jin had predicted. Maybe something about Jin being a vampire made sense, he never seemed to age and he was just sexy as fuck. Oh fuck, imagining Seokjin as a vampire had your toes curling as you came.

He pulled out and came as well, panting and kissing you with a smile. He checked his watch and his eyes widened, "shit we're gonna be late!" You two hurry to put yourselves back together before meeting up with the others boys, except it's more than obvious what had happened before you showed up. You two subtly get teased about it the whole night.

Yoongi

Yoongi looks at his mint green hair and he chuckles. "You really like the mint don't you?" You smile and nod as you look at your hair in pigtails with the ends dipped in pink and blue dye making them perfect for your costumes. You were the Joker and Harley Quinn and you bith looked amazing. Yoongi even let you put the temporary tattoo's of the jokers on him, it was so so sexy. "Come on let's go," he grabs his leather jacket but you just giggle and push him back onto the couch. "Tha party can wait for us." You wink and he raises a brow a small knowing grin on his face. "Oh is that so?"

You end up in his lap, your shorts off and stockings still on (a hole in the crotch though) bouncing on his cock. "You're my little slut aren't you?" He chuckles gripping your hips tighter and you moan. "All yours puddin'!" You wink and hips jerk as you get close. "G-gonna cum," you say and Yoongi recahes between your legs to rub your throbbing clit until you come undone on his lap. You pant and rest your head on his chest after he pulls out and cums as well. "We should go now," you say, your make up being messed up not a big deal when Harley's make up is always messed up anyways.

Hoseok

Hoseok doesn't get to see you until he shows up at the party. He had to come late because he was busy, but when he came and found you laning against the hood of a car looking all sexy as you talk to some of his friends he was definitely turned on. "Well fuck," he mumbles and walks over, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than they were before.

You spot him and smile. "Hoseok!" You get up and kiss him sweetly. "You look, hot baby," you promise and he chuckles shamelessly putting his hand on your ass, "I could say the same for you," he winks and you swat his hand away playfully before going to get you both drinks. Later during the party, Hoseok has you in the bathroom, making out with you furiously as he gropes you all over through your sexy clothes. "Goodness fuck baby," he grinds against you and you bite your lip to muffle a moan. "Need this off, NOW" he says and you nod pulling down the zipper all the way down to your crotch where he sees you in a thong. "Oh fuck (Y/N) I'm gonna cum in my pants if you get any hotter," he pushes your clothes down and he bends you over the sink and begisn to fuck you over it. You had to bite your hand to muffle your noises of pleasure as Hoseok grunted behind you, fucking your tight little hole so good you were dripping down your thighs. Hoseok pulls out and cums on your ass before kneeling down and eating you out until you cum, squirming and moaning his name as your legs shake from pleasure. "Good girl," he smacks your ass and helps you wipe his cum off of yourself before fixing your outfit and going back out to party. Only the other members were close enough to Hoseok to know he had just fucked his girlfriend. They could see it in the way his skin glowed, haply cocky macho man. You went home and fucked again after the party.

Jimin

You and Jimin had decided to show up at the Halloween party as Eric and Ariel. You were so cute together, Jimin with his bouncy black hair and you in your pretty shimmery mermaid tail skirt and cute purple seashell bra. Little did you know your cute outfit was driving Jimin insane. It just reminded Jimin of how much he loved you and your body and how much he wanted to appreciate it. But you were having so much fun talking to the other girls and giggling about god knows what, so he controlled himself for the duration of the party. He hangs out with the boys, has a few drinks and snacks, and when the party is over you two go home. You're tired and want to go to sleep, except you aren't given the chance when Jimin is all over you kissing you in the hallway to the bedroom and groping you like this would be his last chance to ever touch you. "J-Jimin!" You yelp when he hikes up your skirt before you can even get in the bedroom and his hand is between your lets, caressing you through you panties and making you shiver.

"Good god baby you looked so good tonight, I had to control myself from taking you right then and there in front of everyone like a wild animal." He kisses you again. "Fuck, you're in for a sleepless night," he says and you whimper and nod spreading your legs more when he brushes over your clit. "Don't- don't wanna sleep when I can be with you" he looks at you, still for a moment before pushing you into his room and onto hie bed where he kneels and begins to eat you out like the princess you are, giving you everything you deserve and more. Park Jimin was damn thirsty that night and only you could quench his thirst. So you did.

