#literally no reason for his shirt to be off and his belt undone other than. well .. it just needed to happen ok

[scary-monsters]

pretty-boy (derogatory) takes a break from the race 👁👁

[scuttling]

Long Time Coming

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,664 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics. Link to A03 or read below! You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.

The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.

You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.

The new suit further complicates things.

“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.

God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.

“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…

JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.

“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”

For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.

“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.

You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.

It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.

You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins. You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.

God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.

Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.

“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”

You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.

“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.

“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.

The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.

“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.

Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.

“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”

“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”

There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse. You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.

“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”

“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.

You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.

JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.

Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.

He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.

He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.

There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.

When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.

While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.

The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.

“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.

He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.

It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is. You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.

“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.

“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.

You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.

He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.

“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”

“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.

“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.

You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed. Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.

“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”

“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”

“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”

“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”

“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.

“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”

“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.

“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”

The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.

It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.

“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.

You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.

By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.

The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.

The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.

“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.

“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.

“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.

“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.

“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.

“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene. Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.

He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.

“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”

“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.

“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”

You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.

“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”

“Do you really mean that?”

You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.

Oh fucking fuck.

“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.

“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.

He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.

“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.

“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.

“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”

You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.

“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”

He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.

“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.

You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.

You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.

For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.

“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”

You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.

“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”

“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.

“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.

You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.

“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.

“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”

“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”

“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”

He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.

He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.

You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.

“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.

“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.

“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.” After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.

Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.

Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!

JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.

Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!

Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.

You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.

Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[fanfiction-inc]

Can I get Arthur Morgan

But of back story having met a sweet but wild woman let’s say they meet during Colter. She’s literally lived in the mountain and survived and ends up with the gang.

First meeting hmmm he’s just like oh what in the heck is this crazy woman and she’s so nice to me and snuggly and sweet and wtf she just decked a man flat on his ass?!

ONTO REQUEST with back story in mind.

But they end up sweet on one another And the letter from Mary comes.

Reader ends up tagging along due to reasons and she can’t stand when Mary basically is tugging at Arthur’s emotions. He’s never seen the reader looking at anyone so angrily.

But they end up having first NSFW time and Arthur is a mess of I’m not worthy snd reader is like I say you are and if I gotta F-squeak toy sound-ck it into you I will.

DONT feel the need to go with everything I said I just like to give prompts and let people fly free! Love your writing!!!!

Feel free to ask back for anything RDR!

I had so much fun writing this request! 😍 I hope you enjoy!

(AN: As always, smut is under the cut!)

You have had enough of this woman, her very presence and mannerisms sickening you as you walked along behind your love interest and his former girlfriend.

This woman was working him through every emotional attachment that was left lingering, and she tried to play on the fact they used to have a relationship to persuade him to do this or that for her.

What finally had you huffing and puffing, glare like pure daggers towards the woman with every emotion spawned from the fires of Hell, was when she tried to convince him to run away with her.

To change him into an "honest man".

A "good man".

Arthur Morgan was as good of a man as he can be!

He was kind, smart, caring, and if this woman couldn't see it then it was her loss.

Arthur lost attention at times from Mary's woeful story, catching the gaze you gave to the woman as you walked on and helped him with the task he had been asked to do.

The rage in your gaze, the balling of your fist, and how your body was tense.

He's never seen you like this, always such the charming and sweet little thing when you two are together.

All giggles and smiles, kind gazes and warm embraces.

He didn't know what to make of it, even when you two return to camp and you haven't spoken a word to him.

It wasn't his fault that Mary was like this, he had no part expect being a passenger among your anger train towards the woman who didn't deserve him.

His mind went to ways he may have upset you when with Mary.

Did he stay too close?

Did he not make it known enough that he was taken in some form of relationship with you?

He followed you back to your tent, seeing how your hands were shaking at your side, his taking yours and causing you to turn quickly and face him.

The moment those big blue puppy dog eyes met yours, you melt, calming in his presence.

God, you loved this damn man.

"(First name)-" He was cut off by your words when your form pressed in against his own, lips brushing his in a gentle lip lock.

It took him a millisecond before he was returning the kiss, hands letting yours go in exchange for coming up to cup your cheeks and hold you closer.

It was like fire between you two, the kiss heating up even without words needing to be exchanged.

