#like the only carpet is a rug or two but jesus christ there is so much sand all the time

[aturnoftheearth]

i love the bit about becoming an adult meaning you value useful items as gifts aka the socks meme bc yeah. my big ticket item this year for my birthday/christmas list is a vacuum cleaner

[twostepstyless]

Beautifully Unfinished

Fic Advent Calendar Day 3

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Authors Note: A spider, warm or bright white lights, a snoring puppy and something of value goes missing. Is this one a bit sad? I don't know, maybe we'll rectify it later on in the calendar.

Likes, reblogs and feedback of any king is always welcome, appreciated and encouraged - G x

Word Count: 2.1k

SFW

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“That’s the last box,” Y/N sighed handing Harry the large plastic box down from her perch just inside the attic. Harry was quick to place the box down on the pile they had accumulated and gripped the sides of the ladder as Y/N swung her legs round to start coming down wooden ladder from the loft. Usually, Harry goes up the attic if they needed anything from up there but as soon he popped the hatch open a spider that Harry tried telling Y/N was the size of a frisbee came scuttling out and that put him right off. 

She heard a girlish shriek from the top of the stairs where the loft hatch was located and bolted to see if Harry was alright.

“Jesus Christ, that’s fucking massive,” he had yelled, scaring not only Y/N but their golden retriever, Vinnie, too who took off running in the opposite direction to hide, some guard dog he was. 

“Whaissit,” she panted having ran up the stairs to him.

“Great big bloody spider, swear to god, was the size of a frisbee,” Harry had almost gagged thinking about it. Y/N’s eyes darted to the ceiling, seeing nothing but the open hole into the attic. “F’you think I’m going up there now, y’can dream on, decorating is cancelled this year,” Harry said firmly. 

“Where’d it go?” she questioned, not seeing the long spindly legs she was expecting anywhere. 

“The creepy bastard went into the spare room,” he pointed to the open door the spider must’ve went into, so she went for a look. “I’m not coming in to save you when you see the thing!” he had called after her. 

She saw the spider. It was the size of a 50 pence piece… at a push, but her big brave boy wasn’t having any of it. So, Y/N pulled up her big girl pants and up the loft she went. 

*** 

“Is it just me or are there more and more boxes every year?” Harry mused as Y/N’s feet, clad in her best Christmas socks hit the carpet beside him as she came down off the ladder into the attic that Harry had been holding steady for her. He knew there was at least one extra box every year, Y/N couldn’t resist a new decoration and managed to sneak a few past him every year. ‘Sneak’ used loosely; he knew she did it. She’d keep them in the boot of her car after she bought them for a few days, then when he was out or distracted in some capacity, they’d find their way into the house, and she’d act as if they were there all along. 

“Nah, definitely the same as usual, I just think we forget what’s there because a full year has passed since we had ‘em out last,” she gave him a pursed smile, trying to pull the wool over his eyes. 

“Mhm, sure, that’ll be it,” Harry nodded knowingly, as she bat her innocent eyes at him, eyelashes fluttering. “Let’s get all this downstairs and start decorating, hm?” Harry said before bending to pick up two boxes stacked on top of each other and started transporting them down. 

***

It took them 3 trips each up and down the stairs to carry everything down and Y/N was currently sat cross-legged on the living room rug digging through the storage bins looking for their tree lights. As Harry messed around with their record player at the side of the room, thumbing through the crates of LP’s they had meticulously stored in protective sleeves and Vinnie was at his happiest, sprawled out on his back, paws in the air, snoring happily in front of the crackling fire. 

“How about we thaw out Mariah first? I’ve got Bublé defrosting on the side for dessert?” Harry asked holding up ‘Merry Christmas’ by Mariah Carey to let her see as Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she nodded eagerly. She heard the crackle of the record player being turned on filter through the room as Harry placed the needle onto the vinyl. The twinkly opening notes to Silent Night sounded out quietly before being overpowered by one of Vinnie’s louder snores as Harry turned the volume up muttering something under his breath along the lines of, “thought we’d adopted a golden retriever not a bloody bear.” He saw Vinnie’s paws twitch out the corner of his eye, looking like he was running in mid-air, clearly happily dreaming about chasing some rabbit or squirrel in his dream as Harry smiled fondly at their big puppy. 

Harry spun on his heel round to his girl, with a chilled glass filled with Bailey’s in each hand. He handed her glass down to her as she thanked him as he ran his now free hand across the top of her head before he crouched down and found himself sitting cross-legged in front of her. 

“Cheers m’dear,” Harry smirked, clinking his glass against hers, the ice rattling against the sides of the tumblers, reminiscent of the opening notes to the song they were listening too. 

“Cheers, gorgeous,” she smiled back as they both took a drink of the sweet drink before leaning over and planting an even sweeter kiss on each other’s lips. Smiling against one another as they shared the taste of vanilla and chocolate from their drinks. 

“Y’found the lights you want?” he asked, setting his glass, and reaching for hers to set it down next to his on the nearby coffee table. 

“Think so,” her tongue peeked out her mouth as she concentrated on wrestling the plug out of the tangled mess of cables, “jus’ going to test them now to check everyone’s still sparkly,” she pulled the plug free. She popped it into the socket near the tree and flicked the switch and groaned audibly at the sight before them. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she whined as the bright white lights illuminated the room, as Harry snorted in laughter. “Don’t bloody laugh, it’s not funny, I spent ages untangling these from the other set,” she shot him a reproachful look as he continued snickering. 

“Hey, a lights a light to me, you’re the one that’s set on the warm white ones, not my fault you picked the wrong ones out. Why don’t we just use those?” Harry took a sip off his Bailey’s. 

“Cause the bright white ones are gross, they’re so… so loud for a light, it’s all about the ambience. Ah look, cosy living room at Christmas, sparkly, glowy, warm white lights, welcoming, festive, crackly fire, twinkly, you get the idea,” she tried explaining to him while pulling the plug out the socket aggressively before dumping the rejected lights back in their storage box and began untangling the set she really wanted. 

“Yeah, but do the colour of the lights really affect that vision that much?” he queried. 

“Harry,” she whined.

“Right, sorry,” he laughed holding is hands up in surrender. “Can we chuck or donate those other ones then? Doing the same dance with the wrong lights every year is getting a bit much, no?” he asked, reaching for the end of the lights closest to him to help her begin untangling the wired mess in front of them. 

“What if these ones didn’t work, we’d need them as back up,” she took another drink, trying to keep up with the melting ice before it watered down the creamy liqueur. 

“You would make us go out n’replace the warm white ones before you used those ones, baby,” Harry said as he wiggled the last knot in the cable free. 

“That’s fair,” she relented with a giggle, “I’ll donate them somewhere this week, now let’s get these lights on before I end up pissed on the Bailey’s and get too dizzy,” she stood to her feet and plugged the lights in, the warm glow she sought after finally being cast over the living room. 

*** 

“We’ll find it, sweetheart,” Harry ensured as they dumped out the last storage box they hadn’t checked as Y/N began frantically opening every bag and box looking for it. They’re home was decorated top to bottom, garlands wrapped round the banister going up the staircase, Christmas card holders hung over the back of the door (already with a card from Y/N’s grandmother in it, she liked to send them early so people got to enjoy them), a bowl of chocolate coins sat on the mantlepiece, or the second bag of chocolate coins, the pair had managed to finish off the first bag as they decorated, Christmas themed towels and dish towels in the bathrooms and the kitchen. Even Vinnie’s bed, and toys had been swapped out for his Christmas ones. Christ, Y/N had even changed out the toilet paper and paper towels in the kitchen out for Christmas printed ones. The tree was trimmed in decadent baubles that glimmered under the warm white light; it was complete. Well, almost complete. There was one thing missing, that they always had a spot for in the centre, near the top. The bauble had been a gift to her actually, a gift from Harry to celebrate their first Christmas as a couple. The story how she got it is one for another day, because the more pressing matter right now, is that the special bauble and one of Y/N’s most prized possessions, was missing. 

It was always the last thing they had done in their decorating routine. The star had already been placed on top by Y/N as she stood on the arm of the couch to reach as Harry held her steady by her hips because the last thing they needed was to her fall and get a concussion while drunk off her arse on Bailey’s. Once the star was on, they turned to the gift box they stored the special ornament in and lifted the lid to see the protective tissue paper and no ornament as both their eyes shot to each other’s. Harry calmly tried to dig through the bigger storage box, hoping it had just fallen out of its smaller container but came up short. Y/N was frantic by this point, the bauble meant more to her than she could verbalise. Even Vinnie had tried to help, having woken from his snooze in front of the fire, and was nosing through the boxes before Harry sent him to lie down when he thought they were playing a fun game as Y/N got more upset and even more frantic in her search.

“Harry,” her voice wobbled, and lip quivered as she came up short after digging through the contents of the last storage bin.

“Baby, it’ll be here, we’ll find it,” he looked at her, seeing her eyes had gained a watery sheen. 

“What if- what if it got thrown out, remember last year we got rid of a few broken ornaments, what if it got swept up in those and went in the bin,” a few tears had leaked down her cheeks now, as she hastily palmed them away. 

“That wouldn’t have happened, we’re so careful with that bauble,” Harry tried to calm her down. 

“Obviously not careful enough,” she snapped. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, it’s not your fault,” she was even more upset now that she had turned on him briefly.

“S’okay, I know,” he gave her a sad sort of smile as she cried quietly now looking at the tree, only seeing the bald spot in the middle, near the top, waiting for its decoration. “Y/N,” he said seriously, he rarely said just her name, it was usually some form of pet name or nickname, so she knew he was being serious as she looked into his eyes as both his hands came up to cradle her face in his hold. “We’ll find it, I promise, it’ll show up, okay?” as she nodded at his statement burying her face in his chest as he felt her tears soak his t-shirt. He swayed them in place, Michael Bublé crooning about a merry little Christmas in the background from the crackly record player. Vinnie came trotting back through and squeezed in between their legs as they embraced, knowing he had to comfort his mum. Y/N’s hand came down to card through his fluffy hair on top of his head as he nuzzled into both their legs. Y/N was grateful for the love from her two boys but yearned for the special ornament to be hanging on the tree for this moment and for there to be happy tears instead of ones of sadness. Their home was decorated, sparkly, and glowy and twinkly with warm white lights, the fireplace was crackling and was suitably festive and welcoming, but it wasn’t finished, not yet anyway. 

---

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Touch it for Real, Part 2

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / enemies to lovers

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

What you didn't know — what you couldn’t have known was that it wasn’t real. The flush you felt in your skin was real. The sticky sweat that spread over your bed sheets when you tossed and turned was real. The heat of it; the perceptible and tactile fire that spread through your veins felt so physical and solid, you had no way of knowing that this wasn’t real.

Slim fingers.

Fleshy thighs.

Hip bones beneath well worn denim.

Buttons popping with the barest of effort.

And the lips. Oh God, the softness of those lips as they traveled over your very hot skin. You could feel it all.

You never saw his face; you hadn’t needed to. You could smell him everywhere. You knew who this was. You’d know him with your eyes blinded; you’d know him anywhere.

At first you turned away. At first you resisted, but as the fire spread through you, you found yourself turning into him, searching for him, seeking out that connection to fuel the heat.

Why was this happening? Why did you rejoice in it? The longing and the desire had simply become too much for you to deny and now you were the one pulling him into you. You were the one who wrapped your legs around that slim waist and constricted and those sounds from his chest they were...they were…

Those sounds from his mouth, they were—

Screaming.

Laughing.

‘AH HA HA HA AH — YES!’ Rough staccato laughter; so, so loud — so damn loud, it ripped and it tore at your mind and it yanked you up so roughly; up so fast you felt your entire body shaking if not completely falling apart with the speed at which you were pulled.

You opened your eyes into pitch blackness. Your vision took only a second to adjust and you could make out the sliver of dim light from the street lamp outside that peeked through the very top of your curtains.

On your nightstand, pale yellow squared numbers taunted you with 03:42 AM and covering your entire body where you laid on your once so welcoming bed was your bunched up and sweaty comforter. It was heavy. It was everywhere. You felt suffocated by it. Why was it so hard to breathe?

Your comforter. You purchased it because it was pretty. It fit in perfectly with your room decor and it was pale in color enough that the brightly colored stuffed animals you set atop stood out and complimented the subtle pattern. It made you feel at home.

It used to make you feel at home. Now it was making you feel a very different sort of way. Hot and sweaty and flushed all over and now, very mad about all of it.

You could still feel that shaking deep inside your chest and you laid your palm over your forehead to feel for a fever. You swear you could feel the tremble happening inside, though it was fading now, you were sure you still felt that shaking inside of your body.

It was beginning to settle.

You felt another rumble, paired with a loud booming sound that vibrated and shook your wall. The glass of your window quaked and the pale yellow numbers on your nightstand danced in your vision.

‘HAHAHA! I got you asshole!’

03:44 AM

Speakers. Surround sound. Heavy bass. An impressive system at any other time of the day when the sun was out. But right now? When you had been peacefully asleep; when you had been dreaming? Earth shattering booms. Deafening shouts of victory from the idiot with every new explosion that rattled your bones.

You sat up and the comforter stuck to your sweaty skin. It wasn’t even hot in this room, yet this thing clung to you like it was coated in glue. Nearly four in the fucking morning.

You had to work tomorrow. It was the one day a month when you were required to report to the office in person for the staff meeting. And here you were being ripped awake by such a disturbing commotion and goddammit this blanket was hot.

This … thing.

This thing that brought with it images of him and images of, oh god, images of his fingertips and his lips and his, oh god, oh no. No, please not that. Anything but that. Of all the things that were absolutely off limits. Of all the situations that could never happen. Horror. An overwhelming horror; it tasted of shame.

No, no, no, no.

How could this have happened? How could those images be burning into the backs of your eyes? The more your overtired mind tried to make sense of it, the less sense this made. You looked down at the blanket, searching for answers.

Had something about this blanket been ruined?

Was it’s once comforting and innocent essence somehow completely changed on a molecular level and was it now….tainted forever? Because of him? Because of what he brought into your room and depravedly rubbed all over it?

You pushed it away with both hands reaching you pushed and pushed until it sunk down off the foot of your bed and the cool air blew over your hot bare legs. Even the cool air did little to calm the irritation you felt all over your body. It did nothing to cool you off. Your legs were made of pure fire.

He did this. You were sure of it. He brought this evil on you. And now with his room shaking howling laughter you were wide awake and angry at almost 4 am when you had work in the morning; you had to be worth a damn in the morning.

You were up on angry legs with rage pushing you forward and you reached down for the blanket that you didn't even want in your room anymore for all it represented. You hauled it with both hands and took two steps forward toward your closed bedroom door when your forward progress took a quick and southward dive and you fell, tripped up by the wretched blanket when you stepped on a corner instead of on your soft rug.

You could feel the burn on your kneecaps where you collided with the hard floor. You could feel a sting on your left knee that hit the hardest but burned into the carpet and you grunted through the pain to quickly lift yourself back up and gather every other bit of hanging blanket securely inside your arms.

The trek through the living room at such an ungodly hour when every living breathing cell in your body would have rather been asleep felt absolutely crazed. You reached his door, turned the knob just enough for the latch to disengage and with your entire being hurled that motherfucker open and sent it flying.

Oh and it flew. It hit the wall and bounced back hard, bouncing back quickly against your arms that held on securely to the blanket. The noise was shocking. It was a vindicating battle cry.

The commotion startled him. His hands were on the keyboard and a pair of headphones atop of his head and for WHAT, you could hear every single thing happening on his screen in mind deafening stereo surround sound filling up the whole room. You could hear it clearly from your own room and from inside this room it sounded like you were living inside of the subwoofers themselves.

Your rage was somehow louder and it made him spin toward the motion and sound of you at his doorway with a shriek of surprise. His eyes were saucers and his mouth flew open; an unchewed bite of some pink sausage fell out and bounced off his knee onto the floor below his sock covered feet and he was only screaming for a second before he was cursing.

“Shit. Jesus. Fuck. Ohh my God, Fucking Hell, oh my heart. Oh it hurts. Oh Christ I’m dying.”  He was clutching at his chest. His headphones, the useless things slipped off his head and toppled down his shoulder following the sausage chunk and you could see them fall all the way down to the floor. The cord, which had not been plugged in quickly followed and pooled into a puddle at his feet.

“Do you have any idea ... what time it is?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. Had you always sounded so burly? You felt like an angry mountain lion ready to go in for the kill.

His eyes were closed up tight and he inhaled a deep breath before cracking them open to look at you through the heavy panicked breaths.

“Ohhh,” he moaned as his breathing calmed and the shock faded with each slow breath he took. “Ohhhhh,” he repeated softer, to himself.

“Ohhh…” this time he was looking at you and his eyebrows furrowed together as he did it. “Oh—whoa, whoa, whoa, you look….super fucking crazy right now. What is happening?”

His hands were up in confusion; in defense, and you were moving forward taking the stupid blanket and roughly shoving it toward him you hurled it right at his face and watched it hit as hard as a soft cottony blanket could manage to hit — it was more of a gentle nudge really, and then it fell down, taking his stupid glasses off his face and burrying them somewhere within the fluff where the blanket fell.

He was too confused to catch it. He had absolutely no idea what he had done to defile and destroy the sacred sanctity of your sleep.

He had no idea.

“What are you doing with this? Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me your blanket? Where are your pants? Is your leg bleeding? Tell me what is happening!”

“You!” You hurled a finger up and pointed it in his face. His eyes widened, crossed to look at the finger that clearly accused him of something just off the end of his nose and then looked back into your face in utter confusion.

“You—“ you inhaled to survive and your mouth hung open as the words, the accusations you had for him, the truth of what he had done to you, what he really hadn’t done, but what you were certain you felt happening in your sleep, in that dream, those words they stopped entirely as you looked at his face. His very real face, the very real pink cheeks and confused eyes of your roommate Byun Baekhyun who had absolutely no idea that you had just been disturbed during and then disturbed by a vivid and confusing sex dream about him.

Oh god.

You couldn’t say that.

You would rather be dead right here than say those words with your own mouth.

This had never happened before. He was a real person, you had never experienced a dream like that involving a real person. Not someone you knew like you knew Baekhyun. Not someone you lived with and had to keep on living with. The more you replayed the words that refused to come out of your mouth inside your head the more your sanity slowly returned to your mind.

“Your headphones are not plugged in.” You shook your finger in his face. Using every bit of anger you had built up on the walk across the living room, every bit of uncomfortable sweaty stinging ick you felt all over your whole body about the whole thing and you shot those death lasers out of your eyeballs and you focused them right on his face, right there in the center of his stupid forehead. That’s where you put it. That’s where you glared and that’s where you wished every little bit of comeuppance that he had coming to him would land. Right there on that head.

“Wha?” He said and his stupid pink lips frowned downward into a pout. Against your will, you watched them as they moved and then quickly focused your pointing anger back up onto the center of his forehead. It took a lot.

He was looking down at his feet and reached through the big fluffy blanket that covered him from the waist down to the floor to find the headphones that had landed somewhere within it all.

He pulled them up and kept pulling, following the cord until he reached the end and he held the male end of his headphones with his fingertips as he looked down at them with a scoff and a small laugh.

“Oh shit,” he chuckled to himself, “huh...would you look at that?” As if absolutely nothing at all mattered in the world and this was just a humorous little hiccup in his day. At 4 am on a work day.

The audacity of the man. The absolute shameless audacity.

“Would you look at that?!?” The volume of your own voice surprised you. You screamed it. Right at the top of your lungs and he jumped in his seat, closed his eyes up tight and clutched at his chest again with a pained wince on that face. Immediately after you’d done it you felt a pang inside. Was your anger really caused by being awoken? What were you really so damn mad about here?

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself when his eyes opened again.

Then he directed them at you with his eyebrows furrowed and that glare right on your face.

“Jesus. Christ. Woman.” he half spoke again with his eyes on you and his face pointing directly at yours with each new word he spoke. You felt unjustly rebuked. The seriousness on his voice closed up your gaping mouth and you pulled your head back. Part of you wanted to grab his hair and pull it, demanding reparations and apologies and justice for his many 4 AM crimes against you.

“I mean...Jesus. Christ.” His head nodded to emphasize just how ridiculous he was now finding your current outburst and you felt the heaviness deep inside your arms as you sagged on your feet and wanted to give up your fight against gravity. Part of you knew you were justified in your outrage. How could you be losing this fight so easily to him? Maybe...maybe you were just tired.

“I’m just...so tired, Baek.” Your complaint came out as a sad little whine and your head fell back as you closed up your eyes. Suddenly feeling like you could drop right here at his feet and sleep curled up in your wretched comforter.

He must have gotten up. You could feel his arms on your shoulders and you were steered somewhere within his room. Your legs didn’t feel like moving but there were some calming circles being rubbed on your back that felt too nice to resist.

“I’ll turn it off, Bug. You can sleep, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I was sleeping so nicely.” You mumbled and you were in a bed that didn’t smell like you. “I was dreaming.” All at once the memory and that smell brought back a strange yet familiar feeling.

“Was it a good dream?” His voice sounded far away.

“Mhmm,” you hummed and you let yourself drift. You let yourself curl into the mattress that you were laid over and gave in to an unimaginable comfort that pulled you under too easily.

If he had any more questions you did not know, but something called your sleepy mind back for one more word. Something asked perhaps. You couldn’t be sure what it was, only your single word response slipped from your lips.

“You,” you told the questions, before disappearing entirely.

Your alarm clock was ringing. It was a sufferingly familiar sound that could rip you awake from the deepest sleeps. Today it sounded far away, but that tune was so ingrained into your mind that you immediately opened your eyes and stuck a hand out to look for your phone to stop it.

Only your hand reached and found nothing. You moved further and bumped against something hard like a table that should not have been there.

“Mmm,” a soft moan sounded out from somewhere below and when you finally opened your eyes and searched your ceiling, the layout was definitely different.

This was not your room.

This was not your bed.

“Don't you work today?” You followed the sound of his voice and found it coming from somewhere curled up on the floor beside the bed underneath your comforter. The one you’d abandoned last night. The memories flooded in an instant.

“Yeah. I’m getting up. You can have your bed back, Peanut.”

Peeling back his blankets for a quick escape you saw your own bare shins; knees; thighs; all the way up to your underwear. You’d fallen asleep with only a t-shirt on last night. But there was a new addition. You saw a flesh colored bandage stuck to your knee with a brown-red stain in the center of the gauze pad. You paused to look down at it, a thousand conflicting inclinations running through you in a single breath and not a spare minute to dwell on any of them because your alarm was still ringing and Baekhyun had turned over and peeked his face out from under your blanket.

You could not explain the urgency to leave. You freely loitered near him and around him constantly without even a second thought.

Although you had never done it in such a state of undress. This could have explained the rush. How much would he see of you? How many flaws could he make out with his sleepy eyes. How long had it taken him to apply the bandage last night? Did he use his bare fingertips to softly dab ointment on your wound or did he merely slap on a bandaid with a rough palm. He wouldn't have lightly blown on it to dry the medicine would he?

Something was wrong with you.

These were not important questions for you to be asking. You needed to get out of his room before he saw any more. Perhaps the dream had done much more damage than you had feared.

You could have stepped down off the bed beside where he laid. It would have only required an extra step to get over him. Instead you climbed down to the foot of his bed and without a look back you were out of his room under the compulsion of the ringing alarm and you surrendered willingly.

Back inside your room you could breathe freely and deeply. You could indulge in your routine of getting ready for the day and you took your time to get your hair and your makeup looking nice. It was cold out so you opened for the thick winter leggings to get you through the commute without freezing to death and you were out of your door just in time to stop for a morning coffee.

The day dragged. You were probably just out of practice, having worked from home for so long that having to make an active attempt to look busy enough to justify your paycheck with so many witnesses in the office had you feeling burnt out by lunch time.

You went for a walk to avoid awkward small talk with your co-workers even though it meant you didn't have enough time to actually eat any real food before your break was over. Still it was preferable to the alternative. Namely the meddling old women who, every time they saw you had some new neighbor’s friend’s son, or some doctor’s nephew they just had to set you up with.

So what if you were single. So what if you were too young and too pretty to be alone. There wasn’t some invisible timer counting down to your swift and imminent demise just because you didn't have a boyfriend. You were pretty sure that timer was running for everyone despite the relationship status on their facebook profile. And you did not mention your facebook profile to Baekhyun because he would probably flip out, hack into your computer and delete the whole thing. The dramatic man. How else were you supposed to see what a mess your high school friend’s lives were shaping up to be.

When it was finally time to go home for the day you were more exhausted than you thought was normal for someone still walking around on her own two legs. You were the angry sort of hungry that made you annoyed with every single sound you heard on the subway and not even your headphones in your ears playing your favorite songs eased your anxiety.

You glared at the woman across the aisle with the unruly kids who refused to wear their masks right. You glared at the old man with his nose sticking out of the top of his and you tightened your own mask to your face and took a step back and away from the group of youths that eyed you up and down as they moved through the doors.

You’d never before been so happy to open the door to your apartment and be greeted by the pleasant hum of a refrigerator that you knew had to have at least one tasty thing you could snack on to take the edge off of your mood.