Taehyung

Taehyung is absolutely in LOVE with these outfits for the party, in fact, he loves them so much he asked everyone's opinions on them while you were there. It made you embarrassed but you had to admit the outfits were really cute. You were dressed up as Emily and Victor from Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. You both looked cute but you had worn a blue gem plug tonight and it was making you hornier with every step. You tried getting Taehyung's attention a few times but he was so busy with the members you gave up. You'd wait till you got home.

When you did get home you did a dramatic lazy stretch and began taking off your dress in front of Taehyung. "I've been so hot the whole night," you toss your bra aside and then begin to push down your panties which makes Taehyung's eyes widen. "And this darn plug," you kick your panties to the side, completely naked now. "It's been bothering me all night," you bend over in front of him a bit and pull your cheek aside for him to see the pretty blue gem plug. Taehyubg swallows, mouth dry and dick hard in his pants. "If only there was someone to help with it," you stand back up and look at him before smiling. "What?" You ask and he swallows again. "I-I can help," he says and you hum. "Can you? You've been ignoring me all night..." You pout and he lightly glares before pulling your hips forward so you're standing in front of him, hips level with his face making you blush because you're naked. "That was obviously a mistake," he grabs a cheek in both hands, spreading them apart making you gasp. "Now get on the bed, ass up because I wanna see your pretty plug as I fuck you from behind." You blush and nod before leaning down and kissing him before doing as he said. Oh and he did fuck you from behind. Fast and hard and making you cum so hard... Three times.

Jungkook

Jungkook had chosen the outfits since you really didn't wanna be an overwatch character for him so this was the next best thing. It was cute and badass and sexy and you got to ogle your boyfriend's abs all night long. It was a win for you and your uh, sexual fantasies.

Thankful those fantasies of Jungkook taking you and fucking the hell out of you didn't have to stay fantasies long. Jungkook had been ogling you the whole duration of the party as well. So when he cornered you in the hallway and pulled you into the closet, making out with you heavily it was like a dream come true.

"God, you look so fucking hot tonight," he pulls your bra down exposing your breasts and he leans down and kisses and gropes them, sucking your nipples and making you sigh and moan. "I could say the same for you," you say breathlessly as you undo the buttons on his pants. "I can't tell you how many times I imagined you fucking me tonight," you whispered and he groaned, "oh fuck," he quickly yanks down your pants and your underwear with it. He picks you up by your thighs and he wastes no time thrusting into you. You moan loudly and he muffles your moans by kissing you. "We're so perfect for each other," you giggle and he smiles before kissing you again and thrusting fast and hard into you. "So hot baby, so hot and wet for me," he makes you whimper with his words. "That this poor neglected pussy been clenching and throbbing, thinking about my cock all night? Hmm baby girl?" He thrusts hard and your back arches. "Yes-! Yes!" You moan and your toes curl in your boots. "Good, because my cock has been missing your pussy all night,"

You fuck in the closet and afterwards you two are so giggly and acting almost drunk you're high off the pleasure of having sex in public and successfully getting away with it. Neither of you noticed the scratches down Jungkook's back, but everyone else did.

A week later Jungkook gets a letter from BigHit telling him to please refrain from doing such things in the BigHit building. You both want to crawl in a hole from embarrassment.

Masterlist ⛥彡

Hyung's outfits

Maknae's outfits

#jungkook #jhope #rm #suga #v #jimin #jin #bts #park jimin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #bts reactions #bts smut #bts scenarios #suzzy writes

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amerrierworld · 5 years ago

Text

Just Pretend

Ocean’s 8 - oneshot

Summary: You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Ocean’s crew and your friends are worried. Lou finds a way to get them off your tail.

Characters: Lou x fem!reader, the Ocean’s gang, your friends (F/N).

Word Count: 1,376

Warnings: Swearing

“Y’know, my friends have been wondering where I’ve been hanging out recently,” you said as you took another sip of coffee and played your next card.

“Hm? And what’d you tell them?” Rose asked.

“Just that I’ve been hanging with a friend that they don’t know,” you shrugged. “Don’t worry, they don’t know about the lot of you. They just seem to think I’ve got a new girlfriend or something.”

The team of nine was sitting in Lou’s loft, lazing about with your newly acquired riches and enjoying each other’s company. You’d met Debbie through Constance being a mutual friend in the city, and she’d hired you on the team instantly.