He only pulled away when your fingers looped in his belt, eyes catching your own.

"(First name), darlin'... What if m'not enough for ya?" Your questioning gaze meets his own and he swallowed thickly. "I don't deserve a woman like ya. So sweet on me, stealin' m'heart each time y'smile and that damn contagious laughter.."

He stopped speaking the moment your finger placed against his lip, watching your expression shift to a far more sweet and loving demeanor.

Yet lust still stayed in those eyes that left him dreamy, lost in thought as he stares.

"Arthur Morgan, if I have t'fuck it into ya that y'deserve me, I will." He felt his cheeks warm when you began unbuckling his belt, the audible gulp sounding in the air making you pause.

"Are y'sure?" He questioned in a breathy whisper, licking his lips when your hands move up his chest, grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him against you so your lips rested against his ear.

"Absolutely, Mr. Morgan." He visibly shivered, melting when feather like kisses trailed along his jaw and down to his neck, now being hyperaware of just how you make him feel.

His hands come down to grasp your rear, soon hiking you up with a squeak from your lips so your legs wrapped around his waist.

So he could grind his growing hardness against your pants covered core and let you feel what you do to him.

His fingers came to the buttons of your shirt, working to get them undone ad yours worked on his vest, letting the article fall off his form unceremoniously to the dirt below.

He catches your lips following a tilt of his head, humming in satisfaction when your shirt is off and your bare breast are exposed to the humid air of the camp.

Arthur Morgan was savoring every second of this, loving how hot and needy your form grew when he laid you on the cot and busied his mouth with a perky nipple, earning the most delicious of noises from you.

Each breathy sigh when his tongue flicked over the bud and how his teeth just barely grazed the sensitive flesh earning a hitch in breath.

It was pure music to his ears.

Soon enough it was his turn to groan, the sound a low rumble rising from his chest when your hand snaked its way into his trousers, taking him in hand.

"My God, woman. You're drivin' me wild." He huffed out, motions pausing as his eyes flutter shut and savor the slow rhythm you had set with each pump of his member.

"Isn't that the point, Mr. Morgan?" You joked sweetly, giggling when his eyes open to send you a playful look, his lips moving from your breast to kiss down your abdomen and pause at the trousers blocking him from your drenched sex.

Your hand had to pull away from the way he lowered himself, his fingers looping in the waistband of your pants and gaze flickering up for a single second.

A silent question was posed.

"Go ahead." You cooed, body shivering in pure delight at the way his gaze shifted to something more...needy.

He has waited so long to do this, and now he was gonna savor every second of it.

He reveled in the view of you once your pants were off, a verbal moan leaving his lips when he stole a lap at your core, hands moving to catch your shifting hips.

He kept his gaze locked on your own, not giving a damn who heard your lewd noises that spilled out with each suckle and lick at your sensitive bundle of nerves and needy hole.

Savoring the way your chest raised with each quickened breath and how your eyes fell half way when he found the right pace to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

Each hungry lap led you closer and closer, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging with a sweet, delicious moan as the levee broke and he was flooded with your slick, cleaning you of every drop he could.

He rose up with a chuckle, your blissed out expression making his heart flutter.

It encouraged him, made him happy to know he could make you feel so good.

His tongue darks out, licking at what was left on his lips and back of his hand wiping at his chin.

God this man looked sinful doing such.

"Sweeter than honey." He commented, grinning at the rising blush decorating your cheeks.

Your fingers grab his pants again, pulling him in for a kiss as he moved to get his shirt the rest of the way off.

His pants soon followed, now nude to you for the first time.

Of course, you've seen him from the waist up when things got too hot for multiple layers.

Bare chest exposed and slickened with sweat from whatever activity he had been doing.

Your fingers traced over the flesh, resting over his heart to feel it racing as he positioned himself between your legs, gaze seeking your own for approval once more.

"Arthur, please just fuck m'like ya mean it." You pleaded with him when the tip of his cock brushed over your slickened folds, hitting your clit and making your thighs tremble.

He gave a smirk at your words, hips moving so he could sheath his length within you.

He's slow, savoring the way your core accepts every inch of his shaft until his hips are against your own and face pressed against your neck, delivering tender kisses to aid in the process of you adjusting to him.

You're like a well oiled machine, moving in sync to advance the process.