Inside was bright. It was cleaned recently — You’re welcome — It was sparkling and gleaming and well organized and it was full of a multitude of raw ingredients that could be chopped and sliced and diced and cooked up to make a wonderfully healthy and fulfilling meal for whoever had the energy and ambition to embark on such a feat.

You peered inside at the bottles of water in the door. The sticks of butter and the bottles of sauce mocked you. You were pretty sure raw eggs cracked into your open mouth would give you some sort of infection that would require you to leave the house again this month so you opened the drawer where you were sure you saw a cheese stick hiding inside last night.

There it was.

It was white and bouncy. It was salty and individually wrapped and it was calling your name in sweet a cheesy joyous chorus of promised deliciousness.  

It was yours.

It’s most amazing feature wasn’t the chewiness or the cold chill it had from sitting for weeks in a refrigerator. No, the best thing, and you mean the absolute very best thing about this single plastic wrapped cheese stick was that it existed.

Exactly when you needed it most.

Feet shuffled behind you. Baekhyun would be waking up from whatever napping schedule he’d accidentally tricked his body clock into adopting and he would be stumbling into the kitchen for a drink of water.

You unwrapped the cheese stick and stuck the end between your lips. Instantly rewarded by the soft way it gave when you bit down. You took the tiniest bite and you chewed carefully and thoughtfully. Perhaps your eyes rolled back and closed and perhaps you might have even experienced something akin to out of body experience of pure pleasure as you chewed, swallowed, and opened your mouth again for another bite. A real one this time.

What you hadn’t anticipated, was the cruelty of the universe that had allowed you to live this many years on Earth only to end up here in this exact moment with this man whose home you also lived in. You hadn’t expected the crushing reality of watching that man sleepily stumble into you with his eyes half closed and open his big mouth as wide as it would go and sink that mouth down directly onto the entire exposed part of your cheese stick, of which maybe 85% had been exposed, and chomp down ruthlessly with nearly the entire thing vanishing away before your eyes.

You watched him chewing noisily with his mouth open and bits of white cheese bumbled around inside before he let out a noisy laugh complete with a snort that sent bits of cheese flying across your once clean kitchen.

“Haha,” he said as he swallowed, “your face.”

He was laughing at you.

He ate your cheese; well, most of your cheese. He was laughing now, harder. The longer you stood staring at him in absolute shock at what he had just done the harder he laughed and you could feel the countdown happening inside of your chest. A number for each heart beat that seemed to be speeding up toward his death.

He had no idea. He never ever did.

This man was so close to death and he was giggling now and reaching for the big bottle of orange juice that sat inside the fridge.

He lifted it up to his lips and drank from the bottle, not even bothering with a glass. He drained half of its contents and when he pulled the bottle down, some things, tiny and white - mini specks of your cheese floated around inside the orange liquid.

You saw bright white nothingness.

You would like to go on the record now, and plead insanity.

In your mind's eye, everything was just all white.

Like the afterlife in movies. Except far less peaceful but equally unexplainable.

Violence may not be the answer. But you really had very little memory of this.

You had flashes of it. His deafening screams and your hand reaching into a bag of cheese puffs for handfuls that you shoved into his gaping mouth. You don’t even know where you got them from. They just appeared suddenly and they crushed so easily into soft powder as you pressed them between his teeth. The powder coated the surface of his skin around his mouth. It flew in the air too as he screamed. You were covered in it. Your hands were stained bright orange. The color of your wicked crimes.

The whiteness returned. Then more flashes of your crimes. Your mind touched on images of the sticky drops of orange juice that fell one by one from his hair that laid completely flat, lacquered to the top of his head. Then, his cries of pain with your knees dug into his chest and both of your bright orange hands squeezed tightly around his neck. The coughing when you pressed down harder in the middle of his neck and the eventual sensation of him fighting back. The urge to live must be strong in him. Why did he resist this so much? Just die already. Why fight the inevitable? If not done by you, surely some other person would do it.

When you came to, you were inside of your bedroom packing a bag full of clothes and stuffed animals. You felt that this was probably your get-away bag, and that meant he was probably dead.

Drowned in two ounces of backwash filled orange juice and lungs stuffed with brightly colored cheese flavored* puffs (*contains no real cheese.)

You had a list happening inside of your head. Things you had to do before you left this place forever and never returned. A strange calm had washed over you; probably brought on by shock.

First, you had to pack this bag. You had stuffed it full of overcoats. Your winter coat with the pink polka dots. The fluffy yellow puffer jacket you got as a gift from your best friend. Your rain jacket in case it got wet in hell. Second, you would go into his room and clear his search history. It was something you had always promised you would do for him and he had promised to do the same for you. After that, you would call the police from a pay phone on the corner of the block to anonymously report the crime.

Your bag was full. Too full to fit the brightly colored pink bunny even though it was a tiny thing. You pushed and shoved, squeezing it in between the layers of coats until you were sure the seam of your bag was about to pop if you tried to zip it closed.

You still had your toiletries to pack. This would never do. How could you pack a get-away bag without your favorite shampoo.

A flood of memories came to you. Your favorite shampoo and handing the bottle with your eyes covered to Baekhyun as he showered. All at once, that steady and all consuming calm wavered and you felt the first hot tears building. Stinging and burning as they crested and spilled over your lashes onto your cheeks.

Your lips were stuck in a deep frown and you did your best to inhale through a stuffed up nose.

“My poor Peanut,” you said into the hollow empty space of your lonely bedroom. You’d have to venture into his bathroom to get your shampoo. Possibly walking past his lifeless corpse which you were pretty sure you left somewhere in between the kitchen and the living room.

A maniac. You were a heartless monster. The remorse you now felt, which could very well help you in court, coated you from head to toe and you cried openly when you pulled your bedroom door open and took your first step out of your room.

Shampoo and search history. These things were your destination.

But a sound coming from somewhere deep in the kitchen threw off your steps and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the unexpectedness of it.

More than just a sound, you could smell something too. Was that sizzling? Had you accidentally turned the stove on and now your whole apartment was on fire? Was this how you could get rid of the body?

No. You had to get a grip now. That was going too far. You could understand homicide but desecration of a corpse? Ick. That kinda shit was for sickos.

You focused your energy on your destination and took three big steps to cross the living room and placed a hand on the door knob of his room.

The knob clicked noisily when you turned it too quickly and you heard a shuffle coming from the kitchen. A shuffle and then a scrape and you turned at the sound.

“Hey Bug, food’s ready. Come eat. I made your favorite.”

You froze on your feet with your eyes wide open, nose too stuffy to breathe so your mouth hung wide open as well. With tears streaming down your face, made fresh again by the sight of him standing in the kitchen with a white towel draped around his neck, clean wet hair, and a frying pan and spatula in his hand, you gasped.

You had never been quite so relieved to see the sight of your stupid roommate. Overcome, you dropped the bag you carried at your feet and rushed to where he stood with arms raised and the dish he had just finished cooking elevated and you reached for his body with your arms outstretched. When you felt his warmth you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Uhh,” he said softly, flinching upon contact and freezing up but first lifting the hot pan high enough to remove any danger of burning you with it. “Why are you crying?”

You squeezed tighter and buried your face in his chest. You’d get his shirt wet with tears and with snot but you didn't care. He was okay. Your overwhelming guilt for your behavior towards him was so thick you had a hard time not sobbing harder when you felt the awkward steps he took to set the hot pan down and free his hands and then that first warmth of the palm of his hand that landed on your back.

When the other hand joined and slipped around your shoulder a quiet cry got caught up inside the back of your throat and you heard a warning sound somewhere. Because the warning did not exist in this realm of reality he did not hear it and another step into you brought his arms tighter around your shoulders and when you felt those hands move gently over your back the warning sound blared up hot and terrifying.

You and him did not do this. This was not something you had ever done with Baekhyun. Sure, light touches sometimes. Plenty, even. Hell, you playfully smacked him for something new and annoying every single day. You weren’t exactly scared of him, but you had never hugged him before and you sure as fuck didn't ever hold him.

“Bug?” His voice was calling you. You had an inkling that it might have been the second or third time and you pulled back from him. His hands released you the second he felt your retreat and you looked at the spot where you’d mashed your whole face into his shirt wincing at all the face shaped wet spots you saw there.

He didn't seem bothered by it and you inhaled a deep trembling breath with a meaningless nod of your head at him. Whatever had happened didn’t matter. Everything was fine. Everything was over and it was okay. He was okay too.

He offered a small smile and turned to get two bowls to fill with the food he had made.

It was fried rice. Simple, no frills fried rice with a fried egg on top and just enough spice to make it interesting but not enough to activate any more water works. It was his favorite and you were pretty sure he didn't actually know how to make any other dishes. But hadn’t he just said he made your favorite?

“Baek, This isn’t my favorite. This is your favorite.”

He placed a bowl in front of where you sat and he lifted a quizzical eyebrow with a small tick of his head.

“No, it’s not my favorite. It’s your favorite. You make it all the time. And that’s why I made it now. Because it's your favorite.”

As he spoke, he pointed back and forth between you and the bowl of rice with his spoon. As if he was teaching a class on something you obviously didn’t know the first thing about.

“But I only make it all the time because it's your favorite, Peanut.”

You picked up your spoon and mixed the egg into the rice and began eating quickly out of necessity. You were about to pass out from hunger at this point.

He was watching you eat with that confused look on his face and he hadn’t touched his rice yet.

“Well whose favorite is it then?”

You shrugged and swallowed another bite. You were half finished with your bowl already and Baekhyun looked down and scooped up the egg from the top of his own rice with his spoon, leaning forward to plop it down on top of your remaining rice.

“Please tell me you at least like eggs on top.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” You remarked flippantly and you mixed again, feeling so much more human now that you had some real food in your stomach.

He was leaning back in his chair, fingertips over his face as he lightly massaged at the space between his eyebrows and you giggled to yourself with a mouth full of rice.

“I thought I killed you, Baekhyun.”

You heard him snort out a laugh and he quickly covered his mouth with both of his hands before he spat out all over the table. You yourself had to cover your mouth to keep your rice in and you laughed in a painful stifled way to keep from choking on the food in your mouth.

“You made me eat so many fucking cheese puffs I’m not even hungry right now.” He wheezed through his words and you saw him wiping at his eyes while you forced yourself to swallow before rice flew out of your nose.

He was holding his stomach as he laughed and the tight pained wince on his face only made you laugh harder.

You had eaten all you could and Baekhyun abandoned his food before he even started due to a certain cheese puff armed psychopath.

You’d stood to clear away the plates when you heard the hum of his phone vibrating on the table. You’d made your way into the kitchen when his voice piped up from where he was seated at the table staring down at whatever he had just received on his phone.

“Hey, uhh...h-how should I respond to this girl?”

“Girl? Baekhyun are you chatting with someone?” You perked up, instantly way more interested in what was happening on his phone than washing these dishes and you quickly rounded the corner back into the dining room to find out more.

“Oh wait, nevermind, I think...I don’t think she’s serious.” His voice weakened when his phone vibrated again and you’d reached a spot where you could clearly see the messages he had just received.

From Vixxxen18 again. You rolled your eyes hard enough for them to ache just seeing that familiar screen name.

“Ugh, this bitch again,” you said in a disgusted voice and you saw the flinch in his shoulders. He darkened a shade and you quickly grabbed the phone to steady it so you could clearly see what she wanted this time.

‘Hey honey, DTF tonight?’

You read the message out loud and he held his hands over his face and squirmed in his seat.

“Peanut do you know what DTF means?”

“Yes. I know what it means.” He interrupted you before you could get the whole sentence out. His ears were pink. You heard the clench of his jaw muffle his words as he spoke.

Her next message you didn’t read out-loud.

‘Spot me 50 for gas and I’ll come over’

“Gas doesn’t cost fifty dollars,” you scowled under your breath and your fingers were typing before you had a chance to second think.

‘Shouldn’t we get to know each other a little bit first?’

Her response came quickly and made your blood boil.

‘What makes you think I want to know you’

“Oh I’m going to kick her ass,” you said right before the phone was plucked out of your hands so fast you still moved your thumbs as you typed in the air, ready to give this bitch a piece of your mind.

“Settle down, Cheese Puffs, she's actually not that bad most of the time,” he said and he was closing out the messaging program quickly before you could say anything else to literally the worst human being you’d ever had a two second conversation with.

Your breathing was heavy and you must have had a look in your eyes that made him uncomfortable because he was reaching down to grab your hand and he tugged lightly toward the living room sofa. He was swiping with his other hand on his phone again.

“Here, I have some matches on the dating profile you made me. Why don't we have a look through them and find someone who’s ass you don't want to kick.”

He plopped down with a huff and you quickly sat down beside him, leaning well against his arm so you could see his screen clearly.

“God, you’re so mean today. What’s gotten into you? Ever since you woke up from that dream last night you’ve been ready to kill anyone who moves.”

You’d taken over the scrolling and found yourself lost in the freedom of judging the girls on his phone screen as he mused about what a grump you were.

Boring. Bland. Brainless. Vapid. Ugh.

As you flipped through them you not so quietly voiced how much you hated every one of them. Sure, for someone they could have been perfect but for him, they were not.  His complaints about you went silent and as he watched the scrolling.

At last you found someone who seemed to fit some sort of idealized image you had of the perfect girl for him and you stopped scrolling instantly with a quiet gasp. He wasn’t saying anything about her though and you looked up excitedly at his face expecting him to be reading the profile she had carefully written, or looking through the pictures you oh so slowly scrolled past but instead of looking down at the phone his eyes were just watching you.

It was an odd and calm observation of only your face. And when you grabbed ahold of his eyes with your searching ones you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head down, pointing with the angle of your face at his phone screen so he could see her, so he could see Mia who lived only 5 miles away from him and had seen all of the animes that he liked and played the same kinds of computer games he played and was honest to god, cute as a damn button. Perfect! You wanted to squeal.

“Peanut,” you whispered and his eyes widened and his eyebrows danced on his face as he finally, finally looked down in his lap where the phone sat.

But the screen was now black. It had timed out. You clicked on a button on the side and it prompted him to log in again and what was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he unlocking it already? You grabbed his hand and his eyes glanced down where you touched his fingertips, carefully tracing with his index finger over the pattern he used to unlock his phone and it came back to life — the smiling, lovely image of Mia who lived only 5 miles away and was just absolutely perfect.

“Bug,” He said softly as he looked down at his phone screen and your smile was naturally wide as he watched each image fly across his screen. The anticipation of his reaction was killing you. He had to be as excited about this as you were. He at least seemed to be paying attention to the pictures this time.

But he wasn't squealing or even smiling about her. The silence on his side got you talking again. A quick nervous sort of talking to fill up the quiet. “She’s cute. And she's nice, I can feel it. And she's perfect for you. Let’s message her.”

You lifted a finger to your chin and thrust your eyes into the air to think. You thought back to some of the opening lines you’d been fed by the men you dated and you opened the window to send a message to Mia from Baekhyun.

“Bug,” he said again, even quieter than he had called before and it stood out to you that he had been trying for a while to get your attention now and you were so distracted with how much fun this was that you hadn’t really acknowledged him.  You were being presumptuous. Just because you liked her didn’t necessarily mean he did. It even occurred to you that maybe you were being downright rude.

So you looked at him. Lifted your eyebrows up and rested the phone back down on his knee cap so he would say what he wanted to say already. You braced for the rejection of the cutest girl in his list of matches.

But instead of speaking he just looked at you and you slowly began to hear the actual ticking of the clock on the wall across the room from where you both sat. After much too long his eyes fell to look down the phone in your hand and you heard the smallest, softest scoff from his chest and he closed his eyes once with a long sigh.

And then he was nodding his head with his eyes closed up tight. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, send her a message. If you say she’s perfect, then she’s perfect.”

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Tag list: @j-pping  @blahblahblah-boo  @his-mochi-cheeks  @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13  @baekinmylife  @insta1010  @nana-banana  @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth  @beg0neth0t420 

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 4

Previous chapter links:

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER FOUR

The cab ride towards the White Wolf was much faster and louder than you anticipated. The cab driver's blaring music from the radio was so loud it felt like you were inside a rave. You and Bucky had to yell over the music for you to talk about what has been happening in your lives for the past few months. You couldn't summarize everything in a five-minute cab ride. So far, these were just some milestones you both gathered (well, more of his): while Bucky was in different parts of the world (Greece, Macau, Amsterdam, Monaco, Aruba) managing interrelation business and hosting nightly parties and whatnots, you were just in New York tending to drunkards (and that includes Peter sometimes) and taking photos of whatever products that come your way.

At that moment, you saw your life pass by in black and white, while Bucky's in color -- just a parade of rainbows trailing behind him wherever he goes.

Yet he still found the things you did interesting.

You wondered what the word interesting meant to him. Of course, you didn't bother asking him that. Perhaps he just felt sorry and wanted to make you feel good.

The moment you got out of the cab, you guys took a deep breath, thankful that that awful ride was over. The music floated away as the cab sped up in the streets.

"What a dick." Bucky commented, watching the cab race through the streets. Any more speed, the cab would've flown in the air.

"I know." You snorted. "God, that was an awful ride. I felt like I was at a frat party."

"Funny. You don't look like someone who would go to one." He joked.

"I went once." You defended. "With Parker."

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you and stared.  Blue eyes piercing right through you in disbelief. "Okay." You sighed. "I picked his drunk ass up at that party. But I really have been to a party with Parker." You left out that detail of you and Peter making out at that party. That was just between you and Peter and you wouldn't want to include his stepbrother in it. Or perhaps Bucky knew about it. You did just found out they talk to each other almost every night. But as you told Bucky about that party, you received no reaction whatsoever which meant he knew nothing. You felt good about that.

You and Bucky stood in front of the White Wolf, trying to shake out the ringing in your ears. Stupid cab ride. Why you couldn't just walk here was because of Bucky. Apparently, he was still a bit hungover. You wondered what would take him to get fully sober.

You stared at the wolf headstone once more, admiring it for the second time today.

"I commissioned an artist for that." Bucky spoke, poking his finger on his right ear. "Just found him on the subway one day. He was selling some sculptures he's made. Asked him if he could make me one and ta-da!"

"It is beautiful."

"I have others he has made inside." With this, Bucky started to walk towards the inside of his hotel.

The uniformed man greeted you on the steps. You sent him a knowing smile once his eyes landed on yours. He smiled back as you introduced yourselves to each other.

"Is she still in my room?" Bucky asked the uniformed man who you now know goes by the name Leonard.

"Yes, sir." He replied. "She said she'd -- "

"I know what she said." Bucky groaned, remembering what you'd told him earlier. "I'll call you from up there if anything goes wrong, okay Leonard?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be on alert."

You watched the exchange in utter fascination. It was like watching something straight out of an action movie: "I'll be on high alert" "I'll tell you when the coast is clear" "Roger that" "I'll call you when something goes wrong"

The only thing was, this wasn't some action movie though Bucky did have a plan. You just never knew about it until you got in the elevators.

"Here's the plan." He started. "We go in holding hands, I'll introduce you as my girlfriend. Maybe fiancé! When she sees you, tell her you're my fiancé and when she tells you that she slept with me, I'm going to deny and you're going to believe me because as my fiancé, you deeply love me and believe everything I say."

"Ew, it's like I'm a sub."

"Wow, you're a dom?"

"I can be." You winked at him.

"Huh, I honestly thought you're a virgin. You know, that type of 'never been kissed, never been loved' type."

In your head, you started singing the rest of the song. "I'm an angel in the streets and devil in the sheets, Bucky." You joked which he took seriously seeing it on the look on his face. "Anyway, your plan?"

"Right! She'd yell and go nuts until she gives up and then leaves the hotel -- "

"Then we get married and let Peter pay for our honeymoon!" You finished for him with a sarcastic smile on your face.

He smirked. "I like the way you think, Aria. But I don't think Peter's gonna want that."

"What do you mean?"

"W-well, he's not gonna afford it is what I meant."

"You're probably right." You gave him a low chuckle. "You're rich. Pay for our honeymoon." You joked.

"As soon as we get this bitch out of here, yes I will, doll." He scrunched his nose up and winked at you right before the elevator doors opened. Swiftly, Bucky grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers. "Let's do this."

Hand in hand, you stepped out of the elevator. What stood in front of you was the same woman from earlier this morning. Body still clinging to Bucky's shirt. Faint red lipstick still smeared on some parts outside her lips. Blonde hair still disheveled. If you didn't know any better she was just here in the penthouse, waiting, not moving even a single inch.

You put your hand on Bucky's arm, hiding a faint expression of how big it felt against your skin. "Honey, who is this?"

"I-I don't know!"

The unnamed woman managed to step forward, looking Bucky in the eyes. "What do you mean you don't know? We slept last night!" Then, she looked at you. "Who the hell are you?"

"His fiancé." There was a sly smug tone in your voice. Even on your face.

"Fiancé? He didn't tell me anything about a fucking fiancé!"

"What the hell are you saying?" Bucky yelled. His grip tightened on your hand. "I've never even met you! How did you get in here?"

"We spent the night together, what the hell, Bucky!" She bellowed like a monster, then her voice softened. "I-I told you I love you."

"You're crazy."

"Call security." You said. "Now, Bucky!"

While Bucky grabbed for his phone, the woman pleaded, still trying to convince you that she slept with your fake fiancé. "If he says he doesn't know you," you responded, "then I believe him." Bucky slipped away from you, probably calling Leonard from downstairs. He gave you a knowing look, as if ushering you to unleash some kind of hell on his one-night stand. "You need to go, lady, if you don't want to be banned in every hotel here in New York. Yes, my fiancé can do that. So better get your ass out of here or -- "

"Okay, okay!" She held up her hands, giving up. "I'm out of here! Jesus fucking Christ -- " She mumbled more under her breath as she took of Bucky's clothes, revealing a white tank top underneath. She picked up her heels that were scattered on the living room: one shoe on the couch, the other near a foot of a small table. Picked up some pair of jeans on the carpet before stepping inside the elevator.

"I wish you luck in your fucking marriage." She said, tone filled with rage. Then, she proceeded to flip Bucky one last time before she disappeared behind the elevator doors, eyes boring into Bucky's.

"Okay, she's going down. Tell her to never come here again. Thanks, Lenny." Bucky dropped the phone call and gave you a smile. "And thank you for your performance."

You bowed, like how actors bow after a play ends, and flashed him a smile. "Why, thank you."

"Thanks to you I'm never gonna see that woman again in my life."

You turned your back on him, seeing the place for the first time without a tainted image of the woman. A line of little sculptures near every wall (perhaps the ones he commissioned from that subway artist). Family photos, albums and trophies took up a whole cabinet. You shifted your gaze towards the living room where a nice brown couch sits on top of a beige rug, which faced a huge flat screen television. Two pairs of love seats sat across from each other. A glass table set in the middle. On the back wall was a photograph of Bucky which took the whole space. He wore a neat, well-pressed grey suit, sitting on what seemed like a throne inside a home office, one leg stretched outwards and one leg just resting normally on the floor. He had this head tilt on one side, right hand under his chin, blue eyes looking directly at the camera. On its floor were stacks of magazines, and papers.

Even you couldn't deny how good Bucky looked in the photo but the photograph itself? You knew you could do better than that.

You turned around and found Bucky nowhere. "Bucky?"

He then emerged from what seemed like a kitchen because he was carrying loads of food and trod towards where you were and placed everything on the coffee table. "Yeah?"

"If I wasn't here, what would've you done?"

He shrugged, and opened a yogurt. "Probably stay in your apartment forever."

"Wow," you sat on the couch, watching him devour the food on the table, "seems like you've planned everything out."

"Seems like it, yeah."

"Do you always do this, Bucky?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have sex with girls, then make up a lie to get them out of your life."

"Oh, that was the first time." He replied. "Those three words really freaked me out. I've never heard that come from someone besides my family. Never even told anyone I've loved them, again, except my family."

You nodded in response and looked around the penthouse some more, admiring some paintings, big and small, on the walls. Perhaps some were real, perhaps some were just school ofs. On your right, was a draped curtain covering a whole glass wall that overlooked New York city. Bucky clicked some button somewhere which let the curtains open, letting some of the New York sun inside. From here, one could see the whole view of New York. All its pleasure, glory, grime, and lowliness.

Oh, the things you would give to live in a place like this. If you wanted to take in the beauty of New York, you had to climb up on the fire exit towards the rooftop. And the view from up there wasn't as pretty as this one. All the pretty spots were behind million dollar skyscrapers.

You looked at Bucky once more who leaned against the love seat, then closed his eyes. That same fuzzy image, which you thought you had buried at the back of my mind, resurfaced.

"Bucky?"

He shot straight up. "Yeah?"

"Have we... met each other before?"

A frown formed on his face, his blue eyes meeting yours, his gaze intense; as if he was trying to put a finger on something, on you. But then he gave up, telling you perhaps you'd just seen him somewhere here in New York the last time he was here, bumped into him. Something like that.

You agreed. Maybe that was it.

Again, you pushed that image at the back of your mind, hoping it would never come up while Bucky was still here.

You were about to ask Bucky how long he was planning to stay in New York before partying in every country outside America when your phone rang.

It was Steve. You picked it up immediately. "Hey, Steve. Is everything okay?"

Bucky shot his head towards you, perhaps wondering who this Steve was.