You were playing cards with Rose, Constance (who was certainly cheating) and Tammy around the small table. Amita was making excited chitchat with Daphne over some fanciful jewelry while Nineball was tapping away on her computer. Constance had a small portable radio blasting some tunes to fill the spacey loft.

Debbie was in the kitchen, making a phone call to get pizza delivered because Lou had had enough of having her fridge raided, primarily by you and Constance who were nefarious snackers when bored.

Lou wasn’t anywhere to be seen, much to your disappointment. Over the past couple weeks prepping for the heist, you’d taken a liking to the blonde. Who wouldn’t take a liking to her? Confident, funny, sexy (especially when wearing anything leather).

“A new girlfriend, eh?” Tammy smirked.

Your liking to Lou hadn’t gone unnoticed, much to your chagrin. You didn’t handle feelings very well, and though you could be cool and collected when flirting casually, you were at a complete loss when it came to approaching Lou.

“Shut up,” you smacked Tammy’s arm. “They all know I don’t have time for that kind of stuff anyways. They’re just really annoying about it.”

“Annoying about what?” Debbie had joined the group, with a glass of red wine in hand.

“Y/N’s friends seem to think she’s being dragged away by a new lady-lover with the amount of time she’s spending with us,” Tammy smirked.

“Which is ridiculous- stop looking at me like that!” you huffed as Debbie looked at you knowingly. It was true, with the prep for the heist and planning the aftermath, you’d barely had the chance to see your regular friends outside of the eight co-criminals. You felt a little bad, but you certainly didn’t mind. They were a fun bunch, and the dynamic the group had was comfortable.

Except when it came to Lou.

Fucking Lou.

Every time she looked at you with her smoldering eyes you felt like the whole world faded away. You were only mildly convinced that she felt something too when she never looked away from your gaze. It made the heist planning only somewhat difficult.

You wondered where she was now. Probably driving around on her bike somewhere, in fucking leather again. You reached over and took a large sip of Tammy’s water without looking at her, knowing she’d have that annoying grin on her face.

The door opened just as you played another card. You all turned to see Lou walk in.

And what a way to walk in.

First she dumped her bike helmet on the closest table and wiped her hands on a dirty rag she had. Head to toe in stark black leather and black heeled boots. Her fringe was slightly messy and there was a bit of oil and grease from her bike on her forehead.

Her eyes were lined with sultry black and she unzipped her leather jacket to reveal a deep red button down (with half the buttons undone as usual) underneath. Your mouth went dry and you realized that she was looking straight at you. Rose had turned the music down.

“Y/N, there’s some buggers just outside looking for you. Told them I had no idea who you were in case you didn’t want them coming in.”

You groaned. “What did they look like?”

Lou described them and you sighed heavily. Two of your best mates had come following you to check on you, you figured. You got up from the couch just as there was knocking on the door and your phone lit up.

You picked up.

“Yo! Y/N, what the hell’s going on? Where are you, really?”

You came to stand next to Lou, halfway between your spot on the couch and the front doors. She looked at you with a bemused smile as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Doesn’t matter, F/N. Look, I know you’re here. But just, don’t follow me alright? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Y/N, we’re convinced you’re either involved with some real illegal shit or you’ve found yourself a new lady. Either way, we just wanna make sure you’re okay. You’re not staying at this big ol’ loft are you?”

“What would make you say that?”

You heard your other friend whistle from the background. “Well, if you are, you’ve got one heckin’ catch on your hands, girl.”

As you were talking Lou turned on her heels and walked to the front doors. You followed her quickly, worried that she was going to throw them into the street for annoying you like this.

“Can we not talk about this right now? I’ll meet you guys for drinks on the weekend. I know, I’m sorry I’ve been so absent lately, it’s just that-,”

“It’s just that her new lady likes to spend some time alone with Y/N at her own place. Is that too much to ask?”

You gawked. Lou had opened the door and leaned, all sexy but nonchalantly, against the frame to stare your two friends down on the front steps. They made eye contact with you and you hung up the phone, your face beet-red.

“I’ll tell you personally that Y/N is perfectly fine and safe here,” Lou continued casually. “How about we all go out for drinks this weekend and get to know each other properly?”