Breaths shared between open mouthed kisses and noises silenced by the other, excluding the wet, skin hitting skin noises that begin to overtake the tent.

Raw, needy, he fucks you like a man desperate to never lose you, to never be without you in his life.

Each pump brings him closer and closer to the edge, just like the feelings building like wildfire in your core.

"Arthur!" Your tone is breathy when it reaches his ears, the only warning besides the sudden clamp of your walls around him and the new octave your tone takes to your release.

He groaned out when he finished within you, your walls stealing everything he has and weight resting on his arms as he tries to combat the high and not crush you.

"I told ya y'drive me wild." He chuckled out, breathless and moving to his side, bringing you with him so he stays buried inside you for the time being.

"Do y'still feel unworthy of me, Arthur?" You questioned gently, fingers tracing designs along his chest, head resting against his shoulder.

"No, all because ya reassured me." He admits, kissing the top of your head.

"Good."

RDR2 TAG LIST:

@lise-soontobemarried  | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling | @the-internet-ruined-me

[auroranotsogreat]

“SHOWER?”

Warnings: SMUT! Minors don’t interact! Definitely “graphic” language.

Characters: Nanami Kento w/ f!reader ( also first person pov)

Word count: I don’t even know.

I wasn’t so sure about what took him so long to come home. He said he had a meeting with some of the other curse users from outside Japan.

When he was getting ready for the night, he teased me with his sweet tongue. And even after three hours later, I was waiting for him. I turned my face to see the clock hanging on the wall. 1.30 a.m. When would he come back home?

Just as I was thinking of, the tingle of the key inside the keyhole announced that he was at home at last. I rushed to the door to see him. He lifted his gaze up on me and said, “Hi, darling. Sorry to keep you wait.”

He was on his manners as always but i knew the greeting was cold. I greeted him back with a dry voice. “Hi yourself.”

Without giving me a quick kiss or a hug, he threw himself on the sofa. He looked very tired. It was not an ordinary meeting, apparently.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to keep my mouth shut?” I asked sincerely.

He was taken aback by my words but he just said “Let’s just be quiet for a moment.” coyly.

I nod my head and was ready to go and leave him alone, but maybe i could do something to cheer him up a little. “Do you want anything?”

He waited a second to answer. He sighed. “A shower would be great.”

“Shower?”

“Yeap.”

What the hell was yeap?

I put my hand under the stream so that i could adjust the warmth of the water for his taste. I also enjoyed the fast but calming voice of the water. It hushed my mind.

I was about to go and call him, but he was already right behind me. The buttons of his shirt were half opened, he loosened his belt and tie, his trim hair was far away from being trim. He was a mess, but a handsome one indeed.

“I prepared the shower for you. If there is anything you need, just call out to me. I will be in the bedroom.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped my foot outside the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He said hoarsely.

“I just said Kento.” I was confused.

He put his hand on my waist and pulled me closer. “I never said you should leave. We are showering together.”

“Wha-“

“Shh shh sh shh.” He began to undress me. “Leave it to me baby.” He held the hem of my tshirt and slipped it off. “Ta da!” Under his playful demeanor, he sounded nervous. “Wait, no bra?” He started to caress my right nipple. “I missed those.”

He pushed me against the wall and bent a little to reach my nipples with his mouth. As he was licking, biting, and owning my breasts, he said “I love the taste of you.” between his breaths. “You drive me insane, do you know that?”

He put my hand on his dick, leaned to my ear and said “touch it as your life depends on it.”

Without further ado, i opened the button of this pants and let them pile on to the floor. While he was caressing my breast with his one hand, he was squeezing my butt hard with his other hand. “Say that you want me.”

I moaned inside his ear.

“Say it!”

Not saying anything, i kissed his lips passionately. When his tongue found mine, i tasted his lust like i had never tasted it. “I want you.”

“Say it with my full name.” His voice was stern and shaking with desire.

“I want you, Kento Nanami. Now stop torturing me.”

“Just this once darling,” he said behind his teeth and bit my earlobe, “obey me.” He lifted me up and destroyed the clothes left on us.

With me on his lap, we got in the shower together. I gasped with the suddenness of the water felt on me.

His hand was on my clit now. With gentle strokes, he asked me “Do you love me?”

I could hear myself moaning his name. “Yes, I love you! Don’t stop!”