"Hey." He replied. His voice was groggy, like he just woke up. "There's been some misunderstanding with the shipments. They thought I said drop them in the morning. Long story short, the shipments are just outside the pub's door."

"What? They can't do that!"

"They have a lot of deliveries today so they had to. I told them to wait for you but those are impatient bastards. New shipment boys."

You cursed then stood up. "I'm actually not in the apartment right now. I'm somewhere else. Not important. I'm on my way."

"Get there fast, Aria."

"I will, don't worry. Bye, Steve."

Once you got off the phone, you told Bucky the whole situation.

"Let's go then!" He said with much enthusiasm. "Those drinks are no good sitting out there. How else am I going to make you the best drink you'll ever have, darling?"

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦❅◦∘ Elizabeth Debicki - Christmas Morning ∘◦❅◦∘

A/N - Elizabeth is a superior human being and I shan’t hear a word against it. She’s so bloody stunning and pure and everything good. I got this idea a while ago, but it’s taken me a while to write it. What better time to upload a Christmas Morning imagine than on Christmas Eve (in my time zone at least). This is not intended to offend anyone, or to intrude on Elizabeth in any way. I do not know her, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. And I’m sorry if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I’m not trying to force it upon anyone. I also used google translate for most of the Polish.

Warnings - Explicit s*x and lots of it. Cursing, Polish cursing. Just 3.4k words of adult content, really. 18+.

Summary - Christmas morning in a hidden wintry lodge is everything you could’ve dreamed of. Then again, it’d be perfect even without the setting and the heating, because all you want for Christmas is Elizabeth, and that she gives you. Wholly.

DAPPLED SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the gap in the curtains, icy and sharp, defining the angles of her face with acute shadows. God she looks so perfect this way, you never want to wake her. 

Usually Liz is the first one to wake up, so this is a rarity, one you’ll never take for granted. She looks so ethereal, so angelic, so incredibly perfect, it makes you wonder what you’ve ever done to deserve this half covered celestial woman in your bed next to you this morning. Perhaps the retreat is doing its work, and she’s finally starting to sleep well. Life away from all the pressures of Hollywood seems to be suiting her, and you, hence the lodge you booked into at the start of the week and don’t plan on leaving until it’s absolutely pertinent. How she’s managed to sleep half naked, though, with only a sheet slung around her hips is beyond you, and you find yourself smiling at the thought. 

With your eyes, you trace the curves of her bare body from the silhouette of the longest and shapeliest legs you’ve ever seen (that look particularly good wrapped around your waist… or neck) to the dips of her hips where the sheet rests tucked a little beneath her, to the gorgeous valley of her perfect breasts and her nipples, already pebbled from the cold air. You can appreciate her face like this as well, more than you usually could; so still and relaxed like no harm could ever come, like she’s your guardian angel, a facts he’s proven again and again, only for you to snatch her breath away by capturing her slightly plump lips in yours, nudging her button nose with yours, gazing into those stunning baby blue eyes. And her hair, God, the choppy blonde locks that only serve to make her more angelic even when she’s acting like a devil, just like on Halloween. The thought alone gives you chills, riding goosebumps on top of your goosebumps, and sending blood rushing simultaneously to your cheeks and your core.  

She lets out the breathiest little moan, and you can’t help but wonder whether she’s dreaming of you, and if she’s just as wet as you are beneath the covers, creating a damp spot where she’s lying on the crisp white sheet, as crisp as the winter snow outside. Her cheeks begin to colour, and now you just have to avert your eyes or you’ll simply pounce her when she needs her sleep. Presents can wait. 

The view outside the window, though, is simply magnificent. Hundreds of tiny snowflakes fall all around, dancing and twirling until they settle into beds of soft snow or fall onto the broad branches of the fir trees lining the property. The perfect white Christmas, and your first together, even if, with your destination, it was expected. 

Eventually, you pluck up the strength to extricate yourself from the warmth of the bed, only to grasp for the nearest jumper, tugging it on to shield yourself from the worst of the cold. Ice bites at your toes this early on in the day, though it’s swiftly dissipated when your feet hit the soft, cream rug next to the carpet on the log-appearance floor, already warmed through enough to make your toes toasty via underfloor heating.

You ensure to keep your footsteps soft, padding along the floor and treading over any obstacles until you reach the door, and even then only opening it a sliver more than you need to slip through the gap. Yawning, you trek down to the kitchen, pulling the sweater tighter around you. It smells of Liz, of her perfume, and that indescribable smell of roses that is so distinctly her. 

Popping the kettle on, your mind drifts from the sound and last night's activities hail you, willing you to forget that you’re in the kitchen and to just think of the way she kissed you, touched you, fucked you-  The bubbling stops, and you’re grounded once more, but even so you can still feel her touch scorching your skin, burning you with every graze of her fingers over your legs, your stomach, your-

And that's when you nearly drop the mug of boiling tea onto your bare feet. You have to physically shake the sensation from you if you want anything done before heading back up to bed. You make Elizabeth’s tea the way she likes it: white, one sugar, just like her, and wrap the mug cosies around each cup to keep them toasty, even while she’s still asleep. You tiptoe back upstairs, the ghost of her touch sending shivers down your spine, and as you softly kick the door open, cautious to keep your balance so as to not spill tea all over your sprawled self on the floor, you’re surprised to find Liz sitting up n bed, laying on her elbows, her hair slightly more coiffed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Your eyes dart to the safe, a bubbling of excitement fizzing in your stomach just to make this morning better.

“Merry Christmas baby,” She coos in that delectable accent of hers. 

“Happy Christmas darling, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head reassuringly, and opens her arms for you. “Though I’d have been much happier if you’d woken me up in a better way than with tea, though I’m ever so grateful.”

You put the mugs down and bend to kiss her lips, tasting only desire in the tender brush. She brings her hand up to wrap around your back, drawing you impossibly closer to her until your whole body is covering hers. She’s wearing that stupid Christmas cardigan you told her not to buy, the terrible clash of red and green and gold being a lot for your eyes to take so early in the morning, but the soft material tickles your back so delightfully, warming you up, so you can’t complain.

“Were you dreaming of me?” You husk in her ear.

“Mmhm, only of you.”

You bring your lips down to her neck, kissing her pressure point ever so gently, only to suck on her skin feverishly enough to leave a hickey and have her moaning already.

“Don’t stop- fuck.”

Your hips begin involuntarily bucking into hers, creating a delicious friction while your mouth works on her weakest spots. For once, neither of you has to worry about leaving marks on the other: free rein to mark each other up in whichever way you choose. In truth, this is your favourite time to just be with Elizabeth, nothing and no one to worry about, especially no paparazzi and no one trying to catch her out. 

Without wasting another second, you bring your lips back to hers, your mouths colliding deliciously. She weaves her hand into your hair, tugging you closer, drawing you closer into her warmth and the taste of her wholly. She’s yours, and this morning you certainly plan on proving that, starting with shucking off her cardigan, followed by your jumper, flinging them both across the room. 

“Someone’s eager.” She giggles, her accent sounding above lush to your ears, especially with that gorgeous morning husky quality. 

“Always.”

You begin to nip at her jaw, she claws at your back, her nails leaving crescent moons in their wake already. Grasping at your hair, she forces you to go lower. Grazing your teeth over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, she’s already getting desperate. You can always tell the signs: Her back slightly arching, her hips rolling from side to side and up and around in circles to grasp onto any thread of friction she can, and then there’s those pretty little whimpers she thinks are too quiet for you to hear. You listen closely every time for them, the most darling sounds she makes, they drive you crazy. They also waive your will to tease her, leading to you always giving in. Today is no exception, other than the fact you begin to tease her pebbled nipples with your tongue much faster than you usually would. 

“Laska,” She moans, pushing her breasts further into your mouth, her hand moving up to clasp around the back of your head, beginning to control your movements.

You’d be lying if you didn’t say Liz’s boobs were the sexiest you’ve ever seen in my life, but when she speaks Polish, it really gets you going. In fact, tweaking her other bud between your forefinger and thumb, pulling gently while you leave hickeys all across her one breast. She’s really getting what she asked for, using that breathy, ungodly voice to call you the sweetest names. 

If you had it your way, you’d be making her come using her breasts alone, but Liz has other ideas, pulling you up by your heir until she’s pinning you to the bed, her long, slender arms on either side of your head, trapping you in. She looks so… elegant. 

“Moja cudowna dziewczyna.”

Jesus Christ she’s gonna be the death of you. You look up at her with wide, starry eyes, completely enthralled with every movement she makes, even the slight quirk of her lips, every blink, every breath. She’s trailing her hand down your body, her fingers between your breasts, her palm over your stomach, two lean digits swiping through your slick, having you a mewling quim under her control as soon as the soft pads of her fingers make contact with your core. She teases your entrance a little before gliding in in one swift movement. Your whole body seems to vault up from the bed, wrapping yourself around Elizabeth as an instinct, bringing her lips crashing onto yours while she continues her ministrations. The kiss is sloppy yet oh so sexy, a clash of teeth and tongues with a flame of pure passion. She’s pumping in and out of you, faster, faster, and you can feel your climax approaching. She can tell as well, because she begins to speed up, pressing her thumb down on your clit.

“Say it.” You whine, “Say it, baby.”

She moves her hand faster, her wrist flicking with every movement as she fucks you, deep and hard on her fingers. God the things they can do…

“Wesołych świąt, seksowna.” She purrs, right in your ear.

The most delectable shiver of arousal runs down your spine, electrocuting every nerve ending in your entire body. You’re on fire, and within a second of her strokes continuing, her fingertips curling to get that exact spot she always knows how to reach, you come with a scream of her name, your hands yanking at her hair as she grunts. She flops down onto your body, every inch of your skin touching, and yet she doesn’t stop her movements, every single jolt of her elbow elongating your high beyond what you thought it could. An almost out of body experience, and all you can see is her, all you can feel is her. Everything is just Liz as she kisses you. Hard. Finger-fucking you through to your second orgasm where all you can hear are her coaxing words. You can feel her, too, desperately grinding against your leg. If you had any control over your brain or mouth whatsoever, you’d be teasing her for being so desperate, your eager baby, yearning so much to come that all she can do is ride your thigh; but apparently your mouth can’t do anything but whimper. 

“Pierdolić, królowo.” followed by a faint cry are the clearest thing before you're taken away into your memories. 

The first time you heard that word was the most heavenly moment of your existence. You and Elizabeth had been dating for a small while, keeping it on the down low, never sharing more than a kiss for weeks and weeks. Until one fateful night, after a nice dinner, she finally invited you in and it was not a night to forget. 

Round two, this time you made it to the bed, and seeing her beneath you was a sight and a half. Her pale skin against her dark sheets, a stark and striking contrast, only complimented further by her halo of long curly blonde locks surrounding her head. Her soft pink lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand clamping onto her pillow to anchor her, the other in your hair. Her back keeps arching off the bed as she approaches her high, crashing back down as soon as you ease off the intensity of your mouth on her core. You’ve edged her again and again even though she’s overstimulated already, sensitive all over. You know that with just one tweak to her nipples or one kiss to her clit, she’ll be coming all over your tongue. Not that you’re complaining. So after laying off for a moment, you get back to work, delving your tongue into her core, savouring every last drop of arousal that drops into your awaiting mouth, your lips pulling at her clit, your hands holding her legs apart to stop them from closing around your head, becoming your necklace. Not that you’d complain about that either…

“Pierdolić!” She screams, her body practically convulsing, crying out that very same word and her name until her throat grows hoarse. 

Only when she’s almost finished do you feel your own high coming on with absolutely no contact at all, merely the friction of the bed sheets against your sensitive breasts and the lasting taste of her juices on your tongue. The vision of her topples you over as well, your orgasm silent, muffled by her pussy, your quiet moans sending vibrations throughout her whole being until she falls lax onto the bed, spent, smiling dizzily. 

Making your way back up her body, peppering kisses everywhere you can reach, you feel yourself leaving a trail of wetness over her legs and pelvis until you come up to straddle her hips, your chest pressing against hers, your lips meeting in a series of lazy kisses. 

“That was pretty sexy,” She murmurs, her voice weak and oh so sensual, “You like it when I speak Polish?”

You just moan softly, unwittingly in response. She chuckles, her fingers running up and down your spine. Ever since, you’ve seen stars with every orgasm when she speaks Polish to you. 

This morning follows a similar pattern. With you both exhausted from your first round, you curl under the duvet, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She’s so gentle this way, nothing like the intimidating 6ft+ woman that's shown in the press, the one who could kill anyone with so much as a glance. Not that she isn't drop dead gorgeous, but she’s… vulnerable. And with you, here, she can finally be free and be herself with no external challenges or judgement. That’s what makes this so special. 

Skin to skin, heart to heart, lips to lips. You’d take this over anything any day. 

“I love you.” You whisper, kissing her shoulder, darting your eyes up to see her beautiful face. The apples of her cheeks are so pronounced when she smiles that signature way, so quintessentially Elizabeth. God she’s so beautiful, and brave, you’re so glad you get to touch her all the time. 

Trailing your fingers over her chest, your hand comes up to rest on her bare breast, uncovered by the duvet. She hums absently, her everlasting touch console for you. 

“This reminds me of The Night Manager,” She says, turning her head on the pillow to face you. 

Your ears prick up; “How come?”

“The cardigan, the snow from when we were in the alps, your hand on my boob like Toms was.” 

She’s wearing that smirk, the one that tells you exactly what she wants. 

“So now I’m just on par with Tom?”

“Mhm, yeah you are, baby.”

Her smirk widens, mischief glittering in her gorgeous eyes. You chuckle to yourself; this is often her way of instigating another round. 

“So I’m just a mediocre white man on a film set with you?” I draw her one nipple between my teeth, my hand massaging the breast it’s already settled on, eliciting a little moan and a vehement nod. God, she’s such a switch. “So you’re telling me that I don’t fuck you better than he can? The fact I have your whole body quaking beneath me in seconds flat when all he got after God knows how many takes was a little twitch?” Again, the same response. “Are you telling me that I’m not the best shag you’ve ever had, darling?”

Silence. You’ve caught her in her own trap, and now, like earlier, she’s just dying to be overpowered. Her torso relaxes a little, her arms falling away, her eyes opening wide, expectant. 

“I’ll fucking prove to you that I’m the best you’ve had and ever will have.” you guarantee pridefully.

Pressing a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, your grip on her body is anything but, lifting her limber body off the bed and on top of you. She’s rendered surprised, unable to fight you, just a lopsided smile proving her consciousness while her hands on your cheeks prove her willingness. That twinkle in her eyes that never goes away is good enough to soften your demeanour for a second while you adjust yourself with the headboard, only to take Liz by surprise again, licking a bold stripe from her opening to her clit, her jaw dropping in a silent ‘O’. Kitten licks to her dripping hole are your next move, the bare minimum of contact, reading her a little, but the look of sheer beauty on her face, completely fucked out while she sits on your face is indescribable. You’re not going to drag this out, you’re gonna go fast and rough and truly make it worth her while. 

“I love the way you taste, baby.” you tell her as sweetly as you can, pressing your tongue into her leaking hole, clenching around nothing. 

She makes a mad grasp for the headboard, wrapping her hands around it, bowing down a little, her breasts in your direct eye line, her nipples hovering just where you want them, pebbled pink peaks perfectly placed on delectably rounded breasts, her soft skin covering every inch, the blemishes just a part of her. 

One hand squeezing her ass, kneading her cheeks between your fingers, the other grazing over her gorgeous breasts, your gazes connect. Her eyes focus on yours, your gaze authoritative, demanding for her to keep looking at you, even when it becomes what seems, in the moment, to be the hardest task of her life, just to keep her mouth open as your tongue delves deep into her, reaching as deep as you can go. Your hand on her bum brings her pussy down even closer to your face. You have full access to roam her core as you please, even more when she begins grinding on your face. 

“Keep going, fuck, baby I need you!”

And if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, you’ll be damned. Her one hand leaves the headboard and comes up to her other breast, pulling and twisting her nipple as she grinds faster, gyrating her hips against your mouth. She’s getting close, so close. 

“I’m gonna-”

She doesn’t get chance to finish her sentence before she’s crying out, pleasure washing over her and breaking out a sweat on her skin, small beads dripping down her forehead and cleavage, all thanks to you bringing her bundle of nerves between your lips and suckling while you played with her ass. No matter how hard she tries, her gaze falters, her eyes squeezing shut as her second climax renders her speechless, breathless, boneless, collapsing onto you. Two hundred times at least you must’ve seen her climax, but this? This morning takes the cake. What a fucking brilliant start to Christmas day. 

You both pop to the loo to clean up before wrapping up in your cosy Christmas jumpers and slipping back into bed with your mugs of tea. The smile still hasn’t left her face, and you hope to God it never will. Legs entangled, arms wrapped around one another. She feels so petite and delicate in your grasp even though she towers over you normally. She’s precious, the most precious thing you’ll ever have, the only Christmas present you need. You just hope she knows this. 

“All I want for Christmas is you, Elizabeth. Now and always.” You say to your girlfriend, your partner. Your fiancé if today goes to plan. 

“I love you so much.” She whispers, her lips on your temple.

“I love you.”

With a surreptitious glance to the safe in the corner of the room, you train your gaze back at Liz, only focussed on you as you cuddle up with her, burrowed under the warmth of the duvet. Yeah, this is a pretty perfect Christmas morning.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 5

A/N Now the long chapters are really starting

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Avalon’s purse was left on the kitchen island right by the door. It was on its side as if it had been thrown there in some sort of haste when she came inside. I picked it up and ruffled through the small bag; pushing aside the tube of lipstick, small medicine bottle, few feminine hygiene products, and her wallet before accessing her phone.

Her lockscreen was a photo of me, taken on our honeymoon some time by the resort pool. If I didn’t feel the breath of shame and guilt on my neck, that certainly sealed it in. I typed in her passcode but was met with ‘incorrect pin’. I tried again, only to receive the same message. Since when did she change her passcode and not tell me?

We must ignore the fact that I changed mine a few weeks back without telling her as well.

The last thing I wanted to have to do was facial recognition, but it seemed that was my only option.

So I found myself back in the studio, patting softly over the blood soaked rug to the body of my wife to stick her iPhone in her face. Jonah watched from the doorway as I crouched down carefully on the balls of my feet and held the screen towards Avalon’s blank expression. The phone unlocked and the home screen appeared. I didn’t look at her for too long – honestly I couldn’t without risking being sent to empty my stomach again – and I simply took her phone over to the studio couch and sat down on the arm. Jonah stood beside me to watch over my shoulder as I opened up her contacts app and scrolled down to J.

You can imagine my surprise when the very first contact under that letter was simply the letter itself. It was too easy. I brought up any messages she had with that person and scrolled to the top of the reasonably short text thread. They had messaged her first,

Hey. Thanks for reaching out. I’ll have the stuff together for the end of the week as promised.

Great! Looking forward to it.

When’s your fiancé out next? I can drop by your place if you want.

He usually works late every day so whenever is good. Lunch tomorrow maybe?

Yeah, sounds good. See you then :)

There was only one other date that they had messaged – at least by text – and it was also a short yet cryptic conversation.

If you’re ready today I can come by. Daniel’s held up in meetings so I’m alone.

Yeah that’s fine. I’m at the Lincoln Motel in Pasadena. Room 19. Come by whenever.

1559 Lincoln Ave

Okay! I’ll head over now. I’m excited! :)

The green monster was never a kind friend, dear reader, and I couldn’t help but feel near sick again with the question as to if my wife had been cheating on me. Sure, I was no perfect man and I seemed to put a lot of my efforts into my work – maybe more than I should have – but never would I have dreamt about being unfaithful to her. Seemed as though she had thought differently. I locked Avalon’s phone and slid it in my pocket as I stood up, trying to act like it was something that just rolled off my back.

“What the fuck.” Jonah breathed.

I pushed a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my neck tensely, ignoring his rhetorical question.

“You okay?” Jonah asked, setting his hand on my shoulder.

“Fine.” I nodded stiffly.

“Do you want to stop by the motel?”

I contemplated his offer for a moment. It was on the way out of state anyway and it would have been nice to get some answers. Maybe it would even help me figure out what happened to Avalon. This mysterious J person wasn’t necessarily in my good books at the moment.

“Yeah. We should.” I finally answered.

The first step before we could leave was to clean up the brutal scene that I had found myself amidst just in case anyone was to come past while we were gone. Our safest bet was to keep Avalon with us until we figured out what had happened; this was imperative especially if it came to the possible outcome where I had killed her. I grabbed an extra towel from under the sink in the studio and Jonah and I stood beside the body.

“Jesus Christ.” Jonah breathed as we stared at her.

I held the towel out to him, “You tuck this under her. I’ll lift her up.”

He nodded silently and watched as I stepped over my wife who was still laying out over the ruined rug. With one foot on either side of her, I bent down and slid my hands under her armpits and just around her back. She was terribly cold and I could feel it through the shirt she was still wearing. Ironic choice of words, but it was chilling.

Jonah slid the towel underneath her and the strain of me holding her limp body up caused more blood to trickle out of the gash across her neck and I looked away to keep from seeing any more. Waking up in it was enough. We moved down her body and I held up her hips so Jonah could tug the towel completely underneath her.

“Let’s move her to the hardwood.” I instructed flatly and we each took two corners of the towel to hoist her up off the blood-soaked rug.

Jonah and I shuffled across the studio and gently set her down on the hardwood in front of the front door to keep her off the rug. The knife still rested on the carpet, glinting teasingly in the late morning sun and I finally worked up the nerve to bend down and pick it up.

“I’ll leave you alone when you get it through your head what a psychotic bitch you’re being!”

“I’m psychotic?” she shrieked, whipping around to face me once we both entered the studio and I flicked on the light. The large collection of wedding gifts was piled neatly along the kitchenette counter and on the couch, the rest of the small single room building taken up by all of my music equipment. Avalon got right up in my face, pointing her finger at me behind furious brown eyes, and screaming until the minimal soundproofing almost muffled the edges of her voice, “Look at yourself! Screaming at me for simply missing my husband on our honeymoon! You’re so fucking psychotic it’s nearly goddamn comedic!”

“I’m not going to keep having this same argument with you, Avalon! I’m getting so sick of needing to defend myself against you time and time again! You just don’t respect me or my job!”

“Who even are you?” she scoffed humourlessly, “It’s nothing about respect, it’s about you being a decent human being – a decent husband – and actually showing me that you care about me!”

“Avalon, I swear to God if you don’t-”

“If I don’t what? Shut up? Be a good little wife and shut up and look pretty for you? Big important business tycoon Daniel Seavey is going to…do what exactly?”

With the knife in my hand, my eyes drifted to the stack of wedding gifts on the studio couch, the thin polished wooden box on the top capturing my attention. The lid was left open, revealing the velvet trimmed interior and the rest of the silver knives resting in a row inside. It was a wedding gift from my brother, the high-end knife set purchased and engraved with our surname on each dark wooden handle until they looked no less than ridiculously expensive and classy. The one empty slot in the velvet box had its assigned subject resting in my hand, the largest knife from the box weighing down in my fingers.

How strange and ironic it is; Avalon killed by a knife wielding her own surname. The surname only given to her a mere three weeks earlier. I had no time to stew on that, however, as I was sure that the fact she wasn’t at work that morning (and that neither was I) would start to raise suspicions. We had to get out of there before someone came looking for us.

I took the knife to the sink in the kitchenette along the far wall of the studio and turned on the hot water to rinse the blood off the blade. I found myself trembling slightly as I scrubbed, my hands struggling to keep still even under the warmth of the water. The red stained the water and flooded around the base of the stainless-steel sink as the drain pulled it down and soon my hands and the knife were left clean and spotless.

Jonah had the rug rolled up from the floor by the time I finished cleaning the knife and I thanked him quietly as I set the chef’s knife back in its slot in the wooden box. The handles stared back at me, twelve identical silver engravings of my surname staring back at me as if they knew what I had possibly done. I closed the lid and snapped the silver clasps shut.

“What do we do with the rug?” I asked my best friend.

Jonah exhaled deeply and brushed the back of his hand over his forehead. He thought for a minute before replying, “Bring it with us?”

I nodded in agreement, “Okay. I’ll grab my keys.”

I headed back into the main house quickly to grab my keys and anything else I might want to bring with me. My laptop case was an obvious and I tucked Avalon’s letter in my bag too just in case I might need it again while figuring everything out.

I was ready for a quick getaway but of course that would have been too easy. Another thing that drove my wife insane? The fact that I constantly was losing everything. My keys were usually the victim of my carelessness and this moment was obviously no exception. I couldn’t find them anywhere, along the front console table or in my laptop bag or on the kitchen counter.

Jonah stepped inside the back door again, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah.” I rushed back down the hallway to the master bedroom, scanning the side tables and the front pocket of our packed suitcase hurriedly.

Time wasn’t on our side and my tendency to misplace everything I own certainly wasn’t helping. On my way back down the hallway, I caught myself on the doorway to the walk-in-closet when I saw a glint out of the corner of my eye and stepped back to see my keys peeking out of my jean’s pocket. You would think I would have checked their first. Well, sorry to break it to you, but nothing was going as expected that morning.