All of you were staring at Lou, and your mind was racing with what she meant, but you refused to let your imagination run rampant. You smiled wryly at your friends who stared at the intimidating figure that was your smokin’ Australian biker lady.

They swallowed and nodded once.

“Great! See you then,” And she shut the door in their faces. You jumped at the sound.

“W-huh?” You were completely confused at what just happened.

Lou turned to look at you and smirked. You blinked and unsuccessfully tried to regain your composure.

“Uhm, yeah, thanks for that Lou. I mean, you didn’t have to send them off like that, but I appreciate you pretending to get them off my ass, really.”

Lou stepped closer to you and caught your wrist before you could move away in surprise. She looked at you with sultry, piercing blue eyes and her next words were a low, hushed whisper.

“Who said I was pretending?”

You gawked. Again. Honestly, it was hard not to when it came to Lou. She moved impossibly closer and suddenly her mouth was on yours. She tasted of coffee, cigarettes and vodka. You were dumbfounded and could barely move as she pulled away. She chuckled at your expression before bringing your knuckles up to her lips and kissing them lightly.

It was then that you came back to reality. Your hand pulled away from hers and cupped the back of her neck to kiss her, hard. A low groan escaped Lou’s mouth as her hands grabbed your waist and yours wound up in her bleach blonde hair. You could feel heat searing through every bone in your body, until-

“Hey, love birds. Either get a room or come finish this card game okay?”

You hastily pulled away and looked to see Tammy smirking again. Lou pulled you against her as you turned around and her lips brushed your ear, making you shiver.

“Better go make sure Constance doesn’t cheat you guys again, eh?”

You nodded weakly and made your way back to the group, reaching behind to intertwine your fingers with Lou’s. She gripped yours back in a way that made your heart warm and a wide grin suddenly broke across your face as Rose turned the music back on.

A/N: hello. hi. its me. i have NO idea how long it’s been since I’ve written or posted ANYTHING for tumblr. But hey, it’s been a long time, I just rewatched Ocean’s 8 and I’m a stan for anything Cate Blanchett does, so here we are! A small little ficlet to quench all your quarantine-related thirsts. Be safe you guys. If you want to see any fics written by me please leave a request :) It’s been years since I’ve been on here but I’ve been filled with new inspiration and an urge to write. Who knows what’ll come next?

#lou x you #lou miller x you #lou miller #oceans 8 #debbie ocean #fanfic #cate blanchett #sandra bullock #sarah paulson #gay #lou miller x reader #cate blanchett x you #oceans 8 fanfic #lgbtq #wlw #merry writes

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jengajives · 4 years ago

Text

Did a collection of defining moments for my Tolkien OCs a while ago and finally decided to post it. Got eight or nine different characters here depending on how you count.

When Agzil gasped, it brought nothing but a cold ash into his lungs. His limbs trembled. Even on all fours, they nearly didn’t have the strength to support him. An elbow buckled and he fell to a forearm instead, forehead hitting the dusty ground, flooding his eyes, nose, and mouth, with the same thick, grey soot that covered everything here. “You talk back again, maggot, and the Lieutenant won’t be so friendly!” The orc captain had a strong Lugburz accent. She was from here- the land of endless burning and choking and death. Made Agzil’s head spin. He obviously had done something wrong in his non-reaction, though, because the whip cracked across his back again with a blinding white-hot agony that dropped him flat to the earth. “Enough!” he heard Mirci crying, so distant he almost didn’t comprehend the words. “You’ve taught him your lesson, now leave him!” “You keep out of this, tinkerer!” Agzil breathed a lungful of soot so foul it made his lungs spasm. He coughed into the ground, and slowly raised himself to his forearms again. He could go no further. “You keep sticking out your neck for Gundabad trash, one day it’s going to get sliced!” the captain roared in the background. “Master may like your big metal beasts, but they done us no good! Done disrupted our ranks, made us look like fools- don’t you know we’re at war?!” When a voice spoke out from behind them all, somehow Agzil instantly knew it was not the voice of an orc. The Dark Master had Men in his armies, too, but as far as Agzil knew, Men didn’t speak the Black Tongue, and this newcomer used it with a natural and melodic lilt. Agzil wished he knew Black Speech. The captain barked something back in the same tongue, then Mirci spoke up in Common. “It wasn’t his fault, sir. It was my machine what went wild. Drive gears broke and the whole thing-“ She stopped abruptly. Agzil imagined this newcomer raising a hand in the way he’d never known a real general to do, and the fear that shot through him was icy and cold at the idea that this might be the Lieutenant of the Tower himself. Something sharp and cold tucked beneath his chin. Agzil felt a trickle of blood down his throat, and he worked to raise his head with the only strength he had left. His eyes met the empty, blank pits in a mask of iron, regarding him expressionless and still. He’d never seen Garavdúr before, but he knew what the War Wolf was meant to look like, and so of course he knew what he was faced with now. His entire body trembled, waiting, staring. Garavdúr did not speak for a long moment. Finally he lifted his sword away from Agzil’s throat and let his head fall, muttering softly as he did. “Pathetic creatures...” The heavy metal footfalls moved away. Agzil laid in the dust for a while before he raised his face again. Mirci’s head was there, coated now in black blood and ash, a few feet from where her body lay crumpled and lifeless. Agzil put his forehead in the dust again. The captain gave him another taste of lashing when he did not try to get up.