“Will you leave me, y/n?” He was teasing my opening with his finger senselessly. As if his only reason to touch me was to discover my body and praise every inch of it. But his voice, he was broken. What was going on?

I understood that it wasn’t just sex that we were doing now, it was something like marking his territory. Earning me. He wanted to trust me.

“I won’t leave you! I will never!”

“Good girl. Now i eat you up. You can’t cum before i say so, do you understand?” I moaned when i felt his wet lips on my pussy. It was intoxicating and irresistible. His tempo was not that fast, but his pounding was so intense, i would burst and come in his mouth. “Ken, i am about to cum!”

“Not yet, princess.” He let go off me immediately. “I want to have you before you come. I want to be inside you when you do it, understand? We’ll come together. Now, it is your turn. Lick me.”

I was dazed and confused about his changing attitude. But i knew my duty and i was more than willing to do as told.”

I started licking his neck, biting a little, i discovered his neckline and ears. He wasn’t even touching me but i was so aroused by the sound of his satisfaction.

With kisses and lickings, i found my way down to his dick and began to rub it gently. Teasing the tip of his manhood, i could hear his moans. “Suck it love.”

He ignited something inside me. I was sucking him and moaning at the same time. His arousal made me so hot for him, and i was sucking his dick like i could drink milk from him. Well, in a way...

“Oh, slow down baby. Let me feel your mouth completely.” He put his hand on my head and pushed his dick inside my mouth. He wasn’t gentle as always, but I didn’t want him to be gentle right now. I needed him as much as he needed me.

“I can’t hold any longer. I will fuck you.” He didn’t demand it, he didn’t express the thing that he would do to me. He was asking for permission.

“Fuck me Ken. I want it. I want you inside me.”

Before i finished my sentence, he was already inside. Again, he was not gentle. He was longing for this. He was longing for me. He couldn’t stand the pleasantries right now.

“You make me feel so good baby girl. I won’t allow you to leave me. Never!” He increased his pace.

“I said I don’t care about your past but i lied. I got jealous every time. Tell me, y/n, that nobody touched you the way i do. Tell me!”

“Ah! Yes, yes it’s true!” It was indeed true. I’d never felt like this before. He was the missing part of my puzzle. Literally and figuratively. When he was inside me, thrusting hastily, i never felt more complete. I didn’t need anyone or anything else. He was more than enough.

I moaned his name more and more, i said yes to his requests every time i could hear. He was driving me crazy with all his touch and intimacy.

“I can’t Ken. Please let me cum!” I was crying from arousal. He knew what he was doing to me.

“I want to memorize every second of it. Wait for me baby girl. Enjoy the feel.” He was rubbing me!

“No Ken! I can’t! Please!”

“Say you love me!”

“I love you!”

“I crave you! You hear me?! Your body and soul, is all mine!”

He touched my lips “this moans are only for me!”

He held my hand tight, “these hands, can only touch me this way!”

“And this,” he thrusted so deep that i thought he re arranged my internal organs, “is only mine to pleasure!”

“Yes, Ken please!”

“From this moment, i will love and cherish you, I won’t let anyone to touch you like this. You are mine and I am yours!”

I am yours

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I moaned his name loudly when i was trembling with pleasure. I heard his moans too. We came undone together.

He kissed my lips and pushed the loose hair strands off my face. “I can’t let you go now.”

“I don’t want you to let me go.”

He smiled at me. He looked like he was the happiest guy in the world. “We waste enough water for today.”

“Yeah.” I was still dizzy because of the pleasure i just had.

“ come on baby girl, let’s go to our room.”

And we did. We made love again and again until the sunrise. We made promises, we took oaths to each other not to leave one another.

Kento Nanami, such a prize...

[atmilliways]

For the smut prompts... either 42 or 43 for hammertooth? (if you feel like it!)

I finished this a couple weeks ago but totally spaced on posting it, oops. I guess it counts towards Rare Pair Month, but I can't decide on which prompt it fits best. Whatever. Here it is!

Prompts: 42) “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” ; 43) “Don’t you want to play with me?”

To Live For You

Magnus had always thought that falling in love was about being willing to die for someone. That’s what it had always been in movies and books, even when he got old enough for the kinds of entertainment that had sex in them too. So he’d always been sure that love wasn’t anything he was interested in, because he couldn’t imagine ever making that sacrifice for anyone.