I grabbed my keys from my blood-stained jeans and stuffed the hoodie and pants into my laptop bag too. I stopped to grab a baseball hat and set it on my head followed by my darkest sunglasses I had in my closet to try and keep some sort of physical neutrality for going into public before meeting Jonah back on the porch. I held my keys up to him as I walked right past him and around the side of the house to the gate. He followed right behind me with the expensive box of knives in hand.

The driveway backed right onto the side gate and I unlatched it and pulled the white pickets open to let ourselves through. Ah yes, my pretty expensive Los Angeles house and my white picket fence and my dead wife. Really living the perfect American dream, huh?

I unlocked my Tesla and yanked open the back door to toss in my overflowing laptop bag and Jonah’s heavy work bag while Jonah opened the trunk and tucked the knife set in the corner. We hurried back down the driveway towards the studio door and slipped back inside, stepping over Avalon to grab the rug first. We each took an end of the heavy rolled up vintage Persian and took it down to my car. I was lucky my car had been parked in reverse in the driveway which prevented any neighbours from possibly seeing us loading the trunk with questionable items.

The last thing we needed to take care of was Avalon but we couldn’t necessarily carry her outside in a blood streaked towel. We stood over her in thought of what to do next. We needed something to keep it discreet while still being able to keep her in one piece. There was no way I would be able to stomach cutting any limbs. I had gone through enough that morning as it was.

My eyes scanned my studio for any possible solution to our situation and quickly landed on one of the large travel cases I used for my production keyboard. I looked back down at Avalon’s body and then back to the long trunk. 

This was insane.

I stepped over her and walked over to the corner of the studio where the travel trunks were stacked up. I moved a few smaller ones from the top and Jonah came over to help me once he caught on to what I was doing. I flipped open the top of the trunk and made sure it was empty except for the thin plush padding that lined the interior. 

I refrained from making a joke about it at least being a comfortable place for her to lay.

Jonah and I each took an end of the towel again and hoisted her stiff body up and over to the trunk and lowered her in slowly. I made sure the towel was tucked inside and that her arms and legs were resting flatly before closing the lid and buckled up the case. Jonah and I met each other’s eyes over top of the trunk but didn’t speak a word before picking up either end and made our way out of the studio.

The walk down the side of the house to the driveway felt like forever. There we were, in broad daylight, on a regular Tuesday morning, carrying a dead body into the trunk of my car. The production case fit nicely into the trunk – I knew it would from the amount of times I had to bring it into work or over to Jonah’s house – and I shut the trunk over top of it. I let out a shaky exhale and Jonah and I glanced blankly at each other.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Coming Up Easy - A Series of Firsts (Part 1)

Synopsis: AU where Alex and Michael are FWB since high school. Series of firsts in their relationship. Hopefully I’ll post one every Wednesday. No clue how many I’ll have. Feel free to send me ideas.

Part 1. First Apartment

    It was the worst decision Alex had ever made if Michael had anything to say about it. He was across the country building himself a new life and Michael didn’t like it one bit. 

    “You can come visit,” Alex said, brushing a stray curl from Michael’s forehead. He was watching his own finger and tracing the loops of the curl instead of looking Michael in the eyes. “Friends visit each other.”

    “Right, I know. You’re right. I can visit,” Michael agreed, his stomach feeling queasy at the fact that if he wanted to see Alex he would have to visit. He couldn’t show up unannounced because he was lonely or having a bad day. No one would be waiting for him at the Wild Pony for drinks. His friend would be too far away in a different bar, possibly making new friends.

    Michael stared down at his phone, the chat window he shared with Alex open and depressingly inactive. No blinking dots to say Alex was typing or thinking about him too. He sighed and tossed the phone onto the bar in front of him, signaling Maria’s new bartender to get him another beer. Once the beer was in front of him, Michael opened his phone screen again and stared at the chatbox some more. 

    ‘Fuck it,’ he finally said to himself as he began to type. 

Me 11:15 p.m.>> You up?

    He set the phone down again and sipped his beer, watching the other patrons through the mirrors behind the bar. There were some guys at the pool table that he could go swindle for a game or two. Liz, Max, and Kyle were in a corner booth all laughing and talking animatedly. He could hear the whoops and cheers from someone taking a turn on the mechanical bull outside the bar. There were so many things to distract him, but all Michael wanted was to talk to Alex. 

Alex 11:20 p.m.>> Are you seriously booty calling me from five states away? Me 11:21 p.m.>> I mean, this isn’t that different from when we were in college and you had that late chem lab and I kept getting bored waiting for you to get out… Alex 11:23 p.m.>> That’s not a very subtle way to ask for nudes. Me 11:24 p.m.>> I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to nudes if you’re offering them, but really I’m just at the Pony missing my best friend. Alex 11:26 p.m.>> You should call Isobel then. I’m sure she’d be glad to hang out. Me 11:27 p.m.>> Jerk. Me 11:27 p.m.>> Wyd? Alex 11:29 p.m.>> Staring at the black void of my bedroom listing all the things I need to get done tomorrow after I get home from work. This is basically like when I moved in with Kyle in college except I have more boxes and no one to guilt into unpacking them for me.

    Michael stared at the phone and thought about that first apartment. He’d moved in with Kyle after Kyle’s dad died. Kyle had transferred from Michigan State back to UNM in Albuquerque to be closer to his mom, but he was still on the pre-med track so living in town was out of the question. Michael remembers them all getting wasted on whiskey that first night and after Kyle had passed out on the futon mattress (which was on the floor and not on the still-disassembled futon), he and Alex had escaped to his room. 

Me 11:33 p.m.>> Remember the rug burns you gave me that second night? Alex 11:35 p.m.>> You deserved that for the hickies you gave me! It looked like I'd been attacked by an octopus in my sleep!

    Michael grinned into his beer. He didn’t regret the hickies. They’d been drunk and horny. He’d pinned Alex to the shitty, half-deflated air mattress and left marks in a constellation from his neck to the inside of his thighs and the little shit had loved every fucking second of it. Then Alex had tried to roll them and just ended up knocking Michael over off the mattress. They’d laughed and Alex had apologized into his mouth between kisses. He’d tasted like whiskey and cheap pizza and Michael remembered being blissfully happy somewhere underneath all the horniness. The rugburns hadn’t come until the next night when Alex had fucked him hard on the floor, carpet digging into Michael’s knees, elbows, and cheek. It’d been worth it to see Kyle the next morning try to figure out how to address the thinness of the wall between their bedrooms. 

Me 11:39 p.m.>> Fucking worth it. You were so mad about those hickies, but I wore those rug burns like badges of honor. Alex 11:40 p.m.>> The fuck you did. You whined every day until they were gone. Me 11:41 p.m.>> Not how I remember it at all. You must have me confused with your other friend you occasionally fuck. Alex 11:42 p.m.>> I could never. 

    “Oh shit, I think Valenti’s passed out. Should we fuck with him? Draw dicks on his face? Make him pee himself?” Michael asked, giggling into Alex’s warm, shirt-covered shoulder. They were sitting pressed side by side against the living room wall. They’d been telling dirty jokes and arguing about playing Halo for the last fifteen minutes. The bottle of Jack Daniels was down to the backwash at the bottom of the bottle, having been split between the three of them as a celebration for Kyle and Alex getting an apartment together. No more sneaking into dorm rooms or paying roommates to find another place to sleep. 

    “If you’re so desperate to see a dick, I got something better we could do,” Alex had slurred into his hair as he tipped toward him. 

    “You’re fucking drunk, can you even get hard?” Michael had asked. Better question was could he get hard… they’d had a lot to drink in a short period of time. 

    “Why don’t we go to my room and find out? Help me break the place in. Christen it before Kyle can,” Alex suggested, grin salacious and eyebrows mischievous and hair slightly sweaty and mussed from their hauling boxes and putting together furniture. Michael couldn’t remember wanting him more. He surged forward and captured his lips in a messy, wet kiss that somehow didn’t suck for all its faults. They were both panting gently when they pulled back. 

    “Yeah, let’s go,” he agreed quietly, eyes still closed and enjoying the taste and smell of the moment, the feeling of his hand against Alex’s neck, and how much he wanted this forever. Alex pushed back and stood up unsteadily, leaning on the wall for support, and Michael followed suit. They stumbled into the bedroom, legs tangling and making them fall onto the air mattress in a heap, laughing breathlessly as they started to pull at their shirts. The apartment still smelled like paint and carpet cleaner and the new plastic of the air mattress, but it was a refuge from the world and if Michael could live in that moment forever, he might just. 

    “Ugh, you’re getting sappy,” Alex mock-complained as he pushed Michael onto his back and straddled his hips. 

    “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael countered with a grin, his hands, and expression betraying him as he let them both roam all over Alex’s body fondly, familiarly. Alex rolled his eyes, but his grin stayed in place. He grabbed Michael’s hands and pinned them to the floor by Alex’s knees. 

Alex kissed down Michael’s chest and stomach, leaving dark red marks where he sucked the skin into his mouth until Michael whined for him to stop. He kept moving his own body down until he was hovering over the obvious tent in Michael’s shorts. He grazed his cheek against Michael’s bulge, staring up at him with a dirty tilt to his lips. Alex lifted Michael’s hands from beside him and buried them in his hair. Michael looked down at him curiously, but Alex didn’t explain. He simply pulled down Michael’s shorts to mid-thigh and took Michael’s cock between his lips. 

Warm, wet ecstasy exploded through Michael’s nerve endings and he cried out, neck arching as he sucked in a breath at how good Alex’s mouth felt on him, his fingers tightening and pulling Alex’s hair. Alex moved his mouth fluidly over Michael’s cock and Michael was helpless against the sounds pouring out of his mouth. He pushed when Alex pulled, not wanting to be without the tight heat of his mouth any longer than he had to be. Alex’s hands were digging into his hips, probably bruising him, but Michael couldn’t focus on it, only let the dull pain heighten his experience of the pleasure. 

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, Alex. Christ,” Michael exclaimed between whimpers. Alex was going fast like he had a time limit. “Slow down, baby. We got all night.”

Alex popped off him and replaced his mouth with his hand, taking in a deep breath before continuing. 

“Exactly. Let’s get the first one out of the way. I want to still be fucking when the sun comes up,” Alex gasped, squeezing his hand and making his grip on Michael’s cock almost too tight. Michael didn’t have an answer for that, was too busy imagining it, and Alex took his silence as acceptance of the plan. He bent down and took Michael back into his mouth. 

Me 11:55 p.m.>> I could go for some hickies right about now Alex 11:56 p.m.>> Well, I can’t exactly come down to help you with that. Me 11:57 p.m.>> Guess you shouldn’t have moved. Alex 11:57 p.m.>> Something tells me you will survive. :P Me 11:58 p.m.>> Putting it on my Christmas list right now, though. Better come through for me, Manes. Alex 11:59 p.m>> You’re going to scandalize Santa asking for hickies. Me 12:00 a.m.>> He’ll understand. Alex 12:01 a.m.>> It’s past 1 here. I need to get some sleep. Miss you. Don’t get too drunk. Me 12:02 a.m.>> Miss you too. Dream about me. 

[skinks]

Food for thot.....Richie getting rug burn on his face from getting pounded into the carpet. Yes its before an interview and yes its is from a tiktok but I don't know anyone that would appreciate this like u would. Thank u 😔

no, thank YOU!!! WOW!!! I know @pineapplecrushface wrote about Eddie having face rug burn in this post here and it’s such a funny concept I want it for Richie too.

Like, the heat comes from the fact that they couldn’t even wait to move to the bed. They’re cuddling on the couch, sweet kissing turns hotter, heavier, they’re rolling off the couch and knocking shit over on the coffee table, wrestling like they always used to. But now Eddie’s shoving himself up and noisily ripping his belt through the loops like grabbing a snake by its head behind the metal fangs. Both of them panting and swearing and laughing, Richie goading him on like c’mon slugger, c’mon baby, let’s see you go the fuck to town, except he gets more than he bargained for because Eddie’s going NUTS like I wanna, Rich I really fucking wanna, on your front, your knees, let me, and Richie’s already trying to turn over, kicking his pants down his sweating thighs and grinning so hard he can hardly reply back yeah yeah yeah fuck me through the floor, Eddie, ‘course I’ll let you, you can do anything you put that batshit little mind to.

And y’know, Richie grabs a leg of the coffee table for purchase but that’s getting shoved across the floor with the force of it too. Movie’s still playing. Feels briefly surreal, the sound of a chic Soderbergh heist chopped up roughly between the louder sounds of fucking, and of getting fucked. His other hand’s ripping scores against the pile of the carpet, knees are burnt, glasses are nearly bent against his face until he pushes them up and off and Eddie takes them away because his hand is there, suddenly, grabbing Richie’s fucked up hair like he can’t bear not to be touching him everywhere for reassurance now that Richie can hardly see.

Eddie’s everywhere, the glide of his thighs and the scrape of his shoved-down jeans burning open the insides of Richie’s spread legs, the stretch and pressure angling down tight into his stomach as Eddie presses his cock balls-deep and yanks hard on Richie’s hips at the same time. Pulls up, buries himself hard in Richie’s body and holds him there for a moment to grind the ridges of his abs right against Richie’s lower back, mossy with dark hair flattened to his tailbone. Eddie moans between his shoulderblades and Richie chokes into the carpet, Eddie holding him fast and pushing, pushing, socks rasping against the carpet to brace themselves.

It’s one of those fucks of a lifetime, every time he swings his feet up next to Eddie’s on the coffee table he’s gonna remember how he was so glad Eddie kept him face down and ass up, cause otherwise his entire dick and balls would be chafing a slick band of precum into the carpet too, burnt and red as their skinny little forearms got as kids, when they’d attack and grab at each other with both hands, twisting opposite directions til it hurt, because violence was the only way to touch each other with an audience back then and apparently the habit takes some breaking.

Now they’re good at breaking all their worst habits together. They can touch each other gently, even in public. After Eddie’s rubbed him raw against the floor and come so hard in short, sharp, knocking thrusts that left him shaken and incoherent against Richie’s aching shoulders, after he grabbed his own discarded shirt and, still hard and throbbing, coaxed Richie to buck his cum into it instead of the carpet—he smooths some aloe vera into Richie’s stinging cheek. They were still both naked and dripping, but he insisted.

Eddie’s always achingly sweet when he feels he’s gone too far, still sometimes forgetting there are ways to love each other rough that aren’t cruelty, and ways to care for each other soft that aren’t coddling.

It’s nice though, nostalgic for the times spent just the two of them, when the need to compete against and for each other’s attention waned and Richie could make a production of kissing Eddie’s twisted forearm better. Big smacking kiss between the red imprints of his own fingers, to match the burn in Eddie’s face as he grabbed at Richie’s noodly arm to give one back, never to be outdone.

“Hold still,” Eddie murmurs now. “I’m kissing it better.” He cups Richie’s other cheek and draws him down to kiss long and slow where the arch of his dark stubble turns an angry pink underneath. Puts his other arm around Richie’s shoulders and kneels there next to him on the bed, held right back around his waist. Gentling his lips all over Richie’s face.

“You kissing me better, baby? You little sex demon.”

“Yeah. You feel better?”

“I always feel better now. You kissed me all better.”

“Loved you all better.” Eddie turns him so he’s kissing at Richie’s broad, smiling mouth. “God. Gross. I love you so fucking much.”

“Ghh-huh. Ah. I love you, Eds.” For a moment Richie stares at him, helpless. One of his eyes always squints up harder when he grins, but Eddie likes being able to see the crinkly corners when Richie’s not wearing his glasses. He strokes them. Richie makes a tiny noise. “And they say I’m the sap.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pine tree.”

“Yep!” Richie sticks his tongue out gleefully, straight into Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say it—!”

“You climb me, and I get you all sticky!”

Eddie wheezes as Richie nuzzles into his shoulder, tightening his arms around Eddie’s waist. His sore cheekbone is hard and hot against Eddie’s cooling skin. “What are you—giggling about?!”

Richie falls back to the mattress, tugging Eddie down with him. The breath shudders through Eddie’s punctured, healed chest like there’s still a hole there and he squeezes his eyes shut against Richie’s collarbones. He shakes with it sometimes, how much of this he gets to feel and have and keep to himself, overwhelmed giddiness lurching his stomach out miles above his body. That’d be bad. He’s already lost a couple organs just for loving Richie Tozier, but the difference is—he can live without the organs.

Eddie squeezes Richie’s thigh between his own and hides his crumpling face in the fuzzy ditch of his broad chest, in case Richie thinks he’s upset and stops laughing.

He pinches the soft give of Richie’s tricep. He’s hugging Eddie so tight, his little yelp buzzes Eddie’s ear. “What are you fucking giggling about!”

“I have—I have that promo thing tomorrow, I’m gonna look like I made out with a brick wall!”

Eddie’s jostled with the gusts of Richie’s laughter. He keeps his eyes closed. He supports Richie’s career, he really does, but no matter how hard he tries Eddie can’t seem to stop providing juicy fodder for talk-show stories. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, it’s okay, you can get them to cover it up before—”

“No! No way, and pass up walking out there like Harvey fuckin’ Dent because my hot as hell boyfriend railed me across the floor like a lawnmower?”

“That doesn’t—you don’t fuck lawnmowers, how do you fuck a lawnmower!”

“Very carefully! You sound like one sometimes, though, Jesus, how you get all revved up. Okay, something about carpets matching drapes, or—wait, wait, Dented? Harvey Dented? Dented my ass, or something, there’s a joke there, I promise—”

Eddie gives in to the snort building up in his sinuses. Richie’s whole face is pink with happiness when Eddie levers himself up onto an elbow for a look at him, not just the rug burn like a strawberry birthmark blooming from his temple to his jaw.

“That’s weak shit,” Eddie says. Richie’s grin only gets wider when he sees Eddie’s laughing too, so Eddie nudges a kiss against his endearingly goofy-ass overbite. “Two-Face is obvious. You wanna do a Batman joke, it’s gotta be like—you wanna know how I got these scars?”

Richie shrieks with laughter at Eddie’s nasally Joker (really just an imitation of Richie’s, and thank fuck it’s improved from sounding vaguely Pennywise-ish, that’s a real mood-killer) and piledrives him over into the bedspread. “Genius! Genius, holy shit, you know it gives me such a boner when you do Voices! You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, one day, Daddy Kaspbrak came home all riled up and wanting to play—”

Eddie pretends to gag though his laughter, rubbing at the backs of Richie’s squirming thighs with his heels like a cricket. “Do not call me Daddy Kaspbrak when we’re naked—or ever, what the fuck—”

“Whipped his belt off—”

“No!”

“Hey Eddie, you wanna know how I got this jawline?” Eddie’s careful with Richie’s sore cheek, even as Richie’s gnawing at his throat. Cups his hand to it for protection against Eddie’s own stubbly jaw. Then Richie’s groping at one of Eddie’s asscheeks, lifting his thigh, and, shit, looks like this afternoon might be a twofer. “Do ya, Eddie?”

“Fine, how?”

Richie waggles his stupid eyebrows. “Lemme show you the workout!”

“Oh, Christ—don’t hurt your face,” Eddie gasps, but Richie’s already moving south.

-

The host asks about Richie’s face—obviously. It had faded a little from that vicious red, but not enough to escape attention, especially since his entire shit-eating demeanour was clearly begging for enquiry.

“What happened, man, you get in a fight?”

“No—no! Look at me, dude, I can’t even get heckled without being like yeah, you’re right. Y’know, you’ve got a point. If someone tried to fight me I’d probably join in.” Richie grins and glances at the camera. “Nah, I’m more of a lover.”

[conaionaru]

Hi so I have a request, so a modern reader from like 2020 (no COVID) get thrown back in time the the Viking era and meets the Ragnar, Auslaug, and the Ragnarssons. And reader explains what Christmas is in modern time. Thank you for your time.

Vikings Christmas request

Christmas carol

I wanted to post yesterday (on the 24th) but I was running on three hours of sleep and two servings of potato salad. So here is my "masterpiece".

I don't own the gif.

(Y/N) loved wintertime: the pretty white snow, the songs, the cookies, and hot cocoa. Everything was so beautiful and nice.

Even Christmas was fun, although she had to spend it alone. Her parents couldn't come this year, so she was all by her lonesome.

It shouldn't be so bad, they will video chat the whole evening, and then after some movies, she will go to sleep.

She wished for things to be like they used to when she still believed Santa bought all the presents. It was magical back then; now, it was mostly tradition and force of habit.

(Y/N) put on some music while putting the last finishing touches to her tree. It was small and fake, but it was pretty nonetheless.

Her coffee pot was nearly done heating her water, and in time, the video chat would start. So all she had to do was pour her tea and sit on the couch.

"AAAAnd done." The red tree deco looked okay enough to let it slide. "Just the tea and some cookies. I am thinking of cinnamon. What do you think, Petunia?"

Her three-year-old mops looked up from her spot on the couch and yawned. "I take that as a yes. Or is my face boring you?"

The dog yawned again and laid down back to sleep. (Y/N) watched the lazy dog with a deadpan expression, rueing the day she let the pup get lazy like this. The dog is always like the master anyway. This way, they have at least something in common.

The (h/c) haired girl run past the couch to get to the kitchen when she tripped on the rug and face planted the ground. "Fuuuck mee."

"When you are asking so nicely." (Y/N) groaned at the teasing male voice. She was in no mood for mockery at Christmas.

Her head snapped up when her brain finally realized there was no one to talk back to her other than Petunia. And the female dog definitely didn't sound like a man. Or talk at all!

She looked at the man before her dressed in strange clothing with flaxen hair tied in braids. "Who the hell are you?"

"We could ask you the same. You are the one who fell in through the door."

"Not that we are complaining."

"Shut up, Hvitserk." (Y/N) observed the three men, all dressed in medieval clothing with braided hair.

"What are you boys doing?" A woman asked, walking into the big hall from behind a curtain. She was prettier and more graceful than any woman (Y/N) ever saw.

"She barged in." One of the boys spoke up. One of his eyes was strange and looked like a snake eye.

"I am sorry. I have no idea what happened. I was just decorating my Christmas tree when I tripped. Next thing I know, I am here." (Y/N) looked around confused as Hvitserk helped her up.

"Christmas? What is that?" The snake-eyed boy questioned.

"Christ. She must be a Christian!" The voice belonged to another boy; this one crawled next to the graceful lady.

(Y/N) shook her head rapidly when she saw the boy pull out an axe. "Christmas. You know, the holiday in winter? Gifts, fish, and decorated pine trees?"

Everyone watched her in wonder and confusion; the youngest seemed psychotic. The door opened once again, and another man walked in. This one was older and looked like the oldest of the brothers.

"She is crazy. Broke in and talked about some weird things!"

"Shut up, Sigurd! No one cares." The mother frowned at her son, and halfheartedly scolded him.

"She mentioned something called Christmas," Ubbe explained to his father, who nodded in understanding.

Ragnar walked to (Y/N) and introduced himself. "Christmas is a Christian holiday. Like Yul, but they celebrate their Jesus."

"Is this true? So you are a Christian then." Aslaug murmured and looked down at her in contempt.

(Y/N) smiled awkwardly and shook her head, trying to defuse the tension. "It is not only celebrated by Christians. Some people just give gifts to each other and spent time with their families. Eat and drink while listening to music. Not everyone goes to churches."

The family nodded and invited her to sit. They didn't think her a threat anymore. Her strange clothes and English accent were more interesting. But there were some things about Christmas that interested them more.

"The songs?"

"Yes! Are they good?"

"They are great. Some singers make Christmas themed songs. Some are catchy, others annoying. But the traditional ones are very good." Sigurd grinned at the knowledge and toasted to her words.

"What else do you Christians do?" Ivar spat. Out of all the brothers, he seemed the most annoyed with her. He hated her all the same, even if she didn't tell him what faith she had.

Ragnar found her amusing, like a child with a new puppy. Aslaug didn't trust her much while Ubbe and Hvitserk kept flirting with her. At least Ubbe wasn't so blunt about it, other than Hvitserk. He kept on suggesting showing her their traditions in bed and how good he was at them. Sigurd was cautious and Ivar hateful.

But all her talking of Christmas was making her sad. More than anything, she wanted to go home and see her parents and Petunia. Not play teacher for a bunch of Vikings. No matter how attractive they all were.

"My family used to play games to pass the time. We sang songs and told stories." (Y/N) smiled a sad smile at the memories.

Aslaug left to pray to the gods for answers. She wanted to find out how to send (Y/N) home. Ragnar left his sons with the foreigner to get ready for some sacrifice they would hold for Yul.

"Do you have some traditions that are more fun?" Hvitserk teased, leaning closer into her personal space.

"Ehm... Kissing. We kiss under the mistletoe."

Hvitserk smirked at that and ran off to find some of the plants, not giving up on his chance with the (h/c).

"You seem sad. Why is that?" Ubbe asked, watching her in confusion.

"I miss my home. My parent too, and my dog."

Ubbe and Sigurd left as well, bored by her already. Ivar was the last one left and kept glaring at her in silence. The boy made her uneasy.

He reached into his pocket and threw something at her. "My necklace?"

"You dropped it when you arrived. It has a picture in it." (Y/N) opened the necklace; inside was a photo of her with her parents when she was younger.