Thet wished her mother would loosen up on her hand so she could get closer to the extremely hot molten metal, but unfortunately, it seemed her parents were somewhat responsible. They were traders and always had been, and Thet had seen so many different types of places- dwarf-keeps and hobbit villages and little towns of Men- but never before had she seen metal being worked. It was stunning. “What is it going to be?” she asked eagerly, reaching out a hand as if she could touch the white-hot goop. The smith paused and flipped back the heavy iron mask to reveal fair golden hair and a beard done into neatly capped braids. Her face was smeared with soot. “Going to be a knife someday, little one,” she said in a kind and rumbling voice. “Maybe you’ll use it to cut up your dinner.” “Could you make it a necklace?” Thet asked instead, very eager. They had one necklace in the family; her father wore it at all times and she would recognize the dull reddish gold anywhere. There was a garnet set into the middle. She really liked the chain- how delicate and yet sturdy every individual link was. It was fascinating every time her father let her play with it. The smith looked at her and gave a friendly smile, then reached down with a pair of heavy clamps and broke one small section of the metal off. She twisted it into a crude spiral, bent a thin loop over the top, and then plunged it into her bucket of water. There was a hiss and a rush of steam went up from the boiling liquid. Quick as could be, the smith pulled the spiral out with another clamp and laid it on her table. She produced a length of thin leather from a pile nearby and slipped its end through the loop, and tied it off to create a loose circle. She held the trinket out in a gloved hand. “You be careful now. It’s hot.” Thet squirmed free of her mother’s grip and scurried forward on her crutch. She wrapped her hand in a length of her cloak so she could accept the gift. It was tarnished and none too shiny; just a simple lump of steel crudely wrought into a pendant of sorts, but to Thet’s young eyes it was the most astonishing gift she had ever received. Something made just for her, only for her. Never had she had anything like it. She gripped it tight, pulled it close and looked up eagerly at the tall smith turning back to her work. “I’m going to be just like you someday!” The smith smiled and rustled a hand through the young dwarf’s hair. “You’ll need a good bit of beard before that, little one. Take good care of your necklace.” And Thet never let that shoddy piece of metalwork leave her side.

There was no silence after battle. Corien could only hear the groans of the dying. Flames crackling cruelly in the grass. Huff of beasts and screams carried far away from the walls of the burning city. Orcs that were not quite dead gurgled when he vaulted past. Men that weren’t quite dead begged and choked and sang in shaking, weepy voices. All of it was blurry. Smeared. Nothing real, no sound registering to his battle-worn ears. The only things he heard were the cries of bowstrings, and a clash of steel on steel and wood on stone and metal creaking and screaming and tearing apart. “Halbarad!” he screamed into the settling night. It was lost amidst the identical calls coming up from other places on the field. Other brothers and sisters found hewn, children lifeless, friend and lover ripped apart. Everyone was out to collect their dead. The ribbon tied to the haft of his spear fluttered lightly in the breeze that swept up from the river. It had been blue this morning. It was splattered now with black and scarlet, bruised and sickly beyond repair. He threw the spear aside when he at last saw the gleam of silver against a cloak of bloodstained grey. It took both hands to roll his brother face-up. The silver star Halbarad had always worn on his cloak was shiny and clean, but it was about the only thing left recognizable. Corien’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as he pushed the earth brown hair out of his brother’s face. Blood caught on his fingers and colored his palm scarlet, so he left red smears on the eyelids when he closed those familiar ice-grey eyes. “Halbarad,” he said. His voice sounded so steady it would have surprised him, had he actually believed it was he himself speaking. There was no way it could be. No way he could form the words. “Don’t.. Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead, I- I need you. Please don’t be-“ His eyes travelled slowly to the gashes that tore his brother from jaw to belly and the words broke on a sob. He thought he might have screamed, but so many others were doing the same thing that he couldn’t pick his own voice out from the roar.