~

“Maaaagnus. Ams you coming to beds?” Toki is sprawled across the sheets, easily taking up the entire mattress—a double, because he’d sworn up and down that a smaller bed is better for cuddling.

If it weren’t for the younger man’s complete and utter nakedness, Magnus would pretend to complain about there not being any room to join him. This sight never fails to leave him momentarily speechless.

~

Then he had almost died. Almost killed himself, in fact, but not for anyone.

Well. Maybe for himself. That instant when the veil had come off and he’d realized how massively, hugely, collossally he had fucked up had been really fucking harsh, and he hadn’t wanted to face it. Because teaming up with cannibals and murderers? Against actual, literal gods? After being so firm in his conviction that he’d had everything in hand and was totally in the right, he’d just figured there was no coming back.

~

Toki’s hands wander down his washboard abs, teasing. He wets his lips suggestively and then puts on an impressive pout. “Don’ts you wants to plays with me?”

His hands dip lower. Magnus, watching, swallows hard.

~

The thing was, he’d come back anyway—or been dragged back, really, and he’d deserved it for trying to duck out of the hard part.

Dying, it turned out, was easy. It was living that was hard.

~

“Yeah,” Magnus says, finding his voice again. It’s a touch hoarser than it was when he’d last left it. He has no idea what to do with his hands. “Yeah, I’m coming. You starting without me, sweetheart?”

Toki grins in that way he does, like Magnus has made his day just by noticing him. Of course I noticed you, Magnus thinks, have you seen you? It’s far more of a miracle that Toki wants his eyes (well, eye anyway) on him at all.

His gaze catches on the one scar on Toki’s front, the place where his knife had come out the other side. There’s a familiar clench in his gut at the sight—the one that reminds him that he doesn’t deserve this, and the only reason he gets it anyway is purely by the grace of this young god (retired).

It doesn’t send him into a downward spiral quite the way it used to, but the reminder is always there. A cautionary road marker: danger, do not swerve again.

~

And it had been very, very hard. Magnus didn’t like to think about the early days of his recovery. Between being dragged into some mess of apocalyptic prophecy and coming to terms with the horrible things he’d done, he’d been a menace to anyone who had come within snapping distance. With all the excuses stripped away, he’d stumbled through the painful process of really looking at himself and his choices.

~

“Well,” Toki says coyly, recapturing his full attention, “I thoughts if you were going to stays up longer over theres I’d just . . . gets off all by myself. . . .”

Magnus is watching his face now, but knows the exact moment Toki takes himself in hand from the way his breathing changes and eyelashes flutter. The show he’s putting on is having its intended effect; Magnus’ fingers twitch reflexively from muscle memory, and getting out of these jeans is an increasingly appealing idea.

He is not lucky. He has not earned this. But still, he has it, and he’s trying to be worthy.

~

It had taken years, and one world-wide close call with oblivion, barely averted, before Magnus dragged himself in front of Toki to offer amends. He hadn’t expected forgiveness, knowing that he didn’t deserve it—but, as his therapist had told him repeatedly until threatening finally to tattoo it on his arm just so it would finally stick, it wasn’t about deserving anything.

Saying it, apologizing, while looking into the eyes of someone he’d literally stabbed, kidnapped, and held in a basement, had been the final stab in the gut that had really, really driven it home. Everything he’d done laid out before him, laid bare in his own eyes while the ultimate figure of accountability watched him unpack it all, piece by fucking piece. Magnus had done it because he’d earned the pain of it, and afterwards Toki had touched him on the shoulder and said three words that had dragged him back to life.

I forgives you.

~

“You’re such a fucking flirt,” Magnus mutters, grinning. He’s already fumbling with his belt because, as far as he’s concerned, what Toki wants Toki gets. Once it’s undone he gets his pants, underwear, and boots off in two kicks. His shirt follows, a simple matter of shrugging out of it since the front is, as always, already undone.

Compared to Toki, Magnus is scrawny and wrinkled. He feels self-conscious about this sometimes, but Toki always tells him it ams just how bodies are, and he tries to believe him as best he can. The matching knife scar on his own chest (same knife, same hand) doesn’t bear thinking about.

He perches on the edge of the bed near Toki’s hip, birdlike, still unsure of where to put his hands. Such a shame that everywhere isn’t a practical option; Toki would like that.