The (h/c) trailed her thumb over their faces, tears gathering in her (e/c) eyes. "They must be so worried. I was supposed to call them, and now I have been here for three hours."

Ivar frowned at her sentiment and left her alone too. (Y/N) sat in the hall alone, crying silently over the photo.

"Protection runes to keep you safe and return you home safely," Aslaug announced, handing the girl a wooden carving.

"Thank you." The Queen smiled at her and stalked off to start the ritual that would bring her home.

Ivar returned as well, handing her an item too. "You said you play games. Play Hnefatafl with me. And stop crying; it's annoying."

So she played with the youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The boy may say what he wants, but her happiness bothered him more than he let on.

After her eleventh lost game in a row, she had enough of his teasing. "Thank you very much, Ivar. It was fun. Even though you crushed all the pride and confidence, I had."

Ivar smirked in victory, but his smile froze when he felt her kiss on his forehead. "You are nicer than you seem." He opened his mouth to tell her off, but she wasn't there anymore.

Hvitserk barged in, breathing heavily with mistletoe in his hands. Ivar ignored his annoying complaints and touched his forehead in wonder.

When he prayed to the gods for Yul to be different, he didn't imagine them sending a girl from the future. He looked down at the Hnefatafl board and smiled. He got his wish anyway.

(Y/N) woke up on the carpet to Petunias barking in her ear. The tea cattle whistled on the stove, and her phone rang loudly.

"I am home." When the words caught up to her brain, she jumped up in glee. "Petunia, I am home! I bet I was just dreaming. That's all. Just a dream from my concussion."

She walked around her apartment to turn off the cattle and pick up the call. The whole time she didn't notice the wooden carving covered in runes—the only proof of her adventure.

[starions]

*blows the dust off this one* a butch x lw oneshot i wrote when i was fifteen, starring my lone wanderer gigi halloway. enjoy

Gigi wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the dead raider. His blood pooled under her boots and she dragged them along the old, shag carpet to clean them off. One hundred caps to clean this abandoned townhouse of raiders and they got to keep the spoils? Good enough for her. Butch, though, would not stop complaining about it.

“I still think we shoulda asked for more caps,” Butch mumbled, putting his gun back in his holster.

Gigi sighed, and knelt down to loot the raider. She couldn’t help but to notice how young the dead man was; her and Butch’s age tops. She frowned, and brought out a cap stash hidden in his pocket. “See? This job basically pays for itself. And if we sell some weapons and armor, then it will be worthwhile. I’m not sure why you’re complaining. Go loot that girl over there.”

Butch glared at the redhead, but did as he was told. “Can’t we just, I don’t know, find caps anotha way?”

Gigi wiped blood off on her jeans, standing up. “Like what Butch? Cutting hair?”

Scoffing, Butch finished looting the raider, producing nothing but a few bobby pins and some shotgun shells. He never liked that he got hairdresser on the G.O.A.T, just like Gigi didn’t like getting Pip-Boy repair girl. Jesus, Pip-Boy repair. Why would she ever want to do that? She was lucky Mr. Brotch changed it for her, she was much happier working with her dad in his clinic.

Just the thought of her dad made Gigi’s brow furrow and heart twist.

“You okay?” Butch asked, stuffing the bobby pins in his pocket.

Nodding, Gigi turned her heal, facing away from Butch. This was not the time to cry about her dad. Shaking it off, Gigi continued looking for supplies.

The two found nothing more in the living room, except maybe a few good food items and a spare bottle cap hidden under a rug. This townhouse had two more bedrooms, though, and Gigi and Butch couldn’t risk leaving anything valuable out of their hands. They entered the first bedroom, which was obviously used for more than sleep, judging by the smell and the old condom wrappers on the floor. Worn down posters of nearly nude girls plastered the walls, and chems were everywhere. It was fucking disgusting in there.

“Jesus!” Butch muttered, pulling his white undershirt up to cover his nose. Gigi coughed into her elbow, stepping over stains on the carpet. “You ain’t going in there,” Butch said, pulling on her arm.

“I’m not going to touch anything Butch, lighten up. It is just… so gross.” Gigi couldn’t help but to gag, and she stepped back. Butch still held her by the elbow, and the two were touching back-to-back now.

“Remember what Mr. Brotch taught us in sex-ed? About… fluids?” Butch said the last word with disgust, and Gigi snorted.

“I can’t believe you remember anything about that class, Butch, I thought you were too busy thinking about dicks and tits.” She shook loose of his grip and tiptoed in the room. Making sure to avoid touching anything nasty, she pulled open a dresser. Gigi raised her eyebrows. “There are a lot of condoms in here. Jesus Christ what the fuck was this place?”

“Raiders, man,” Butch said, hesitantly following Gigi’s lead. “They’re fucking disgusting.”

Gigi opened a few more dressers, not finding anything worthwhile. She considered stashing some chems to sell, but decided against it. Once people around here catch word you’re dealing, they won’t leave you alone.

She did, however, stash some condoms. Not to use herself, but, you know in case. With who? She didn’t know. Definitely not Butch. That thought almost made her laugh aloud. Though, he was nicer to her now out of the vault. Both of them were the only thing left of the vault. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad… they were already stuck with each other.

Gigi shook the thought out of her head, glaring at the poster of a topless girl in front of her. What in God’s name was she thinking just now? Fuck. She stood there, drumming her fingers on the dresser, admiring the crudely drawn penis pointing to the mouth of the girl on the poster, when Butch piped up.

“Hey Gee?” Her head snapped behind her, and she noticed how red in the face Butch was all of the sudden. “You a virgin?”

The sound that came out of Gigi’s mouth was a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. Why would he ask that in the middle of a dirty sex pit? “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Right,” Butch muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

Gigi turned around, facing the poster again. Truth be told, she wasn’t. Two weeks after the G.O.A.T she had fucked Freddie Gomez because he got trash burner as his job. It didn’t mean anything; he was sad, and Gigi had just come to the revelation that she’d have to lose her virginity to someone in the vault. She’d rather it be Freddie than that asshole Wally Mack, or Butch for that matter.

Gigi faced Butch again, who was fiddling with his Pip-Boy. “Are you?” Gigi asked, suddenly curious.

Butch head jolted up, and he glared at her. “You can’t ask me that when you ignored it when I asked!”

She grinned, amused by his answer. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“You go first.”

“Fine,” Gigi said, stepping over a particularly large stain to inspect the night table. “I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re full of shit,” Butch said, crossing his arms. Gigi looked at him from across the bed and shrugged. “For real? You really fucked some rando out in the wastes?”

“I never said I lost my virginity in the wasteland.”

Butch’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide. “No way you slept with someone from the vault. He would have told me.”

Gigi grinned, pulling a box of stimpacks out of the nightstand. What was the use for them in this setting? Shrugging, she put them in her bag. “I told him not to tell anyone, especially you,” she paused, “considering the fact he was a Tunnel Snake.” Or, trying to join Butch’s gang, for that matter.

“You ain’t gonna tell me, is that it?” Butch narrowed his eyes, wanting more information.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me if you’re a virgin or not.”

Butch pressed his lips together, and avoided eye contact. Finally, he spoke up. “I’m no virgin; what I look like? Some loser?”

Gigi crossed her arms and leaned against the nightstand. “Oh really? Who is the lucky lady who was Butchie-boy’s first?”

Butch paused for a second, and then said: “Susie Mack.”

“No way,” Gigi said, giggling. “Wally wouldn’t let Susie touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“You don’t believe me? Me and Susie did it. Lotsa times.” Gigi saw through his facade, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Whatever you say, stud.”

“Oh yeah? And who was your first, Goody?” Butch said, using the only nickname Gigi didn’t mind. It originally was Goody-goody, but it managed to get to just Goody. Sadly, it’s lost its meaning out in the Wastes.

Gigi swung her bag over her shoulder, hearing the rough leather collide with the barbed baseball bat strapped to her back. She walked out of the room as Butch followed. “Freddie Gomez.”

Butch stopped in his tracks. “Bullshit! Freddie would have totally told me. He would have done anything to get with the Snakes.”

“And I told Freddie that if he told anyone I’d break his nose. You weren’t the only one he was scared of,” Gigi said, going into the next bedroom. It was much cleaner, and much nicer than the one before.

Butch furrowed his brow. Noticing the semi-clean mattress, he plopped down on it. “Freddie? What was so good about Freddie?” He almost whispered.

Gigi cocked her head to the side. “Well, he was nice to me for one. And it wasn’t like I was in love with him or anything. He was upset after the G.O.A.T so I decided to cheer him up.”

Butch propped his head on his hand, looking at Gigi with an emotion in his eyes Gigi couldn’t place. “So you just gave away your virginity, like that?”

“Back then I decided that I’d rather lose my virginity quickly than wait until I was assigned a husband. Like I said, Freddie was nice to me. Now I know that virginity is just a concept and it doesn’t matter,” Gigi said as she opened the two door closet.

Butch muttered something under his breath, and began fiddling with his Pip-Boy again.

Finding nothing in the closet, Gigi turned around, walking to the dresser. Gigi knew something was wrong when Butch didn’t even talk for a straight two minutes. Looking at him, Gigi noted that he looked a bit sad. A million thoughts ran through Gigi’s mind at once. Why in the wastes was he sad? He was sad that she slept was Freddie Gomez? She had told him it was nothing, for God’s sake. Gigi crossed her arms, letting her wait fall onto her left leg.

“Are you upset with me or something?”

Butch grumbled, turning his head to look out the dirty window.

“Because I fucked Freddie Gomez?”

Butch’s frown deepened. “No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t want me to be your assigned husband?”

Gigi couldn’t help but laugh. Her smile son faltered when she realized Butch wasn’t joking. “Are you serious?” She asked. “Did you block out our entire vault life? You treated me like shit.” Gigi paused, her eyes bouncing around the room, anything to avoid eye contact with him. “We treated each other like shit.” A sigh slipped out of her mouth as she remembered all the things she said about Butch and his alcoholic mother.

Butch grinned, his previous sad exterior melting away. “Yeah, you did treat me like shit Goody; almost like you were in love with me or something.”

A glare appeared on her face, but she still couldn’t help the growing on her face. “Gross, asshole. Let’s get out of here, this place smells like ass.”

Butch pushed himself off the bed, a cloud of dust filling the air as he does so. “Lead the way.”

[musette22]

Body Politics

Read on AO3

Paring: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 9.4k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Okaayyy! So it took a while, but I finally wrote the thing based on this prompt (which I unfortunately accidentally deleted, but I saved the prompt itself):"hello! I saw some pics of chris with various politicans for his new project and thought about a stucky/evanstan fic in which chris/steve wants to film a clip with a newly elected senator who turns out to be bucky/seb and chris/steve just can't deal with the hotness." 

It’s… a bit longer than I intended it to be - surprise! As always, I’ve posted it to AO3 and I’d recommend reading it there because it really is quite long (that’s what she said). Hope you enjoy the filth 💖 N.B. I know you asked for Senator Sebastian, but it seemed to fit better with the story to make him a Representative instead! Hope that’s ok!

Body Politics

Chris has done dozens of these videos by now. In fact, he did two of them just this morning. He knows the drill, he knows what he’s doing, there’s really no reason to be nervous anymore. And yet, as per usual right before he’s going in, his anxiety is peaking, causing him to feel jittery and queasy, and like he’s suddenly forgotten everything he’s supposed to know about the American political system.

God, he’s going to make a massive fool of himself. What the fuck was he thinking? Should’ve just stayed in his lane, like plenty of people told him to. He sighs at his reflection in the mirror, splashing his face with cold water in the hope it will help him focus.  

“Ready?” Mark asks him, as soon as he steps out into the hallway where Mark had been waiting for him.

“Absolutely,” Chris nods, all put on confidence and ease which he definitely isn’t feeling. “Let’s do this.”

Mark is well aware how bad Chris’s anxiety tends to get before this sort of thing, but he doesn’t comment. He knows Chris will be fine as soon as the cameras turn on and he can stop being Chris Evans, meatball and anxious mess, and start being Chris Evans, movie star and aspiring politician – or, as most people view him, real life Captain America. Chris doesn’t mind that image so much. He’s proud of what he’s done with the character and besides, Steve Rogers is a better man than he’ll ever be. Sometimes it’s a little frustrating when people seem to be more excited about meeting Cap than about what it is Chris is there to discuss with them – things that are important not only to him personally, but to the fate of the entire country. But on the flipside, his Cap persona has opened a lot of doors for him, and that makes the occasional flare of irritation more than worth it. Politicians and civil servants are just people too, after all. Well. Most of them.

Today, Chris is meeting with Democratic Representative Sebastian Stan. Stan is quite new on the Hill, and Chris was doubtful whether meeting with him would be worthwhile. But Mark had said he’d heard good things about the guy, plus he was willing to meet with them, so Chris had decided to give him a chance. Since it was all quite last minute, he hadn’t really had time to do much research on Stan and just read the notes that Mark had sent him earlier this morning. 

Chris was impressed with the guy’s resume, and despite his usual nerves he was quite looking forward to speaking with him. It was undoubtedly going to be better than interviewing some stuffy old Republican. Again. Chris is well aware that he signed up for this whole bipartisan thing himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally get the urge to throw hands when he hears someone like Ted Cruz or Dan Crenshaw spout their conservative bullshit.

Chris walks into the office that’s set up like a small film set: two simple folding chairs set up on a worn rug in front of some antique, mahogany cabinets, giving the appearance of nonchalant sophistication. Next to the chairs are some studio lights and reflectors, and two cameras, one behind each chair.  

Mark takes a seat on the far end of the room, there to observe and chime in if necessary, while Chris hikes up the knees of his dress pants before sits down on one of the folding chairs. He crosses his legs, tapping his pen against the papers resting on his knee while they wait for Representative Stan to arrive.

After a minute or two, the door behind Chris opens, and he gets up, ready to greet the Representative. He turns with a smile, which freezes on his face as he comes face to face with the guy he’s supposed to be interviewing.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

The thought flits through Chris’s mind, unbidden and very, very inappropriate, under the circumstances.

It’s true, though. Standing before him, wide smile on his face and his hand held out expectantly, is a man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the kind of red carpet that Chris frequently finds himself on, too. Chris’s body moves on autopilot, greeting Stan and shaking his hand, while his brain produces nothing but static, helplessly stuck on a litany of holy shit he’s gorgeous what do I do what do I say.

Representative Stan is dressed in a perfectly tailored, aubergine suit, his chestnut hair slicked back in a way that could’ve seemed skeevy, but instead looks sleek and sophisticated. His steel-blue eyes are bright and intelligent, but there’s a glimmer of something almost mischievous in them, too – as if Stan knows something Chris doesn’t and he may choose to waylay him any minute. Stan’s jawline and cheekbones could cut glass, and his mouth… Chris has to make a conscious effort to look away from his mouth, or this could get really awkward really fast.

It’s only when both of them have taken place on their respective folding chairs and Gino, their camera guy, asks them if they’re good to go, that Chris’s brain decides to cooperate again. Not fully, but just enough to be able to focus on the questions he knows he needs to ask. He clears his throat and plasters on a smile, hoping fervently that he at least outwardly appeared like he knew what he was doing while he was inwardly busy having a melt down over a pretty boy.

He shakes himself. It isn’t just a pretty boy. Sebastian Stan is a United States Representative. One who is now looking at him expectantly from the chair opposite, ready to answer Chris’s questions about healthcare for all, gun control and gerrymandering.

Oh, Christ.

Stealing himself, Chris nods at Gino, signaling for him to turn on the cameras. He takes a deep breath, and starts.

“Representative Stan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for sitting down with us today and for agreeing to answer some of my questions.”

“Please, call me Sebastian,” Stan replies, smiling. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Chris swallows, trying hard not to get stuck on the word pleasure or the way Sebastian’s slight New York drawl sounds coming from that beautiful mouth, and asks his first question. “Sebastian. Could you tell me, in sixty seconds, what your stance is on gun control?”

---

Representative Stan’s – Sebastian’s – answers are all incredibly thoughtful yet to the point, and with every reply Chris feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of despair. He’s pretty and he shares Chris’s opinions on basically everything? This guy is trouble. Heaps of it.

When Chris asks question four, he almost falters when he thinks he catches Sebastian looking him up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on his hands and shoulders. But surely that’s just wishful thinking? Just in case, Chris quickly checks Sebastian’s left hand: no ring. When he meets Sebastian’s eyes again, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a hint of a smirk, as if he knows exactly what Chris was doing.

Immediately, Chris feels his cheeks heat up. Not for the first time in his adult life he’s grateful for the fact that his beard covers most of his face. He clears his throat again and sits up straighter, trying to appear as if he’s listening intently to Sebastian’s next reply instead of freaking out about the possibility that Sebastian might be interested back. Just the idea makes Chris feel too hot under the lights suddenly, his collar too tight around his neck.

He holds it together relatively well for the remainder of the interview, only tripping up and staring at Sebastian’s mouth as he talks maybe two or three times, and honestly, he kind of feels like he deserves some kind of medal for that. When his final question, regarding constituencies, has been answered, Chris represses the urge to sigh in relief. As soon as the cameras turn off, he reaches up to loosen his tie just a tad, needing to get some air.

And, lo and behold, Sebastian’s gaze tracks the movement, before settling on Chris’s mouth for just a moment. A thrill of excitement runs through Chris’s body, head to toe. Is he reading this right? Fuck, he hopes he’s reading this right.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Chris says, standing up and watching Sebastian do the same. “This was all very interesting. It’ll be a valuable contribution to A Starting Point, I’m sure.”

“Not a problem,” Sebastian replies pleasantly. “It’s been very” – he pauses to lick his lips, not breaking eye contact – “enlightening.”

Oh, boy.

Chris holds out his hand again and Sebastian takes it. There’s no mistaking it now: the handshake lasts too long for it to be entirely professional and there is definitely more eye contact than necessary. Chris’s heart is beating in his throat by the time he finally pulls his hand back, daring to subtly let his fingers brush Sebastian’s wrist. He watches in satisfaction as Sebastian’s eyes darken a fraction, a spark of heat flashing through them before he smiles pleasantly again and turns around to thank Gino and Mark.

Chris internally slaps himself in the face. Jesus, this is such an inconvenient time and place to develop a crush on someone. Still, he already knows he’s helpless against Sebastian’s charm and he’ll probably spend the next few weeks or so pathetically (and unethically) watching the footage they just shot and daydreaming about all the things he wish he could’ve done to him. It’s just not fair for someone so smart and dedicated to also be this hot.

When Sebastian turns to him again, Chris valiantly pretends he’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown and gives him a smile.

“So, Chris,” Sebastian starts, pensively rubbing his chin. “Can I call you Chris?”

“Of course,” Chris hastens to assure him. “I’m just regular old Chris.” Regular old Chris? Pathetic.

“Okay then,” Sebastian replies, and his eyes are dancing. “Chris it is. So, I’m sure you’re busy, but I’d love to pick your brain on something. I wonder if you have a moment?”

Well, damn. Maybe Chris won’t just be daydreaming after all.

Chris nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Sure, yeah. No problem. You were my last interview for the day anyway, so I’ve got time.” He looks at Mark, who’s standing over by the doorway. “Are you okay going ahead without me? I’m not sure how long this will take so there’s not need to wait around for me, I guess.”

Mark, who, unlike Chris, is not an idiot, looks far too knowing. “Absolutely. You take your time, Chris. Do what needs to be done, and all that,” he grins. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, got plenty of work to be catching up with. I’ll see you later.” Turning to Sebastian, Mark adds, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Take care. Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replies, giving Mark a playful wink.

Mark turns to smirk at Chris one more time before he grabs his briefcase and heads out the door behind Gino and his assistant, leaving Chris and Sebastian by themselves. The sudden silence is a little stifling, and Chris is the first to break it.

“So…” he says, like an idiot.

Sebastian inclines his head with a smile. “So,” he replies, looking back up at Chris from under his eyelashes. “My office is a little further down the hall, if you want to follow me. It’s not much, but at least it offers better seating than a couple of folding chairs.”

Chris laughs, a little louder than the comment warrants, but he’s nervous, okay? He’s not sure where this afternoon will take him, but he sure hopes he’s not reading this wrong and Sebastian isn’t going to break out some official documents for them to discuss the moment they step into his office.

Sebastian leads the way through a maze of corridors, occasionally raising a hand in greeting while Chris tries to keep his head down. He doesn’t mind being recognized or stopped, usually, but he’d rather not have to chat to some random stranger while he’s on his way to what is potentially a really hot and really inappropriate hookup. He gets a few looks, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Sebastian’s back, and fortunately it isn’t long before Sebastian opens a door on the left hand of the corridor, gesturing Chris inside.  

It’s just a normal Capitol Hill office; not too big, all white walls and dark wooden furniture that’s seen better days but that still does the trick. The window looks out onto a lawn, high enough up to ensure no one is able to see inside when they look up on their lunchbreak walk. Sebastian’s desk is littered with papers, most of them organized into neat piles and held down by paperweights. A man after Chris’s own heart.

The door closes behind them with an audible click, and Chris stills. His instincts tell him to fill the silence with mindless chatter, but he knows he’s likely to say something embarrassing that could well end up jeopardizing this whole rendezvous. So he bites his tongue, and waits for Sebastian to speak first.

Sebastian takes his sweet time – whether because he doesn’t know what to say either or to rile him up, Chris isn’t sure.

“Take a seat,” he says eventually, gesturing to the sturdy, armless chair in the middle of the room, about two yards between it and the wooden desk near the window. Chris, starting to wonder if this is going to be just business after all, does as he’s told, expecting Sebastian to take place behind his desk.

Sebastian doesn’t. Instead, he perches on the edge of his desk, one foot on the ground and crossing his wrists on his left knee. Chris is having flashbacks to being called into the principal’s office, only much, much better.

“I really do admire your initiative and ambitions with this website,” Sebastian says, sounding genuine. “It’s always a risk for someone from the entertainment industry to venture into politics and usually I’d say it’s not a great idea.” He pauses, and Chris fights the urge to squirm in his seat. “But then, usually,” Sebastian continues, “people are after some kind of power or influence, whereas you’re concerned with making sure people are informed enough to vote, and vote wisely. I think that’s a very admirable aspiration.”

Chris sends Sebastian a grateful smile. “Thank you. A lot of people think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and I should stick to acting, but I care deeply about these issues. My career has afforded me a platform, an opportunity to make my voice heard, and I can’t not use that opportunity to try and make a difference.”

“That’s exactly it,” Sebastian agrees. “Sure, you’ve got a famous face and name, but you’re not taking advantage of it. You’re using it to do some good. And, um –” He pauses, biting his lower lip around a smile and tilting his head a little to the left, before finishing, “Well, let’s just say I think that’s very sexy of you.”

Chris barks out a surprised laugh. “Glad to hear it, Rep- Sebastian,” he corrects himself. Gathering his courage, he deliberately, slowly lets his gaze sweep Sebastian’s form, head to toe and back again. “And as it happens,” he goes on, deciding to throw caution to the wind and just go for it, “I think you’ve got many excellent qualities yourself.”

A slow smile spreads over Sebastian’s handsome face, lighting up his features and momentarily stealing Chris’s breath away.

“That so?” Sebastian looks down at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him through his eyelashes – to devastating effect. Chris is pretty sure he lets out a quiet gasp, his heart tripping over itself in his chest.

Jesus Christ, where is his cool when he needs it? Or his game, for that matter.

“I’ve gotta say,” Sebastian continues, head still cocked and fixing Chris with his gaze. “You’re not at all how I was expecting you to be.”

“How were you expecting me to be?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian gives him a considering look. “Less down to earth, less likeable, more Hollywood?”

Chris huffs a laugh. “Yeah, people usually tell me I’m a little disappointing in real life. Shorter than they were expecting, not as muscly, etcetera etcetera.”

Sebastian frowns, a little wrinkle appearing on his brow that Chris immediately wants to smooth out with his thumb.

“Oh no, I don’t think you’re disappointing at all. You’ve exceeded my expectations, if anything. I figured it probably took tons of make up to make you look as dashing as you do on screen, but if anything I think you’re more handsome in real life.” Gesturing at him, Sebastian clarifies, “The beard, the waist, the shoulders – it’s… quite something.”

“Oh,” Chris says intelligently. “Thank you.” He winces. “I mean-”

“You’re cute,” Sebastian interrupts, grinning.

“I –” Chris falters again, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, I swear I’m usually smoother than this.” He looks back up at Sebastian a little sheepishly. “You just kinda caught me off guard. I guess you surpassed my expectations, too. I wasn’t expecting a Representative too be quite so…”

“So?” Sebastian prompts, still watching him closely.

“Gorgeous,” Chris breathes.

This time, it’s Sebastian who sucks in a breath, his eyes widening just a little. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but Chris is watching him closely so he notices. Seems Sebastian isn’t quite as unaffected by all this as he first appeared. That knowledge makes something in Chris’s chest loosen, helps him regain his footing a little.

Keeping his eyes locked with Sebastian’s, Chris slowly uncrosses his legs, planting both his feet firmly on the ground. Sebastian’s eyes drop down to Chris’s lap before they flick up to his face again. His perfectly white, straight teeth – more Hollywood than Capitol Hill – sink into his plump bottom lip, right hand dropping to his waist to casually unfasten the button on his suit jacket.