Mosco sat listening to the bees. His back rested against the thick grey bark, and his legs were up on a bough, and around his head bees danced from flower to flower in an endless choreographed routine. They were right smart, bees. His ma always said so. They talked back and forth, spoke in their own special language of waltz. Ma used to say that the Greenhands were honey farmers because they had dancing in their blood, and that they and the bees were one and the same. He’d fallen asleep tucked into the branches of his peach tree. The sun was growing low, and at this rate he’d miss his own nineteenth birthday party, but the woods of the Southfarthing were beautiful at sunset in the summer, and he thought he might go for a walk. The grass felt good on his bare feet, if a little cool. His hair hadn’t grown in all proper yet, so sometimes his toes got chilly and he had to embarrass himself wearing socks, but he just chalked that up to his being a “late bloomer,” as Ma put it. He was just out of season. He’d ripen up someday. The birches that made up the part of the forest closest to the farm soon gave way to wrinkly old pines with boughs hanging heavy and dark over their beds of needles. Mosco hummed a walking song, not at all caring for a track to follow, but wandering aimlessly and contemplating his own infinite nineteen-year-old wisdom. The smell of rot stopped him just before he put his foot into it. Beneath the overhanging crypt of the pines, a deer lay dead. Its skin was drawn thin over bones that poked halfway through, and underneath he could see a red-yellow ooze that leaked out into the forest floor. This, he guessed, was what smelled so foul and attracted the bugs. Beetles crawled in and out of the dead animal’s empty eye sockets and nostrils. Worms pitted the parts of its muscle still intact. Mosco saw eggs peppering the ragged hide like white trees in a minuscule forest. His family didn’t eat much meat. They never slaughtered it themselves if they did. He couldn’t think of a time he’d seen a real dead thing. When he got home, he declined the offer of birthday cake and went right to bed, and dreamt of squirming things that burrowed down to lay their eggs in pits beneath his flesh.

Cypress knelt next to the crime scene and tried very hard not to cry. Stuff like this didn’t happen in the Shire. It wasn’t meant to happen. A whole crowd of people looked at her with big, terrified eyes, expecting her to lead them. To tell them what to do in this moment because she was the mayor and she was meant to know. Blood had never been spilled like this. Woodhall’s history was a peaceful one and nothing like this had ever happened before. She looked at the assembled group. It was hard to seem like she wasn’t completely out of her depth, because her voice squeaked rather loudly. “We... We should bury them, yes?” At once the hobbits broke into cries and murmurs that all laid over each other into a horrific cacophony. “They took half the year’s stock!” “How did they get past the borders?” “Why didn’t we know they were coming?” “Are we going to get my honey back?” The last voice was that of Mosco Greenhand, who looked as devastated as the rest, but with an air of determination in his eyes. Cypress raised her hands to quiet the townspeople. “Look, I know this is a lot to process and we can’t understand it yet. But the first thing we ought to do is give these three brave souls who gave their lives for the good of Woodhall a proper burial, yes?” A general murmur of agreement. Cypress looked down at the fair faces she had known, the throats and bellies split by goblin blades, and it made her feel desperately ill. This horror could not be left unpunished.