For a few seconds, neither of them speaks or moves, the tension in the room almost palpable now. Chris suppresses a shiver when Sebastian slowly gets up and walks over to him with an air of a predator approaching its prey.

Unconsciously, Chris holds his breath, then lets it out again in a rush when Sebastian plants his hands on Chris’s shoulders and proceeds to straddle his thighs, sitting down squarely in Chris’s lap.

Chris makes a sound, somewhere between surprised and helplessly turned on, his hands flying up to rest on Sebastian’s waist. “Whoa, I- okay.” He swallows nervously.

“Okay?” Sebastian checks.

Chris nods, a little too quickly to be suave, but hey, this is kind of an unusual situation.

Sebastian relaxes infinitesimally, the only sign that he’s not quite as confident here as he appears to be. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over Chris’s features.

From up close, Chris can count Sebastian’s eyelashes, can see the hint of a stubble on his jawline. He’s intoxicating, and Chris doesn’t dare move an inch as he lets Sebastian study him. Finally, after he’s looked his fill, Sebastian’s gaze comes to rest on Chris’s mouth. His tongue, pink and wet, flicks out to wet his own lips, and Chris’s mouth starts to water. He aches with how much he wants to kiss that pretty, pouty mouth.

After a long, loaded moment, Sebastian leans in, his breath ghosting Chris’s lips for a second and making his heart race in anticipation, before he finally presses their mouths together.

The kiss is soft, lush, almost sweet. Chris holds his breath, his stomach flipping like he’s some kind of blushing virgin being kissed for the very first time.

Then, Sebastian makes a sound – a tiny, throaty noise that’s almost a moan but not quite, and something inside of Chris snaps. He groans, parting his lips and urging Sebastian to do the same, and then they’re kissing, hard and openmouthed. Chris slides one hand up Sebastian’s neck, burying his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sebastian moans for real this time, hands smoothing over the fabric of Chris’s suit jacket, lingering on his shoulders and arms.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters against Chris’s mouth, squeezing his biceps. “So fucking hot.”

Chris is used to being called hot, of course. It’s inescapable in his profession. But coming from Sebastian, quite probably the sexiest man on God’s green earth, the words mean a lot more than they usually do. It emboldens him enough to wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pull him closer against him, pressing their groins together briefly.

“Uh,” Sebastian hiccups, pulling back a fraction to look down at Chris. His pupils are blown already, lips reddened and spit slick, and Chris wants. He wants this man so much and he hardly even knows him.

“God, look at you,” Chris breathes, staring in something close to awe. “Pretty as a picture, sittin’ in my lap.”

Sebastian swallows, his eyelids fluttering at the compliment, and then he slowly and deliberately grinds down. Both of them groan at the friction, Chris’s own hips jerking upwards of their own accord, and Sebastian does it again, simultaneously leaning down to capture Chris’s lips in another kiss. Soon, they’ve found a sort of rhythm, their hips rolling in time with the slow, luxurious thrusts of their tongues into each other’s mouths. It’s intoxicating - the smell of Sebastian’s aftershave mingling with fresh sweat and arousal making Chris’s head swim.

Already, he’s uncomfortably hard inside his slacks, the need to rut, to seek relief, becoming almost unbearable the longer they spend slowly grinding together on that office chair.

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian hums, dragging his mouth over Chris’s cheeks before taking his earlobe between his teeth, worrying it gently. Chris makes a pitiful noise. He throws his head back automatically, inviting Sebastian to attack his exposed neck next. Licking along the tendons that stand out, Sebastian presses wet little kisses to his throat and jaw, too much and not enough at the same time. It’s like Sebastian has a map to all of Chris’s weak spots, like he’s trying to tick them off one by one until he reaches the spot marked X.

Just when Chris thinks he’s going to have to beg him for some relief, Sebastian pulls back, placing one more lush kiss on his lips before he climbs off Chris’s lap.

On instinct, Chris’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says, panting slightly. “Did I-“

But before he can finish his sentence, Sebastian has quickly taken off his suit jacket and thrown it carelessly to the side, sinking to his knees in front of him. He pushes open Chris’s legs with a hand on either knee, a question in his eyes as he looks up at him.

“I hope you’re alright with this, because I really wanna suck you off.”

Chris does absolutely not squeak. “Yeah, I’m – I’m alright with that.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian grins, feral and beautiful. Slowly, he runs his hands up Chris’s thighs until he reaches his belt, opening it quickly and efficiently. Chris lifts his hips a little so that Sebastian can pull down his slacks just enough to reveal the bulge of his erection, the tip, red and already wet, peaking out over the waistband. Sebastian let’s out a low whistle. He reaches up to press his palm to Chris’s dick through the fabric, squeezing lightly as if to get the measure of it.

Chris inhales sharply. Somehow, Sebastian looks even better from this angle than he had before, and he watches Sebastian’s every move with lidded eyes. “C’mon,” he murmurs, hoping he’s not overstepping.

Sebastian’s eyes snap up to his face, the look in his eyes is downright predatory. “You want it?” he asks, squeezing Chris again and licking his lips.

Chris can’t help but roll his eyes a little. “You know I do, Congressman.”

“Oh, that do it for you, huh?” Sebastian sounds amused, that cheeky twinkle appearing in his eyes again that gets Chris’s pulse racing.

“You do it for me,” Chris replies honestly, reaching down to card a hand through Sebastian’s hair. “I’ll admit it’s kind of hot that you’re in politics and have a lot of the same opinions as I do. But to be honest, if you’d been working at my local gardening center, I’d still have done a double take. You’re just really fucking gorgeous, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looks at him with big, round eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He swallows once, then licks his lips. Hoarsely, he asks, “How are you real?”

Before Chris has had a chance to reply, Sebastian is taking him out of his underwear, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and taking him into his mouth. Chris groans loudly, his mind blanking out for a second at the exquisite feeling of Sebastian’s hot, wet mouth around his dick.

“Jesus, fuck.”

Sebastian pulls off for a moment, just long enough to mumble, “Language,” before he reapplies himself to his task.

Blinking through the haze of pleasure, Chris stares down at him. “Did you just..?”

Sebastian just moans around him, but his eyes are laughing. Chris can’t help it – he laughs too, out loud, the sound quickly turning into another moan when Sebastian takes him deeper still. He swallows him down, all the way into the back of his throat, making himself gag a little. Pulling back to gulp in a breath, Sebastian keeps his slick, red lips wrapped around the head, gently suckling while his hand grips him with the perfect amount of pressure as he strokes along Chris’s shaft.

Chris hopes he’s not overstepping when he brings his right hand to Sebastian’s head and slides his fingers in his thick, chestnut hair, tugging at it experimentally. If the sound Sebastian makes is anything to go by, he’s more than alright with that development. Chris curls his fingers, messing up Sebastian’s perfectly styled hair and reveling in the effect it has on him, the way it seems to make him sloppier, more desperate.

Sebastian lets him fall from his mouth for a moment to lap at his shaft, before mouthing at the base of it, burying his nose in the coarse hair there. Chris isn’t sure what it is about that particular gesture that hits him, but suddenly the urgency he feels intensifies threefold. He gives Sebastian’s hair an unsubtle tug, pulling him back down, and Sebastian happily lets himself be steered, taking Chris into his mouth once more and beginning to suck him off with renewed vigor.

Sebastian’s mouth is exquisite. Chris has never felt anything quite like it, and it’s not long before he’s a panting, delirious mess. “Oh god,” he breathes, “if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last long.”

Abruptly, Sebastian stops what he’s doing, looking up at him with slightly wild, dark eyes. A gossamer strand of saliva still connects his wet, reddened lips to Chris’s cock.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words ring out loud and clear in the otherwise silent room, and Chris blows out a quick, steadying breath. He strokes Sebastian’s cheek, thumb trailing over his slightly puffy lower lip.

“You have no idea how much I want that,” Chris says regretfully. “No idea. But I wasn’t exactly anticipating this to happen today, if you know what I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up. A moment later, he’s getting to his feet and hurrying towards the built-in cabinet near the window. Chris watches in confusion as Sebastian produces a black, leather gym bag and rummages around in there for a second, reemerging with a triumphant sound.  

“I’ve got stuff.” Sebastian sounds a little breathless as he holds up a packet of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

Chris grins, raising a single eyebrow.

“I’m a single, gay man,” Sebastian explains, rolling his eyes. “I do go out occasionally, you know. Plus I used to be a boy scout. Always be prepared, and all that.”

“Hey,” Chris says, holding up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

“You totally are,” Sebastian snorts. “You should stop that and fuck me instead. Deal?”

Oh, but Chris loves this. He loves the banter, the way the extreme sexual tension of just moments ago has shifted into something more lighthearted, though still undeniably charged. It’s been a while since he’s had anything more than a one night stand, and those typically leave little room for levity, in his experience. Usually, people are so preoccupied with the fact that they’re sleeping with Chris Evans, Captain America, and so desperate to please him, that it almost becomes a little off putting.

With Sebastian, there’s none of that. Yes, Sebastian’s clearly very attracted to him, but he doesn’t hesitate to crack a joke or make a smartass remark. Chris admires that kind of self-assuredness, that independence, if you will, while he also manages to make it clear how much he wants this.

How much he wants Chris. And the feeling, Chris thinks, as he slowly lets his eyes trail up and down Sebastian’s slightly disheveled form, his entirely mutual.

Purposely lowering his voice, Chris says, “Take off your shoes, socks and pants.”

A visible shiver runs through Sebastian at Chris’s commanding tone.

Chris smiles wolfishly. “That’s what I thought. Today please,” he adds when Sebastian doesn’t move immediately, just stands there like he’s frozen.

Sebastian jerks into action, going over to the desk where he puts down the supplies before turning back to face Chris. Slowly, he starts to toe off his shoes, which he kicks aside, followed by his socks. Chris watches intently as Sebastian’s hands drop to the buttons on his slacks, unbuttoning them one by one before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling them down, past the modest swell of his ass. They fall to the floor and he steps out of them easily. Chris’s eyes glue themselves to the bulge in his dark grey briefs, where a wet spot has formed at the front. Next, he lets his gaze trail over Sebastian’s long legs, elegant and yet with firm, muscled thighs that Chris would love to feel wrapped around his waist one day. Or his head. He’s not picky.

Sebastian just stands there, letting himself be looked at, seemingly savoring the attention. Finally, he reaches up to loosen his tie, deftly pulling it off and dropping it. He starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, next, but Chris stops him after he’s opened the last one.

“That’s enough.” He goes to sit up a little straighter in his chair and beckons Sebastian closer. “Come here.”

Obeying beautifully, Sebastian walks over to him, but not before snatching the condoms and lube off the desk. He comes to stand in front of him, holding Chris’s eyes and waiting for further instructions.

“Take off your briefs.”

Sebastian lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, he slides his underwear down his legs and steps out of them. His dick isn’t too large, but it’s pretty, and makes Chris’s mouth water instantly. Reaching out, he puts his hands on Sebastian’s hips. He darts a quick glance up to his face to check if this is okay, when Sebastian just bites his lip as he looks down at him with a heated look in his slate grey eyes, Chris lowers his mouth over Sebastian’s cock.

He lets out a pleased little hum at the taste of him on his tongue, swiping it around the head to lap up the precome that’s gathered at the tip. Sebastian moans beautifully, hands resting on Chris’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Chris,” he breathes, letting his head fall backwards. Chris looks up at him through his lashes, marveling at how pretty Sebastian looks even from this unflattering angle. He bobs his head and sucks him off with relish, taking him down over and over, until Sebastian’s thighs start to tremble.

“Please.”

Chris pulls off with a wet sound. “Please what?” he asks, voice even rougher than it was moments before.

“I need –” Sebastian whimpers, hips jerking, and Chris thinks he knows exactly what he needs.

He sits back against the back rest and pats his lap. Sebastian takes the hint immediately and climbs on, straddling his thighs. His flushed, leaking cock presses against the front of Chris’s dress shirt, sure to leave a stain, but Chris couldn’t care less. He’s got a lap full of mostly naked Sebastian; he does not feel particularly worried about dry cleaning right now.

Chris allows himself a moment to take Sebastian in. With his flushed cheeks, and dark eyes, glossy with arousal, he’s breathtaking. His hair is mussed and his toned, tanned torso visible through the gap in his opened dress shirt. His cock is hard and flushed, the base surrounded by neatly trimmed pubic hair. Sebastian’s been biting his lips, it seems, because they look extra red – a little raw from the way his teeth have been worrying at them while Chris sucked him off. Needing to taste them more than he’s needed anything in a while, Chris leans in, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. He runs a hand along Sebastian’s long legs, which are remarkably smooth, like the rest of him. Sebastian balances a line between strong and elegant, and Chris is mesmerized by it.

“God, you’re stunning,” Chris rumbles, trailing a hand from the hollow of Sebastian’s neck all the way down his chest, abs, and then bypassing his cock to slide around to his backside. He grabs a handful of that small but perfectly formed ass and kneads it. Sebastian’s breath hitches, and Chris splays his hand over Sebastian’s tailbone before he deliberately dips his middle finger between his cheeks. When the tip of it brushes Sebastian’s smooth, tight hole, Sebastian gasps, his pupils dilating impossibly further until there’s barely anything left of the beautiful ocean blue of his irises. Their gazes lock while Chris gently teases at Sebastian’s hole with his finger, rubbing little circles there that don’t do a thing yet to loosen him up but that have Sebastian squirming in his lap nonetheless.

It takes approximately a minute of this before Sebastian breaks, whining in the back of his throat in a way that Chris is pretty sure is unintentional.

“What is it, baby?” The endearment is out before Chris can check himself, but the way Sebastian shivers against him shows he doesn’t exactly seem to mind it. “You need something?”

“Yes,” Sebastian breathes.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want your fingers in me,” Sebastian answers instantly, though the way his voice trembles tells Chris it’s harder for him to say it than he’s trying to make it appear. “Please.”

“Anything you need, baby,” Chris assures him, leaning in to steal a kiss.

He takes the lube from Sebastian’s clenched fist, popping open the lid and reluctantly drawing his hand back from Sebastian’s ass to coat his fingers in the stuff. They’re back a moment later though, slick fingers rubbing over Sebastian’s hole with intent, before he starts to work the tip of his forefinger slowly inside. Sebastian sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as Chris slowly slides his finger in deeper, his mind bombarding him with signals of hot, tight, wet that go straight to his already rock-hard cock.

He can’t wait to be inside Sebastian, but first, he needs to make sure he does a thorough job opening him up. The last thing Chris wants to do is hurt him. In fact, he’s already ready to fight anyone who ever hurt Sebastian in the past or is planning to in the future, and he’s rather not have to kick his own ass.

“More,” Sebastian demands. His tongue darts out to lick his own lips, and Chris’s cock twitches at the sight. Lining up a second finger next to the first, he slowly presses it in as well, carefully stretching Sebastian’s tight entrance, readying it for his cock. Just that thought alone is enough to make Chris’s brain short-circuit for a second. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris’s, his breathing picking up, but it doesn’t sound like he’s uncomfortable. So Chris doesn’t stop, instead slightly spreading his fingers to gently pry him open further.

“You’ve got – big fingers,” Sebastian pants, rocking back on them just a little.

“Sorry,” Chris says guiltily.

“No – ah. That’s, that’s really not a bad thing.”

Chris smirks. “I see. You want more?”

“Yes, please,” Sebastian breathes, the last word fading into a moan when Chris adds a third finger to the first two.

“There’s a good boy,” Chris says, kissing Sebastian’s cheek almost sweetly. “Asking for it so nicely.”

Sebastian sighs contently, melting a little further against him. Slowly, Chris starts to slide his fingers in and out while Sebastian’s fingers dig hard into Chris’s biceps. Since Chris knows sometimes the discomfort of the initial stretch can cause an erection to flag, he brings his left hand to Sebastian’s cock to stroke it tightly, just until Sebastian’s eyelids start fluttering from pleasure instead of tension.

Chris keeps him on the edge for a while, aware that he’s probably done enough to prepare him, but unable to stop staring at Sebastian, where he’s open and wanton and beautiful in his lap. It’s only when Sebastian whimpers and buries his face in Chris’s neck, breath hot and moist on his skin, that Chris remembers he’s working towards something here.

“Shhh,” he coos, rubbing Sebastian’s smooth back with his free hand. “It’s alright. I’m gonna give you what you need, okay?”

Sebastian nods shakily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Chris’s throat.

“Please,” he pleads, somewhere between sweetly and desperately, and Chris’s heart does a funny thing inside his chest. He has to kiss Sebastian again then, deep and slow and consuming, swallowing his beautiful moans as he crooks his fingers inside of him to makes him cry out softly into his mouth.

Finally, Chris makes himself pull back, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the bottom of his own shirt.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little unmoored and shaky himself. “Alright, stand up for me, honey.”

Sebastian does, climbing off Chris’s lap, and standing there on slightly unsteady legs, like a baby deer, waiting to be told what to do next.

“Take off the shirt and bend over the desk.”

It’s an order, but Chris watches Sebastian’s face carefully so see his reaction, ready to propose something else if he isn’t comfortable with this. He needn’t have worried. Sebastian instantly turns around, all but ripping off his shirt and then pushing aside some of the papers on his desk before bending over it. He keeps his legs straight, making his ass stick up in the air a bit as he presents himself for Chris’s hungry gaze.

For a moment, Chris can’t believe his luck. He came here today with a purpose; to work on his project, his brain child that he cares about a lot, and it had gone well, and that was all Chris has hoped for from today. To find himself in this position now, with the most attractive man he’s ever seen laid out before him like some sort of fata morgana, patiently waiting for Chris to fuck him stupid, that’s something he could never have anticipated. It’s better than anything he could have dreamed up.

“Jesus,” he says out loud, too caught up in his feelings to have much of a brain to mouth filter left. “I can’t believe I got this lucky. Look at you.”  

“Chris,” Sebastian says, sounding a little impatient now. Which makes sense, considering he’s naked in his office on Capitol Hill, draped over his own desk, while some actor guy with his pants open watches him from a chair.

Chris shakes himself and finally gets up. Taking off his suit jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair, and calmly turns around. He walks closer but still doesn’t touch Sebastian, just stops a few feet away. Something tells him that despite Sebastian’s impatience, he probably quite likes being on display like this. Feeling bold, Chris decides to take it a step further and test him a little.

“Show me,” he says.

Sebastian goes still. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chris repeats calmly. “Show me.”

Chris thinks he hears Sebastian murmur a curse, but then he lifts his arms and brings them to his ass, grabbing his cheeks and parting them, spreading himself open for Chris’s inspection. Chris can’t help the soft groan that escapes him at the sight. Reaching out, he smooths his palm over Sebastian’s lower back, then over the curve at the top of his ass, thumbing him open a little bit further.

“Fuck, that’s pretty.”

And it is. Sebastian’s pink hole is wet and slightly relaxed with how long Chris just spent fingering him. It makes Chris’s mouth water. He briefly entertains the thought of eating him out, but then Sebastian makes another impatient noise, wiggling his ass a little.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Do it, Chris. Just- please.”

A new wave of arousal washes through him, fast and strong, making him feel a little lightheaded.

“Okay, yes, I’m – Fuck. Just one second.” Chris doubles back for the lube, then grabs a condom and prepares himself as quickly as he can with his shaky, fumbling fingers. He positions himself behind Sebastian, his clothed thighs pressing into the back of Sebastian’s bare ones. With his left hand, he grips Sebastian’s hip as the other lines up his cock, resting the tip against his entrance.

“Please,” Sebastian repeats, sounding more desperate than ever, and then Chris is pushing forward, slowly sliding into the warm, welcoming heat of Sebastian’s body.

He grits his teeth to stop himself from moaning too loudly. Despite the thorough preparation, Chris’s brain whites out for a minute at how tight Sebastian feels around him because of his muscles clenching instinctively at the intrusion. Sebastian is making aborted little noises that could be pleasure or pain, and once Chris’s brain comes back online enough to register them, he leans down over Sebastian’s back to press a kiss to his spine as he fully bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, trying to keep his breathing even and kissing up on Sebastian some more in an attempt to distract or comfort him, whatever it is he needs.

But it must not be as bad as Chris thought, because it’s only a couple of seconds before Sebastian starts to push back against him.

“I’m good,” he says hoarsely, “you can move now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Chris sighs. He pushes himself back up to his full height and draws out a few inches, groaning at the drag of Sebastian’s inner walls around his cock before pushing back in. He means to go slow, to let Sebastian adjust, but it feels so good that he can’t help but slide in deep and stay there for a moment, drawing tight little circles with his hips that have Sebastian shuddering below him.

Unable to help himself, Chris pulls back and snaps his hips forward again forcefully, burying himself deeper into Sebastian’s welcoming heat. Judging by the sound Sebastian lets out, he does not mind. In fact, as Chris starts pumping his hips and driving into Sebastian over and over again, Sebastian starts to become louder and louder, moans and curses falling freely from his lips.

Chris adores every single sound Sebastian makes as he lays into him, but part of him is still conscious of the fact that they’re at Sebastian’s place of work. The door may be locked – at least, he hopes it is – but he doubts the room is soundproof, and he’d never forgive himself if their little tryst ended up jeopardizing Sebastian’s job or reputation in any way. Since Sebastian doesn’t respond to Chris’s pleas to keep it down, Chris doesn’t see any other option than to bend forward and put his hand over Sebastian’s mouth, muffling his cries.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely regretful. “If we’d been somewhere private I’d’ve let you be as loud as you want, sweetheart. But this is your office. We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Sebastian moans in a way that Chris thinks could mean that he in fact does want everyone to hear them, but while that may be true in the moment, Chris is pretty sure Sebastian would regret it hugely after everything was said and done and the whole wing knew of their sexcapades. So he keeps his hand where it is, even if it impedes his freedom of movement a bit.

When he feels Sebastian lick at his palm, Chris’s first thought is he’s just being a brat, but when he does it again, Chris takes the hint. He takes his hand off Sebastian’s mouth and puts his fingers to his lips. Sebastian immediately takes them into his mouth, lips closing around them as he suckles them like he’d sucked on Chris’s dick before, making content little noises.

“Oh, baby,” Chris groans, rolling his hips again as he feeds Sebastian his cock and his fingers at the same time. “You just needed something to suck on, huh? Being fucked not enough for you? You wish you had my cock in your mouth, too?”

Sebastian whines around his fingers, and Chris rewards him with an extra forceful thrust that has Sebastian scrambling for purchase on the edges of his desk.

Just so he can draw this out as long as he can, Chris takes it down a notch, slowing until he’s just leisurely sliding in and out, making his strokes long and deep and getting Sebastian to sigh in pleasure below him. Part of Chris wishes he could just stop time right here, stay suspended in this moment in time forever, buried inside in the most stunning man he’s ever had. Not that he’s had all that many men. He’s definitely bisexual, but he tends to lean towards women a little bit more – at least, he thought he did.

Being here now, with Sebastian, he genuinely can’t imagine wanting anything else ever again. Which is… something to be examined closer when he’s not balls deep, perhaps. To stop his mind from overthinking, Chris changes their positions, pulling his fingers from Sebastian’s mouth and ignoring his protests. He pulls him upright by the shoulders, plastering his clothed chest to Sebastian’s naked back.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, lifting his hands to grab at the arm that Chris wraps around his chest.

Chris buries his face in Sebastian’s neck, dragging his lips and beard over the sensitive skin until Sebastian is squirming against him. Chris groans in Sebastian’s ear, tongue darting out to lick around the shell.

“You feel so good around me, sugar,” he praises, free hand dropping down to press Sebastian’s leaking erection against his belly. “You feeling good, too?”

Sebastian shudders against him, clearly torn between whether to press back or push forward into Chris’s hand. “Please, please, can I-”

Chris hums, shaking his head. “Sorry, honey. Not yet.” He slides his hand down from Sebastian’s clavicle to his pectoral, flicking experimentally at his left nipple with his thumb.

“No, no, unnghh,” Sebastian moans, letting his head fall back against Chris’s shoulders.

“Ohh,” Chris chuckles, charmed. “Sensitive, huh? How’s it feel when I touch ‘em? Feel good?” Not waiting for Sebastian’s reply, Chris takes the hard little nub between his thumb and forefinger and tweaks it lightly.

“Oh fuck,” Sebastian curses, jolting like he’s electrocuted, before panting, “Do that again.”

Chris doesn’t have it in him to deny Sebastian anything right now, so he repeats the movement and tries not to come on the spot from the way Sebastian’s ass tightens around him when he does. In his experience, most guys’ nipples aren’t all that sensitive, but from Sebastian’s reactions, is sure seems like he’s a nipple kinda guy. Which works out perfectly, because Chris is too. He’s already dying to suck on them sometime, scrape his beard over them, worry them between his teeth and find out how far he can work Sebastian up just from playing with his pretty nipples.

When Sebastian whimpers and sighs, yes, please, yes, Chris realizes he’s said all that out loud. And even though this might just be sex-drunk ramblings, Chris’s heart leaps at the implication that there might be a next time.

Keeping up a steady pace, Chris continues to fuck into Sebastian from behind while he rubs and pinches at his chest. He relishes the high-pitched noises that fall from Sebastian’s lips seemingly without conscious thought: he’s lost in it, just like Chris is lost in him, and it feels so fucking good.

Finally, when he feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, Chris almost reluctantly pushes Sebastian away from him, down onto the table. He’s loath to let go of him, would much rather keep him close, but he’s conscious that he’s not hitting the spot in that position, and he wants to make this as good for Sebastian as he possibly can.

With a hand on his lower back, Chris presses Sebastian down as he starts to finally give it to him properly, pulling almost all the way out on every stroke before plunging back in. He chances a look down, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Sebastian’s hole, which hungrily draws him in over and over again. There’s something almost obscene about the fact that Chris is still fully clothed, just his dick out, while Sebastian is gloriously naked, unabashed and wanton, letting himself be taken.

“Oh Jesus,” Chris pants, crazy with it, his body feeling loose and too-tight at the same time. “You’re so fucking hot, you’ve got no idea. Driving outta my fucking mind, sweetheart, Christ.”

“Harder,” Sebastian pleads, trying to muffle his cries in his own forearm. “Fuck me harder, c’mon.”

A haze comes over Chris’s brain, the only thing he can see and feel being Sebastian and the buzz in  his veins, the pleasure coiling in his gut, so close to release. He grabs Sebastian’s hips and pulls him back against him every time he fucks into him, and suddenly, Sebastian’s moans change. They become higher and breathier, littered with aborted curses, and Chris knows he’s hitting the spot.

“Like that, baby? You like it like that?” Chris doesn’t care that he probably sounds like a bad porno right now, his entire consciousness filled with the scent of arousal in the air and the slick, filthy sounds of their bodies joining mixed with obscene moans.

Sebastian isn’t much better, anyway, keeping up a near constant litany of Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, in time with his beautiful, naked body being shoved up and down the table with every forceful thrust of Chris’s hips.

“Oh god,” Sebastian gasps suddenly. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.”

“You’re – like this?” Chris asks incredulously. “You don’t need me to-?“

“I need you to keep going,” Sebastian groans. “Just like this, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris grits out. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted to. He’s so close.

Sebastian seems to finally have lost the capacity for speech altogether, the little breathless ah, ah, ah, sounds that Chris punches out of him the only thing he can manage.

“I’m guh-” Sebastian tries futilely, but he doesn’t get further than that.

“Now,” Chris orders, aiming another trust right into Sebastian’s prostate and grinding down on it, his hips flush with Sebastian’s ass. “Come for me, do it.”

And Sebastian does. He keens, body seizing up, clenching tightly around Chris’s cock. Chris’s hips stutter, wanting to keep thrusting, but it’s too much. Before Sebastian has even finished, Chris’s orgasm slams into him like a freight train. He comes with a long, drawn out moan, losing all sense of place or time as waves of pleasure wash over him, cock pulsing as he fills up the condom with his release.

Chris isn’t proud of it, but he more or less collapses onto Sebastian’s back when he starts to come down, his heaving, dress shirt-clad chest against Sebastian’s sweat-damp back. Chris presses his lips to Sebastian’s shoulder blade, panting against his skin as he catches his breath for a good few minutes.

Finally, his softening dick slips out, and Chris is forced to get up. “Give me one second,” he murmurs, looking around and spotting a box of tissues that’s fallen to the floor. He quickly removes and ties off the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it in the trashcan, along with the one he uses to clean himself. Next, he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up, before he grabs another hand full of tissues. He cleans Sebastian up carefully, mindful not to be too rough with his undoubtedly sensitive, softening cock.

“You okay?” Chris whispers, gently stroking the slight curve of Sebastian’s hip.

Sebastian just hums in reply, not showing any inclination to get up of his own accord. He seems pretty out of it, honestly, so Chris helps him up and then guides them both to sit down in the chair again. He pulls Sebastian into his lap, against his chest, the contrast between their states of dress even starker now than it was before. Somehow, Chris is a little moved by it, by how much Sebastian seems to trust him, even if he barely knows him. It makes him tighten his grip instinctively, murmuring praise and endearments into Sebastian’s hair as Sebastian’s head lolls back against Chris’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Sebastian starts to stir, blinking open his eyes and shivering a little. Chris pulls him closer still, rubbing his hands over Sebastian’s arms and legs in an attempt to warm him up a little.

“You with me again?” Chris asks quietly, lips brushing Sebastian’s ear.

Sebastian swallows, then gives a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice comes out thick, so he clears his throat. “I’m- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to let myself go quite so much.”

He sounds embarrassed, and Chris won’t stand for that.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He grabs Sebastian’s chin, turning his face so he can pull him into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, without much intent, and Sebastian hums into it. “You were perfect,” Chris praises as he pulls away. “You are perfect.”

Despite the fact that he’s been naked all this time, this is what makes Sebastian blush, and Chris watches the color appear in his cheeks with delight, chasing it with his lips and nuzzling Sebastian’s hot cheeks.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself,” Sebastian breathes. He turns into Chris further, lifting a hand to run it first through Chris’s beard and then his hair, tugging him down for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, and Chris lets himself melt into it.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when you looked at me like that, earlier,” Sebastian confesses, speaking against Chris's lips. “Never woulda thought you’d have been into guys, let alone that you’d be like this.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he means by that, because Chris understands. He never thought Sebastian would’ve been like that, either.

Chris gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I’m bisexual, but I don’t flaunt it. ‘Cause, you know – Hollywood.”

Sebastian hums. “Yeah, I do know,” he says, before adding, “Capitol Hill,” by way of explanation.

A giggle bubbles up inside of Chris that he can’t quite stop in time.

When Sebastian raises an eyebrow at him in question, Chris blurts out, “We just fucked on Capitol Hill.”

Sebastian laughs, bright and happy, resting his forehead against Chris’s. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but Chris has never been very good at keeping his feelings do himself. Before he can question it too much, he says, “So, I know it’s all backwards, but… I’d love to take you out for dinner. If – if you want.”

A sweet, fond smile spreads over Sebastian’s face. “Well, as it happens, I could really go for a burger and a beer, right about now.”

Chris groans, squeezing Sebastian’s waist. “If only you could be naked for the whole thing, and it would be perfect.”

Sebastian laughs. “Maybe on our second date. If you’re lucky.”

It Chris crosses his fingers behind Sebastian’s back, no one needs to know.

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melayneseahawk replied to your post “Its called Azelastine bc its only used Azelast resort”

*pharmacy technician hat* It's also possible that is has to do with step therapy: other drugs work, and are cheaper, so a lot of insurances won't cover azelastine until you're on record as having tried other (cheaper) stuff first

JESUS CHRIST CAPITALISM IS THE REASON I HAD A TWO MONTH SINUS INFECTION.

Sorry not yelling at you, just yelling :D Of course the insurance company wants me to buy the OTC they don’t have to pay for. Jesus CHRIST. 

dignitywhatdignity replied to your post “Its called Azelastine bc its only used Azelast resort”

My gp was just like, "Just use Flonase whenever you're congested." And it's worked wonders; I've only had one sinus infection since, as opposed to the several a year I'd had before that point.

ariadnespyns replied to your post “mishaberryreblogs replied to your post “How do you clean your...”

Azelastine is an antihistamine, where otrivin is... something else. Have you tried flonase yet? That's what we give people here in the hospital!

Sadly, Flonase sits at the very top of the “does nothing for me at all” list. Doesn’t even make my nose run. Just sits there and tastes bad. :D 

myjennieblr replied to your photoset “theambassadorposts: Signal boost 99% Invisible just did a great...”

So, this was fascinating, but i initially read "History of Consumption" and went the tuberculosis route, not the consumer goods route and was a little perplexed at how the Sears catalogue linked to pulmonary health.

HAHAHA ME TOO. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to dilute the message, but yeah my immediate thought was “the history of tuberculosis? That’s an understandable but very niche class...”

constant-instigator replied to your post “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ROOMBA??”

Oh! can we get deets on where to send the old Roombas For Science? Our poor old Rosey is ready to go to a nice farm upstate.

Oh, this wasn’t anything formal, I just asked Knotta (who is a children’s librarian) if she wanted it for anyone who was nerdy enough to want to take apart a Roomba. But you should check around with children’s libraries, STEM programs, and scout troops in your area, someone may want it. 

geekgirl76 replied to your post “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ROOMBA??”

Oh, speaking of, didn't a friend of yours do research and have a recommendation for uprights? When we got rid of the wall to wall, we switched to lighter cordless stick vacs, but we're on the third and they ALL suck. (or I guess technically, don't suck) gave up on Hoover eons ago, Bissel lost our loyalty with this last one that chokes up on ANYTHING other than the finest dust. (who puts a 80 degree corner in the throat of a wimpy stick vac?!) 

Yes! One of my co-workers wanted an efficient, cost-effective vacuum that would handle their dog’s hair decently. They went with the Dirt Devil Quick Lite. I looked at it, but I opted for the Black & Decker Airswivel Ultra because it was slightly lighter and had a longer cord. 

There are things I’m not crazy about -- to unlatch the handle (so that it tilts) you just put your foot on the vacuum and press down, and then it snaps back into place when you’re done, but it doesn’t always snap on the first try and I’m just waiting for that latch to break. It also doesn’t have any way to adjust the height of the brush, so it can be rough going on denser-weave carpets. If you have wall-to-wall carpeting I would not recommend, but I just have small area rugs and runners, and it does fine on all but one of those, and it’s pretty good on my vinyl flooring, too. It’s great at getting up dust and cat hair, and for $70 I didn’t expect a lot of bells and whistles, so on balance I’m glad I bought it. But I think it’s definitely a vacuum for someone like me, who only has 900 square feet to vacuum and most of that not carpeting.  

dreamwaffles replied to your post “How do you clean your sinuses? I'm currently suffering =(”

I tried for years to use neti pots and they never worked. Turns out I have a deviated septum.

Yep, I have a punctured septum, so it just goes in one nostril and out the other.

lacrimula-falsa replied to your post “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ROOMBA??”

@copperbadge The fact that your roomba was named MagNeato has me in stitches. XD

It gets better, it wasn’t even a Roomba -- it was a roomba-knockoff by the Neato Company, that’s why we named it MagNeato :D My original Roomba was Dalek Suck (after Dalek Sek). 

and-rugelachs replied to your post “I managed to do something to my foot in the past two days- I woke up...”

Do you know about plantar fasciitis? It causes arch pain, and I hear it can happen through running. I had it for a year (I did it through actual injury and couldn't rest it until 4 hours after, so mine was a bad case) and it sounds similar to what you're describing.

That’s what I thought this was! That’s why I ran on it, because plantar fasciitis pain usually fades with activity. It’s been suggested to me that it looks more like  peroneal tendonitis and I think that’s probably the case. Notably, I get some relief when I ice not the bottom of the foot but the back of my ankle. 

[quintessentialdreams]

Back in business!

Nic, here. New blog, new name, new me. I had to take a bit of a break from social media, hence the reason why I deleted my account and all. I actually deleted all of my personal social media and let me tell you, total improvements to my life all around. I don’t even miss it. This blog will serve as a place for me to post updates of Waves Know Shores now that my hiatus is over, but I will be fairly absent otherwise. Only coming along ever so often to check up on the beloved Quindom and eat popcorn in the background if there’s drama. Anyways, back to the main reason why I’m here- 

Here’s a teaser for Chapter 6 of Waves Know Shores! Hope you all enjoy. Full thing coming soon. 

~ “How much did we end up renting this place for, again?” I ask in amazement, eyes looking over the furnishings. That couch probably costs more than my entire place combined.

“It came up to $2,900 a month. They wanted $4,000 but I paid in cash from our joint account so they worked with us a little bit.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Yep, the couch is definitely more expensive than my place.

“Right? They’re in the process of selling it, too. Asking for a little over two million.”

“But it’s only a one bedroom?” My eyes are wide, staring at her in shock from the news. “Two million dollars in Vancouver gets you a fucking mansion.”

“It’s historic, Tee. Every place around here was like that. This is nothing but a renovated old house.”

We move through the living room, underneath the arched wall and into the kitchen, where I’m once again left with my mouth hanging wide open. The cherry wood extends into the cabinets, built with glass windows to allow the patrons to see the contents inside. The oven and gas stovetop come with a nice stainless steel overhead hood, and the large windows draw massive amounts of natural sunlight into the space. It’s beautiful, and my mind wanders to thoughts of Sara and I, cooking breakfast for each other in the morning sunlight with the windows open. I notice after my daydream that she’s leaned up against the refrigerator, staring at me with a smile on her face.

“Come on, wait until you see the bedroom.”

And that’s where I’m nearly put on my ass. The pictures didn’t do it justice.

The floor to ceiling window isn’t just taking up the space of one wall, but two walls. Overlooking the high trees separating us from our neighbors and reflecting the moving water of the pool below. The king bed rests in the middle, on a massive black panel-platform bed frame. I have to slip my shoes off to match Sara in fear of getting something on the beige carpet, or that expensive fucking circular rug in front of the bed.

“Are those track lights?” I ask my twin, who’s moved to the walk in closet to my right where she’s unzipped my suitcase and duffle bags to tuck my clothes away.

“They are, they’re all over the house.”

“I like it.” I give a smile in her direction, enjoying the way her shirt stretches over sharp shoulder blades. I grab a small remote from the glass bedside table, on what I assume will be my side since Sara’s charger is plugged up to the opposite lamp, pressing random buttons in true Tegan fashion. The oversized black curtains hanging from the sides of the windows begin moving, closing in to meet in the middle and putting Sara and I in near pitch-black.

“Oh shit, that’s what that does.” I hear her girlish laughter from the closet. “Nice.” She adds, but as I go to open them back up, the smell of her cologne invades my nostrils.

“Hold on.” She asks, close to me and whispering. “Don’t open them back up yet.”

“Sara.” I warn, but my body doesn’t show it, unable to give off the correct energy when telling her she shouldn’t touch me. “Aren’t we supposed to not be doing this?”

[askeddie-kaspbrak-blog]

((Mun: Phew finally finished it. A cute little Richie/Eddie one shot that I’ll probably write a following to. Also a warning here for disturbing sexual themes in this one. Gonna put this in a read more considering that it’s so long. Enjoy!! ))

1985

Everybody had gone back to the hotel to turn in for the night. It was a heavy blow after the death of Stan Uris. The Loser’s Club was no longer lucky seven, but a miserable six now. They were all exhausted and heart broken. They’ve had their fair share of grief and just wanted to sleep on it. Give themselves more time in the morning.

Eddie was in his own room, just blantaly fiddling with his inhaler as he sits on the edge of the bed. Sighing deep, he lets his body weight sink into the mattress. Letting his mind become static. To release himself from reality, even just a bit.

Complete isolation.

Not something he was particularly used to. His mother walking around the house back at home always gave him the reassurance that he needed to know that he was alone. The sounds of the ceilings creaking from above. The pipes clanking from the inside of the walls. The house settling down at night. It was oddly comforting. Now, …. It was complete silence. The hotel walls are thick for reasons. No sounds of human activity were present. It made him feel small and vulnerable. Like a small animal just out on an open field. Potential dangers  lurking around at any given time. The sickening feeling in the pit of stomach made him go into a cold sweat. Poor Stan. It wasn’t fair, he thought. It just wasn’t fair.

….

Hey, there, chum. Why so glum?

Eddie’s body jolted up, dropping his inhaler onto the carpet below. The sickly sweet voice that he had forgotten so long ago until he had received the call from Mike a while back. The same voice that taunted him so many times before. Of all things, why couldn’t it just stay dead? If it was even dead to begin with when they had their last encounter all those years ago. They were just kids, but now …. He’s felt even more of a coward than ever.

God, what were they going to do?

….

….

A couple of faint knocks came from the door, making Eddie jolt once more. He was going to have a heart attack by the age of forty if this keeps up.

“W-who is it?” Eddie spoke, his voice clearly nervous.

“Hey, Ed’s. It’s just me.” The person responded behind the door.

It was Richie.

“May I come in?”

A rush of relief came to Eddie. Happy to hear a voice familiar to him that was warm and welcoming if not obnoxious and what not. He got up from the bed and walked on over to the door diligently. With his eager hand turning the knob and opening the piss-colored door, Eddie’s skin ran cold.

Nobody was there.

Eddie stuck his head out of the doorway. Looking to his left and right to see nothing but darkness. Did the building lose power? Couldn’t have been if there was still light in his room. Maybe the fluorescent lights gave out. Yeah. That has to be it. Even if they seemed fine earlier ago. It’s just a coincidence. That’s all.

Before Eddie could go back inside his room and shut the door, a muffled sound was coming from the darkness on his left. It almost sounded like a raspy whisper that was getting more clearer as the seconds passed by.

Oh god no.

It would’ve been a good time to slam the door shut and hide under the covers, but he was frozen stiff. His body wouldn’t let him go unless he saw of what was lurking about beyond the dark abyss in front of him. The gurgling drowning sounds were coming from the ground. Whatever was coming was as if it was crawling to him. Slowly. It’s stomach chafing through the tough carpet. Hard enough to cause rug burns. A hand started to show into the gradiant light that was being illuminated from Eddie’s room. It looked … rotted. Skeleton clearly showing from the greyish-green flesh that was sliding off and onto the carpet. The smell of summer pollution and years of rotting flesh hit Eddie’s nose hard. He used his backhand to cover his nose from the intense stench.

“Ghh …. Gghh …….. hh ……” A figure crawled closer into the light.

It was The Leper.

Flesh completely decayed with maggots eating it away. Crawling deep into the rest of the remaining moist pus-filled meat as some of them fell off, wriggling in all directions on the carpet. Eyes were no longer intact leaving two empty black holes with more maggots inhabiting inside. The closer he was coming, the more unbearable the smell was becoming. He looked at him. The light completely shining on the corpse's face. It looked desperate. The tiny bits of flesh peeling off of his cheekbones every time the leper would slither closer.

“Let me suck your dick, kid. For a dime, I’ll suck you dry.”

Eddie stepped back, wanting to vomit. He couldn’t scream but just watch. There wasn’t anywhere that he could run.

Close the door. Close the goddamn door, Eddie.

The leper was a few inches now of grabbing Eddie’s ankle. So many diseases that he was possibly carrying. Syphilis. AIDS maybe. Everything that he didn’t want to get. If he were to grab ahold of him, it would be been over. The grotesque image of maggots crawling all over his penis. Crawling inside the foreskin spreading the diseases. His flesh falling off painfully. The faint buzzing of bugs feasting on him until there was nothing but bones. Just like The Leper.

“Suck you dry, kid. Let me taste your cock.”

A snivel escaped Eddie’s mouth with eyes burning of tears. Clenching his jaw tightly, he grabbed hold of the door and screamed.

“No!!!” He cried, slamming the door tightly and leaning against it.

He pressed his entire weight against the door, hearing quick shifting on the other side. The Leper was now scratching the door with his brittle phalanges.

“I want it, Eddie. Just for a dime. I’ll swallow you whole. Swallow every last drop.”

Eddie clasp his hands over his ears. His knees huddling very close to his chest.

“Eddddiiiieeeeeeeeee …..”

“P--Please stop. P-please go away!”

“Eddie …… Eddie ….”

“Eddie ….”

“Eddie ….?”

“Eddie!”

Richie’s voice came from the other side of the door again, but Eddie wasn’t fidgeting to answer it this time. He had only cried harder as to questioning why it keeps taunting him like this. Eddie wanted to go home. He wanted his mother.

“Hey, Ed’s! Are you alright? I heard shouting from my room and it sounded like it was coming from you. Eddie?” Richie said, his voice clearly showed concern as he knocked on the door.

“G-Go away!! J-Just go away!!” Eddie lowered his hands from his ears, trembling like a leaf.

“The hell is the matter with ya? It’s just me. Y’know, Richie? Beep Beep Richie? Eddie, c’mon, just answer the door. Please?” Richie said, almost sounded like he was begging.

“No! H-how would I know it’s really you? How would I know that i--it’s really you and not the clown or …. S-something else?” Eddie shivered, unable to say it.

“We really doin’ this right now? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie sighed, running his fingers through his hair impatiently. “Just take a good look at me and see what YOU think. I promise not to lunge at ya or whatever you think I’m POSSIBLY gonna do. A’right? Sounds like a deal?”

Extensive talking as Richie was always known for. Running his mouth going on about god knows what. But what if it was a trick again? He knew that’s what the monster was known for. To take shape into the figure you’re either familiar with or most afraid of. Bill with his brother and Beverly with her father. It was completely making Eddie question everybody and everything. What was real and what wasn’t? He should know, but in all fairness, they all don’t. They are just as scared as he is. Damn, no use just sitting around and hoping to get an answer by morning.

“Ed’s?”

“Alright, alright. Just …. Give me a second, please.” Eddie bit his lower lip, using the door to slowly lift himself up.

He turned to face the door, reluctant to touch the knob.  

Just do it. If worse comes to worse, just lock yourself in until morning. Then it’s going back home.

Taking deep breaths and mentally preparing himself, he finally opens the door but only just a couple of inches. Enough for him to see and to close it immediately if anything happens.

Richie was there. In the flesh and practically seeming to be either really confused or concerned. One or the other, he wasn’t liking of what he was seeing. It gave Eddie some reassurance that at least The Leper was gone. The hallways were back to being completely brightened up and the carpet was clean of any pieces of flesh or maggots. With that, he opened the door a little wider.

“Jesus, Eddie, what happened to ya?” Richie wanted to step closer, but knew it was best to keep his distance. “Seriously, talk to me.”

Shifting his eyes towards the door and Richie, Eddie finally gave in and opened the door for Richie to come inside. His heart was thumping out of his chest out of fear. Eddie had kept his eyes close on him which made Richie slightly nervous, but he understood why.

Eddie sat down on the edge of the bed with Richie standing right by the door. He didn’t know where to start or how to say it. Guess whatever comes to mind needs to be said.

“A few … minutes ago …. I saw the leper. C-crawling on the floor to me. S-saying such l-lewd things to me. At first I thought it was you behind the door. I heard your voice, but … when I opened the door. You weren’t there. Then, … I saw him …” Eddie said, his body trembling all over again. “His body all rotted …. M-Maggots everywhere. Oh my god.”  Eddie sighed heavily and cupped his face with both of his hands, wanting to go to sleep and forget everything.

Richie frowned, recognizing that this was very serious. As much as he would like to crack a joke to lighten up the mood, Eddie wouldn’t be too thrilled about it. He would’ve probably go off on him and possibly give him the cold shoulder for a while.

“The Leper? That crazed guy with the syphilis? Are you sure?” Richie says calmly, taking a couple cautious steps forward.

“Y-Yes I’m sure! The smell and just …. It was all too real, Richie. It was all real.” Eddie shivered, “He … wanted t--to ……… H--he …..”

“Okay, Okay. You don’t have to say anymore, Ed’s. I get it.” Richie interrupted Eddie.

Richie had to stop Eddie before he could set himself to go under an asthma attack. He was surprised that he wasn’t nearly wheezing when he was in the hallway. Perhaps he has gotten his asthma more under control in the past years that he’s seen him. Eddie always has been so strong even when he was scared. For christ sake, he had Bowers breaking his arm and shoving dirt in his mouth as a youngin’. Even faced his own mother to continue to be with his friends. That was his Eddie. Precious little Eddie.

Richie picked up Eddie’s inhaler off the floor and sat next to him, placing his free hand on his back.

“If it really helps, I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff too. But y’know, only here in Derry where anything crazy happens. More than usual anyways.” Richie softly scoffed, slightly gripping Eddie’s inhaler.

Eddie lifted his head, turning his head towards Richie.

“What did you see?”

Richie shrugged, fiddling his lower lip with his canines.

“Just things.”

Eddie frowned, really wanting to hear of what Richie had seen. Was it the clown? The werewolf he saw long time ago? What was it?

“Richie …..”

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s enthusiastic glow returned, pulling Eddie into a hug. “Right now, I’m worried about you.”

“Richie, please, don’t call me that. You KNOW I hate that.” Eddie groaned, shifting himself closer to Richie while gently nuzzling against the side of his neck. “Besides, I’m fine now.”

The comedian smiled, burying his nose into Eddie’s hair. The faint clean smell of hotel soap filled his nose. The nostalgic scent was also there too. It made his heart flutter. The reminder of just how much he loved Eddie. His little Eddie.

“It … didn’t hurt you, did it?” Richie whispered, huddling him closer.

Eddie hummed shaking his head.

“No, j-just really scared me. That’s all.” He said, closing his eyes.

“Good.” Richie nods, impulsively gives Eddie a peck on the head. “Do you want me to stay here with you tonight?”

Eddie’s eyes shot open, his entire face flushing into a light pink hue. Of course, Richie was far from a stranger to him. A dear friend, but it’s been so long since they’ve ever shared a room together.

Never share your bed, Eddie. You could catch their germs.

His mother’s words echoed in his head. Eddie knew it was all a lie. Al though because of the current outbreak of AIDS, it has been very difficult for him to really trust other people. It was ignorant of him to think, but it was true. Cleanliness and common sense has kept him a peaceful mind along with the pounding advice from his mother.

But just this once he can disobey the rules. Eddie needed the company tonight, just in case The Leper comes back.