Sometimes, when Astorrel went to sleep, she had a nightmare. It was always the same one, and it always came on when she decided to rest like other creatures did and actually close her eyes for hours. So, naturally, she avoided doing so. Rested on her feet and never let her guard down while she did it. She never had liked sleeping anyway. Never had any reason to do so for the better part of an age. Lina changed things, though. Lina liked it when Astorrel was there to share her night and her dawn, sleeping and waking, both together as equals. And of course, Astorrel liked to be there when Lina wanted her, and she liked to be close to her beloved, so of course whenever she could she shared Lina’s bed. Made the nightmares come back though. In the deepest hours of the night, when Lina was still and the moonlight slanted in through the window to paint her brown skin silver, Astorrel would lie stiff with her eyes open and nonseeing, and she’d tremble. She knew that in the dream- at least, in parts of it- she was her father. She carried Mirlach, but the blade was younger and the gem hadn’t yet fallen from its hilt. The whole sword always seemed darkened and scarlet-stained to her, and sometimes it dripped. She would hold the fire of the Silmaril and scream and scream as the agony of it withered her flesh away and the stench of rotting burn rose hotly to meet her nostrils, and she would see everything that Maedhros had done to hold the heirloom of his house in his hand, and how in the end, the reward of the quest became its doom. She would feel the irrepressible heat of smoldering, burning rock, and taste the earth as it pressed in, swallowed, took her and her cursed Silmaril into its throat and entombed them there forever. And the dream let her lie, suspended there in agony, the unseen gem scorching her hand to withered bone and the rock pressing in on her, for the entirety of the rest of the world. When she woke up with her hunting knife in her hand, dangerously close to Lina’s back, she decided abruptly she would not be doing this again. She left the cottage that morning before dawn. The next occasion she saw her Lina was on the day she died.

“You’re doing it again,” Léothain said, pulling Wulfrun’s focus away from the herders leading in a group of freshly adult horses to settle in the city. “You don’t really think she’s going to be there, right?” Wulfrun flushed and went back to sharpening her sword. Behind her, Léo plucked the last piece of laundry from the line and waltzed over with his basket against his hip. He stood next to Wulfrun, who sat silent on the stone step and watched young horses and rough herders pass the house by. They didn’t come into the city much; spent most of their time in the downs and the fields tending to their herds. Wulfrun had heard they were capital horsemen, and they guided the herds well enough through the winding lane of Edoras, riding without saddle on their sturdy, gleaming mounts. The horses they were leading in were meant to be ridden in battle. She could tell from the way they moved; so confident with strength and quiet grace, heads set proudly. She’d have one someday. Her fa made enough as a carpenter, but wasn’t much for travel, and they only had one horse for the three of them. The fat little thing was functional enough, but far from the mighty steed Wulfrun dreamed of. “You’re going to be really lucky if you see her again,” said Léo in an irritating sort of singsong voice. Wulfrun scowled at him. The sharpening stone swept over her worn blade again. Again. When most of the herd had passed, she finally found what she’d been seeking. At the rear of the group, riding a tall, shimmering palomino, came the girl. She looked just a little older than Wulfrun’s proud fifteen. Her face gleamed sunshine golden, and the dark hair that should have been dyed probably yellow was grown out and black down to the ears. She wore sturdy, battered clothes like the rest of the herders, but her eyes shone a brilliant black from her regal face. She saw Wulfrun looking and waved. Wulfrun wished she knew her name. She waved back.

Riston wasn’t his proper name. He didn’t know what it was. Could be Jett. Pierson. Randy. Likely he had a family name, too, though he had no guesses as to what it could be and all the Bree names he’d ever heard seemed bizarre and strangely food-centric. He didn’t want to have a real name. He just wanted to be Riston of the elves. Riston of the Havens. That was who he was. He sat on the big smooth rock on the west side of the harbor and plucked absently at his lute strings. Nothing sounded right. Nothing fit how it was supposed it. He was meant to leave in the morning. Head east and find who he actually was. He didn’t want to go. What’s a name matter? he thought as he crossed his legs and tried to let the waves paint a tempo into his mind. Anything he tried to make manifest withered away. I know who I am. This is my home. A discordant note. He tried to retune, very aggressively. Even if I find my family somehow, it’s not like my Westron is good enough to communicate with them. His fingers clenched. It’s not fair. They can’t just ask me to leave like I’m some guest who’s worn out his- One of lute strings snapped against his fingers and on a deep-gut impulse he slammed his fist into the instrument’s wooden body. A crunch, and he’d broken his most prized possession. Riston sat for a moment, slowing his breathing, taking stock of the fist-shaped hole splintering his delicate elf-made lute, the most beautiful thing he’d ever owned. Then he put his face in his hands and started to cry.

#jenga makes junk #fic #tolkien oc #agzil #garavdur #thet #corien #halbarad #mosco #cypress #astorrel #wulfrun #riston #tw gore #tw death #tw rot #i have so many ocs it is not fair

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