“Mmm, I don’t know, Richie. Mother wouldn’t approve of that.” A little grin appears on Eddie’s face.

“Well, she isn’t here now is she?” Richie chuckles, “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Yeah. For old times sake.”

[may85]

Title: Rug Burn Character: Negan TV: The Walking Dead Warnings: SMUT! Photo/GIF credits go to the original maker/owner For @i-am-negan-trash Negan laughed, his back bending as he flicked Lucille upward, “Aren't you just the funniest little shit!?” he asked, Carl. The boy had mouthed off to him again, but he couldn't find it in him to retaliate. He straightened back up, the smile slowly melting into a “Don't fuck with me,” grin. “Now, which one of you shits can show me to Y/N Ward’s house?” When no one answered, Negan cracked his neck, “It really wouldn't do any good if I lost my cool,” he warned. Carl rolled his eye, letting out a small growl, “She's this way,” “Atta boy!” Negan followed the teenager, giddy at seeing the one woman who could sate him. They were lovers before the apocalypse and he often wondered if she had made it. When he found her at Alexandria, he couldn't believe it. Upon returning to the Sanctuary, none of his wives could scratch the itch. Only Y/N seemed to be the one that could reach it. Taking two steps at a time, he passed Carl and turned around, “Get a move on, kid. I got it from here,” “You best not hurt her,” Carl warned. Negan chuckled, “Ya got balls boy, I give ya that. Now git!” Once Carl walked away, Negan knocked and leaned against the door jam. The door opened and there she stood. Tank top, shorts and sneakers. Goddamn did she look edible! Her eyes widened, her mouth agape. Quickly she snapped her mouth shut and looked around. “Lookin’ for your boyfriend, Rick the Prick?” He asked, eyebrow raised. At that comment, the shock faded, only to be replaced with annoyance, “I'm not seeing him or anyone. Nor have a I slept with anyone, Negan,” “Good,” he grinned, “Because I missed ya,” She sighed, folding her arms. “You gonna invite me in, Y/N?” Negan licked his lips. Silently, she moved out of the way so that he could step in. Swinging Lucille in a circle as he entered her home, he saw how clean and plush the white carpeting was. “So how's it goin’ Y/N?” he asked, looking around. He turned and waited for her answer. “Just surviving,” she shrugged. He nodded, propping Lucille against the couch. He took off his jacket, then his boots and socks. The second his toes connected with carpet, he sighed, closing his eyes at the soft feel. When he reopened them, he found Y/N blushing and biting her bottom lip as she watched him. “See somethin you like, Y/N?” he smiled, perching himself on the arm of her couch. Hesitantly, she nodded, “Yeah.” Negan held a hand out to her, “C'mere, Y/N,” She went to him. The familiar feel of her skin had him wanting her more. She was shaking though. “You know I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, quietly. She swallowed, looking up at him with teary eyes, “I know you wouldn't…” “But?” “But I don't want to be kicked from the community.” “The fuck would that happen for!?” he asked, his brow bunching. “If I give in to you, I'll probably be kicked out.” “Fuck that! No, you fuckin’ won't be kicked out!” “How can you be so sure?” she asked, sighing when his arms wrapped around her waist. Negan leaned in, kissing her neck between each word, “Because, I won't let it happen,” She moaned, tilting her head farther to the side at the feel of his tongue. Her hands held on to his shoulders, her legs becoming weak at his attention. Running his nose up her neck, he inhaled her scent, “Jesus, you still smell fucking fantastic,” Holding his bearded face in her palms after his compliment, she closed the gap between them. With as quiet as the house was since Y/N lived alone, their gasps sounded like shouts in the practically bare living room. Tilting his head to the right with a slight bob, Negan reconnected their lips with lusty pulls. His hands slipped underneath her shirt, gliding up her back. He met the resistance of her bra and quickly had it unhooked, the underwire cups giving way to her bare breasts. He pulled back, slowly lifting her tank top and throwing it to the side. Next, he rid her of her loose bra. He licked his lips at the sight of her breasts moving with each breath she took. Needing to feel those soft nipples against his skin, he removed his shirt. Negan pulled Y/N between his legs, flush against his chest. They both moaned at the contact. Diving right in, Negan started at her clavicle, kissing his way down to taste a the pale flesh of her breast. Y/N threw her head back, holding Negan's head as he slowly rolled his tongue around her hardened nipple, then suckling the areola into his mouth. With a wet suck, Negan pulled his head back, her breast falling from his mouth. He cupped it, bringing it back to flick the tip of his tongue over it again. He could feel Y/N squeezing her thighs together, as she tried to find some sort of friction. While paying homage to her other breast, he popped the button on her shorts and pulled down the zipper. He wasted no time dipping his fingers into her panties. She bent forward, gripping his shoulders as his middle and index finger teased her, spreading her wetness to her clit. “Christ, Negan!” she moaned. Negan chuckled, looking up at her, “You are so damn wet, baby. I knew you missed me!” “Negan,” she warned, her hips rolling in his palm. Slowly, he pulled his fingers from her, yanking her pants down her legs. Negan stood, unbuckling and unbuttoning his pants. They fell from his waist, pooling at his bare feet. Even in the apocalypse he went commando. Y/N licked her lips making Negan tsk, “No way, baby,” he went to her, hoisting her up while dipping her backwards to lay her out on the carpet. “I'm gonna bury myself so deep in that sweet pussy, that I won't ever want to leave,” “Promises, promises,” she moaned, feeling the head of his shaft brush over her wet, lower lips. She gripped him, rubbing the helmet of his length through her wetness, then positioning him at her entrance. Negan sank into her, groaning at the heat that enveloped him. “Just like I remember,” he panted, moving in and out at a slow pace. Y/N bit her lip, softly crying out at the friction of his happy trail, “Harder,” He grinned, hiking her leg up higher to go deeper. Negan snapped his hips, slow and hard. Hard enough that Y/N was being moved against the carpet. Her breasts bounced with each deliciously hard thrust. Their skin slapped together, their sweat and fluids mixing together. Negan could feel her nearing her orgasm, her keening cries getting louder with each pound of his hard length. “Faster, Negan. Please,” she pleaded, cupping her breasts. Balling his hands into fists, he planted them at her hips, pulling his torso up slightly. The angle changed as his hips were lifted and going as fast as they could thrust. “Yes, yes! Just like that!” Y/N called out. “Come on baby, show me what I've been missing.” Her back bowed off of the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream. Negan pulled out just to his head and thrusted one last time, coming hard. He collapsed slowly on top of Y/N, his head resting on her shoulder. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies slicked with sweat. “Fuckin’ hell, Sweetheart,” Negan laughed. “Mmmmm,” she hummed, playing with the wet curls at the nape of his neck. He rolled off of her once he softened, landing on his back with a groan. Watching Y/N sit up, he hissed at the red marks on her back. “What?” she asked, turning her head at him. The second his fingers ran over the red marks, her back bowed at the sting. “Rug burn, baby,” he said, wincing at the marks. Her mouth curled into a sinister grin. Twisting her hips, she got up and straddled Negan. He was already getting hard again. Holding him up, she sank down onto his semi-erect member, nestling him inside of her. Holding her waist as she leaned down, she licked at his lips, “I'm not going to be the only one with rug burn,” Negan laughed, running his hands down to her ass, where he gave a hefty squeeze. Tagging: @thedeadmost @krissy25 @fancybubble @superprincesspea @cherieann-2001 @darshaya @ladylorelitany @ali-pennell @wadeyourebarelyalive @fangirlindenial @negans-dirty-girl @smuttwd @justacaliforniandreamer @piilow-talk @pan-and-proud-writes @memphisgirl1977 @5sos1dsex @deviousginga @strangersangel9 @mogaruke @crzcorgi @siobhan-elizabeth @thecynicalnerd @cookiemunster10 @laureng-99 @danleto97 @miss-nori85 @rhysiecupcakes @texasgal2222 @magikat409 @jmackie1983 @sweatersandcaffeine @andillica @brandivstheworld @persephinii666 @jasoncrouse @rushernparadise @ferpyferp @neganscatleesi @lynnliciousadnan @astrangegirlsmind @kitcat44 @daintyunicorn @warriorqueen1991 @kellyn1604 @raspberrypuddle @zombeeegurl @shanaatjelove11 @arrow-dactyl @bebe-a7x1369 @sweetsweetpeach @prurose @--countrygurl-- @king-mcnaughty-negan @asshatry @lucifer-azrael @robertdowneyjr-rdj @gloria1995 @muldaaah @intimeandspacewithyou @meanandshallow @badsongwinchester @ashzombie13

[jarlet-blog1]

9. The Confrontation ~ by Jax and Scarlet

Scarlet - Scarlet stepped into the steamy shower dropping her head as the warm water cascaded down her sticky body, rinsing the smell of burnt flesh that clung to her hair. The clear water turned a light pink, becoming a darker red the longer she stood under the water. Inhaling a deep breath she knew she was in some deep shit with the SAMCRO president but as she exhaled she couldn’t help but to feel satisfaction due to the earlier events. Since finding out about Otto’s murder Scarlet hasn’t had a single moment of peace. Her mind wouldn’t shut off, it haunted her dreams. There wasn’t a moment of peace for the newest member of the SAMCRO family. That was until her dearest friend @Theridinghate asked for her help. She knew she was twisted, she knew she was not normal. All her life she knew she was different but she couldn’t relax knowing someone took her father’s life until she took a life of her own. #Robert was not the man who took Otto from Scarlet but her taking his life brought her some sort of satisfaction. Think of it as an broke addict that is fenning for a fix. Unable to sit still, your skin crawling over itself, your stomach turning, having no energy but needing to hunt for that small fix that will not fully satisfy the craving but at least it takes the edge off. Scarlet used all the hot water trying to make sure all the blood splatter was removed. She washed her hair twice but she knew from experience the stench of flesh would take about a week to be removed. She shut the water off grabbing a towel wrapping it around her body walking to the bedroom not surprised to see Gemma sitting on the chair in the corner. Scarlet hugged the towel to her dripping body not really sure what to say to the middle-aged woman whose eyes laid firmly on Scarlet taking the last drag from her marlboro. Gemma exhaled, patting out cherry from her cigarette, her eyes never leaving Scarlet. “You okay sweetheart? There is some clothes here on the bed for you to tie you over until Jax and the boys get you home.” Her eyes followed her nod to the pile of neatly folded clothes. “Thank you. You didn’t have to” Scarlet stood uncomfortable in the same spot, water dripping onto the carpet soaking around her. “I know, but you are family we take care of our own here. Listen darlin’ I know you probably have had a shit life and doing things on your own is the way you do things but not around here. We do things as a family.” With that said Gemma walked out of the room to leave Scarlet alone to dress. Scarlet was feeling out of place, she wasn’t sure anymore why she was here. Yes she wanted revenge for Otto but she never needed help with something like this before. She felt like SAMCRO’S charity case. Letting out a sigh she picked up her phone and began texting @TheRidingHate ‘Hey David, Everything is fine but, well, I know you are busy with all your shit but do you want to come visit me? I have my dad’s house you can stay at with me. I guess I miss my best friend and could use your support. Things are a lot different here.’ Sending the text Scarlet went back to getting ready waiting for the president of the MC to lecture her. She used a brush she found to run it threw her hair, stopping to look at herself in the mirror. There was a SAMCRO emblem on the wall behind her that caught her eye. She was suddenly angry with Otto. She always thought he was trying to protect her from his lifestyle. Scarlet never held the fact that he wasn’t around against him because in her dreams she would have been better off without him. Two weeks she has been here and in that time she has heard the word ‘family’ used in reference to her more than she ever has in her entire life. Everyone has welcomed her with open arms and caring hearts. Why wouldn’t Otto want this for her? Scarlet questioned his motives staring in the mirror back at herself. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched the counter top when there was a loud bang on the door. Jax’s voice echoed throughout the room drawing her back to reality. She turned wanting to yell for him to leave her alone but she knew that would be stupid on her end. Scarlet opened the door faced with Jax who had not an ounce of sympathy behind his deadly eyes. “Darlin’ We need to talk… “ Scarlet moved back has Jax walked in shutting the door. Everything about this man screamed danger, yet somehow Scarlet knew the tall rugged man that towered over her could never intentionally hurt her. “I suppose you want an explanation for the mangled body in the van?” Jax nodded once opening the right side of pocket of his kutte pulling out a pack of smokes. He offered her one but Scarlet was only a social smoker. His shoulder shrugged as he plucked one from the pack placing it between his lips. His crystal blue eyes lifted to her saying ‘start talking’ without having to actually say a thing. “When people are in trouble, when they need something of this degree to be taken care of they call me. My best friend, my only friend @theridinghate was hurt. I needed to rectify it. The guys name is #Robert. A few months ago he set David's bar on fire. A good friend of ours was almost killed. The bar was a loss, everything he built was ruined. But it wasn’t until #Robert attacked his little sister, Haley. He cornered her in an alley. He um….well he sexually assaulted her. I am sorry I used the van, I am sorry I lied and used Tig, but it needed to be done.” Scarlet watched as Jax took a long hit from him smoke leaning back against the dresser. The way he looked at her was not in a way she had ever been looked at before. Jax was looking right at her but she could see he was looking inside her. His face was hard, his body tense. She wasn’t sure what was going to drop from his lips but she did feel connected to him. They both sat in silence for a few moments. She had wondered what he was thinking but she didn’t have to wonder for long. Jax - As the grey smoke billowed out his nostrils, they began to flare slightly as he thought about Scarlet out doing shit that he should have been taking care of for her. Besides her being Otto’s daughter he couldn’t figure out why he felt such a protectiveness over her. Shit, she had only been around two weeks and already, as pissed off as he was, the more he looked at her, the more intrigued by her he was. And if the pull he felt was similar of what he had felt for Tara when he was sixteen he was in big fuckin’ trouble. “Jesus Christ Scarlet. You know who I am right? This shit gets out that my guys are just randomly helping a chick cut fuckin’ scumbags up, I’m gonna have to answer to that shit. You get what I’m sayin’? I don’t know what you did before you got here but this shit ain’t gonna fly. You come to -me-, you got me?” The way his voice raised at her made him feel like shit but on the other side of that coin he was in the middle of his own shit with Pope and the Cartel, he didn’t need this shit on top of it. His eyes, now, narrowed and dark, stayed focused on the young woman standing before him. He was ready and waiting for a fight from her. Hell if she can kill a man like that poor fucker in the van, she sure as hell was going to put up a fight with him. Scarlet - Scarlet’s eyes narrowed as Jax spoke down to her, she inhaled a hard breath as if she was trying to keep her anger from steaming out. Her eyes flickered to the SAMCRO emblem then back to Jax as he scolded her for taking care of shit for her friend but it had more to do with the mixed feelings she was currently having about Otto and the damn MC. “I don’t give a fuck who you are, I don’t care if you think because I have a pair of tits I can’t take care of myself. I have been doing this my whole life. I was 17 the first time I killed a man and I would go back and do it again and watch the life leave the eyes of every man I have ever killed!” Scarlet snapped losing her temper quicker than she had ever intended. Jax didn’t scare her, the rise of his voice only seemed to challenge her to stand her ground with him. She was sure everyone could hear them argue but she didn’t care. She was used to being on her own so what difference would it make if she got kicked out of a ‘family’ she knew all of two minutes. “Forgive me for wanting to take care of my friends the way you people all claim to do here. David is all I have and I do not need /YOU/ trying to make me feel like it was a mistake. I didn’t need the help of your fucking men. They don’t need to help me. I can do shit on my own. I never had a family, I don’t need a family and I sure the hell don’t need you trying to control me. None of you… “ She stopped mid sentence feeling a small lump grow in her throat. Scarlet swallowed dropping her eyes from Jax who was glaring at her with fury in his eyes. His stance was stiff as he watched Scarlet quickly unravel before him. “You know what. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here that much is clear.” She didn’t say another word to him she shoved past Jax flinging the door moving past him only to be caught off guard by the rest of the men standing outside the door. There was no room for her to escape between them. Jax - There was no denying the shit Scarlet dished back to him was the truth. He had no doubt she could take care of her own shit and true be told, thinking about the way she fucked up the guy that now laid in pieces in the black van made his fuckin’ cock hard. He ain’t never dealt with such a hard core woman other that his own damn mother before and behind the mask of anger, this shit was turning him on. Ignoring the fact that he had to shift his stance to relieve the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans, Jax continued to narrow his pale blue eyes in her direction. His molars began to grind in the back and the sound resignated right up through his head. There was no way the king of Charming was going to let her know it wasn’t the fact that she could take care of her shit, but the fact that she didn’t seem to need him. Otto’s voice suddenly rang out in his head. The words ‘You bed my daughter, I’ll fuckin’ kill you Jackson’ played on repeat. The moment Scarlet had walked into ™, he instantly had an attraction to her and it was hard to mask that shit. Even Chibs had began to notice the way he seemed to look out for the girl. Jax was lost in his own thoughts until Scarlet forced her way past him, his teeth clenching as she stomped herself out the door. Reaching out Jax grabbed for her upper arm to pull her back, wrapping his rough fingers around her just as she came face to face with the other members of the MC. He supposed they were a bit louder than they thought. “E’erythin’ a’right Jackie?” Chibs questions, Jax raising his hand up as he yanked Scarlet back towards the apartment. “I got it. You guys get the fuck outta here.” As he spoke he felt Scarlet fighting again his hold with no avail. Kicking the door closed once again, Jax glared down at her. He was sure just from the look in her eyes she didn’t give a fuck what he said and she wasn’t in the least scared of him. Most women would have been crying and giving in to his every demand. But but not her. “Your ass it stayin’ right here. You fuckin’ got it? I have a responsibility to your fuckin’ father and I’m going to honor that. Your your stubborn ass can just listen or we can do this day after fuckin’ day!” Scarlet - Scarlet was yanked back into the room but not without putting up a fight, all eyes of the MC were on her just as the door kicked shut almost catching her heel. She shoved Jax in the chest catching him off balance. He stumbled back knocking his shoulder into the door. His eyes seemed to widen but it was not with anger. Yes he was upset with her but there was something deeper than that. She saw truth lying deep in his clear blues, she heard true words he spat out at her but Scarlet refused to believe them for herself. She never wanted to be cared for because each time in her life that she had allowed someone in it only caused her more pain. She was set on living and dying on her own. She always knew that the shit she did was dangerous. She never lied to herself about the possibility of her going after the wrong person and having her own life slowly leaked from her body. If she was honest with herself, she had secretly hoped for it. She left, she held no real purpose. She would hardly be missed but this is all a truth Scarlet would never speak aloud instead she hid behind her anger. “Your responsibility? Fuck that. I am my own fuckin’ responsibility. Don’t throw that old man shit on me, he didn’t even take responsibility for me so don’t give me that shit Jackson!” Scarlet took another breath huffing it out turning her back to Jax having no way out of the damn apartment they stood in. She couldn’t look at him, she refused to let him see his words caused her to be weak. Scarlet wanted to believe a man like Jax would really come in and save her from herself but she knew better then this. She scooped her hair up in her hands tossing it in a messy bun ready to fight her way out if she needed to. Scarlet didn’t want to turn around and face him she was terrified if she did she would fall for him just like the rest of the Charming whores she was sure fell to his feet. She was not about to drop to her knees for no man, especially Jax Teller. She heard his footsteps while she cracked her knuckles a nervous habit she has always had. Silently she prayed the door would open and shut, that Jax would leave her alone. Of course she wouldn’t get her way, she felt him standing tall behind her shaking her head she stood her ground. “Why won’t you leave me alone, don’t you have some whore waiting to suck your small cock?” Jax - His chest heaved as she stood with her back to him, his nostrils flaring at her actions but most of all her words. She might have been used to this kind of danger but he’d be damned if she was going to get hurt, or fuck even killed on his motherfuckin watch. Stepping in behind her as her arms flailed about as she tied her hair up, he could hear the sound of her knuckles cracking. If she thought she was going to give /him/ a fight, she had another thing coming. “This how it’s gonna fuckin’ be Scarlet? Huh? Am I gonna have to put a fuckin’ Prospect on your motherfuckin ass 24/7? That what you fuckin’ want?” His words spit out in low growls, his anger getting the best of him only because she was fighting him. He was used to this shit; The arguing with Wendy, Tara..his mother for fuck sakes. And usually they backed the fuck down without being too much of a pain in his ass. But Scarlet Delaney? Hell, this one was going to be tougher to break. “My fuckin’ whores can wait. I’m dealing with something more important dammit!” Grabbing her elbow he spun her around, her dark, furious eyes meeting his without a moment of hesitation. As his eyes bore into hers Jax could see more than he knew Scarlet wanted him to see. He saw the pain of losing her old man, the pain of the life she had been dealt, the upset of never having what she now had right in front of her; a family. He would be damn sure she wasn’t going to lose herself to this shit. And most of all he was going to make sure he didn’t lose her. Scarlet - Her mind screamed beat his ass for putting his hands on her but her heart called out don’t be a fool. Scarlet watched Jax’s eyes read her like a book, her breathing was deep, calmed and even but everything on the inside was a flare of red flashing lights telling her to look away, shut it off. “Stop.” The single word was hushed. It was a plea more to god to not let her fall for this man’s shit. She has been strong alone in life she didn’t want to fall to the mercy of the man before her. Jax’s gripped loosened but did not drop. “Why? Jax why would I be important? So my father was family to you, I was not family to him it makes me nothing to you.” Scarlet was finally able to break his breathtaking gaze, eyeing the door wanting to make another break for it. He must have noticed because his hold on her begin to tighten once more. “For fucksake Jax! I am not a goddamn child, I am not the bitches you deal with daily, I am me. And I don’t need you to save me!” A rushed wave of anger flooded over her once again trying to pull away from him but he yanked her roughly against him, her body crashing against his toned chest. Scarlet instantly tried to shove him away screaming at him. “Let me go! Fuck you and your prospects I don’t need protection Teller! You don’t want to help me get the man who killed Otto fine I will do it without you. Once it’s done I’ll be gone anyway!” Jax - “Not if I have anything to say about it.” It wasn’t planned or expected but as Jax pulled Scarlet in against his firm chest, his heartbeat started to pound in his ears. So loud he couldn’t even think straight but the one thought that was prominent in his mind as he stared down at this beautiful young woman was he wanted to force her into submission; where the dangerous shit was concerned and his cock. Fuck, he knew this was a piss poor time to have pussy on the brain but he knew it was more than that, something more was drawing her to him. He had yet to figure out just was that pull was. Without any more thought he tightened his grip on her, suddenly crushing his lips to hers, waiting for the wrath as his mouth claimed hers in the least unexpected way. He assumed she would push him away, fuck possibly beat his ass for being so cocky and forward but he didn’t care. In the short weeks Scarlet had been in their lives she was wedging herself into his complicated, fucked up life and he welcomed it. Scarlet - Scarlet’s eyes widen in total shock as Jax’s lips roughly crashed against hers. She had froze in place while his lips forcefully dominated her own. The way his hands slithered around her waist pulling her against him, caging her in had Scarlet melt right into him. Her lips parted returning the needy kiss matching his hunger. Her slender fingers found themselves locked in his dirty blonde hair tugging him closer to her. Her heart raced in her chest, her core ached for his touch making her moan into the kiss in a desperate plea for his touch. “Jax, you good?” The sound of Happy knocking on the other side of the door made Scarlet shove Jax back and without warning her hand snapped back, flying forward, slapping him across the face. She wasn’t sure why she had just done that, she wasn’t sure why he had just kissed her either. Scarlet has been anything but kind to this man. Her hands flew to her mouth covering them not out of shock from her actions but because the tingle that lingered from the pleasantly unwelcomed kiss had took hold of her. She stared at him, feeling the need to move back into his arms but instead she stood back unsure how he would react. Jax - The way Scarlet moaned into the kiss was a good indication to him that he wasn’t about to get a pointy boot to his nuts. His tongue urges her pouty lips open, lapping up the warmth from within, his body slowly reacting to the way she kissed him back. He swore he could feel the thumping of her heart right against his chest as she moved closer to him and he opted against reaching for her fine ass, the one he had noticed each and every time she waltzed past. Groaning heavily, his tongue lapped at her top lip, tasting the gloss that lingered on them until the sound of a deep, masculine voice travelled through the old wooden door of the apartment. “Yeah..” The blond biker called out to his Sgt. only second before her much smaller hands fell flush to his broad chest and shoved him causing him to lose his footing and stumble back. He should have been prepared for what came next but he wasn’t. The sting of the center of her palm connecting with his left cheek sent ripples of pain through him but he barely acknowledged it. He deserved what he got, fuck, she didn’t even know him or what he was really capable of. His rough, calloused hand rubbed across the stubble that had gathered at his jaw from days of not bothering to shave. His eyes, now softer than they were before, looked over at Scarlet, hoping she now saw an apologetic expression. “Babe..fuck, I’m sorry. Just…” He forced his eyes away from her, taking a few steps to close the gap between her and the door. “..ya need anything else, grab Gemma. I’ll see ya.” The rejection was something Jax wasn’t used to, christ he was used to women mauling over him but not her. Scarlet didn’t need a man to handle her shit. And in that moment as he threw open the door and made his trek down the dim lit narrow hall, he knew she damn well didn’t need him.