Once, Toki had told him that’s what being a god had felt like: millions of hands all reaching out in unison to touch, pray, worship him, more intoxicating than all the drugs and alcohol in the world. He doesn’t talk about it often, worried that Magnus might get jealous or something, but when he does there’s this faraway expression on his face like he misses it. Maybe not enough to go back—if he even could, Magnus has no idea—but a good memory nonetheless.

“I'm here now, see?”

~

It wasn’t about what he deserved. Sometimes, what he’d done crept up on him and left him feeling so ashamed at the person he had used to be that he could have died all over again—but he didn’t.

Magnus had never thought he’d be worth the work it would take to piece himself back together until he felt like a person again. He still didn’t.

Toki always told him that he was worth it because he didn’t feel like he was but still tried anyway. For Toki.

~

“I sees you,” Toki sighs, and reaches for Magnus’ hands. He guides one to his half-hard cock, wrapping it around and guiding it to move with his, and the other to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. His breath and lips are hot against Magnus’ skin. “Wants to feels you, toos.”

“Is that so.” Magnus leans over him to steal a quick kiss, then shifts around so he isn’t reaching at a weird angle, and settles with one knee between the other man’s toned, tan legs.

He has, on other occasions, explored every inch of those legs with his hands and mouth. Other parts of him too. All of him. And he will likely do so again, many times, before the next time death comes for him. For now, Magnus follows the guidance of his lover’s hands. He watches as Toki draws his fingers into his mouth like a sucking candy, overwhelmed—first one, then a second, then a third—and sits up obediently when Toki urges him to.

“Wants you,” Toki moans again, biting his lip, urging the pace faster and giving Magnus his fingers back to prepare with.

So he does, eagerly, and before long he’s lining up, teasing against Toki’s weeping head until hands grip his hips tightly but firmly and pull him down like gravity.

Toki’s eyes are shining, starlike. “Loves you, Magnus,” he says breathlessly.

~

For Toki.

~

Magnus wonders if that really is starlight, some sort of cosmic leftover from whatever it was exactly that Dethklok went off to do as gods when they saved the world, or if it’s something else. He’d always assumed that love was about being willing to walk through fire, but maybe—and this is based both on himself and what he knows of Toki’s shitty childhood—it’s the willingness to crawl towards the light.

“I love you too.”

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER THREE

"The Gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent, and easy is the way..." - Aeneid, Virgil

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.17k words

Warning: Swearing, gun violence, car chase, full on action, cool dudes, anxiety and fluff in case you forget to blink ;)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

A/N: The amount of time I waste on making these moodboards-- (I literally coloured the black and white pictures 💀 )

<< TWO [ MASTERLIST ] FOUR >>

A moment passed.

A shallow gust of wind tickled Harrison's left ear, making him squirm. He leaned back, pulling his rolled up sleeves down and buttoning them at his wrist followed by pressing the creases on his shirt—a habit of his, a ritual he can't seem to put away even when there was a sniper aimed at his head.

Worse. All this could be a trick.

Worst. It wasn't.

All in all, time wasn't the currency, Harrison had at his disposal. Yet, he found himself shoving a penny straight into the slot machine.

He cleared his throat in a failed attempt at clearing his foggy mind, "Don't you think, you shouldn't have let go of Tom?"

The more men, the better chances of survival. It worked this way, right?

Sandhya sighed, exasperated, the flicker of the candle animating a dance on her face was seemingly more lively than her at the moment.

"We suspect, at least one of your men were involved in Clarke's murder. Also," She paused, chuckling nervously, "I won't lie, I was expecting something like this to happen but not today, not right now." She referred to the rifle aimed at them.

"I am seriously...uh... ugh..." Harrison didn't know if there were proper words in the vernacular to reply to this. All he could do was grit his teeth.

How long will this day go, anyway? What was it? The solstice? Do solstice last this long?

In his prognosis, if he had one more revelation this day, especially if it had something or anything to do with the dead man, his brain would melt and leak out of his ears. On the non-fictitious scale: He would rip off his hair or empty a loaded .44 magnum into the head of the person closest to him.

But there were his men involved in Clarke's murder? His men?

And their respectable leader, Harrison Osterfield was trapped in a life and death situation, waiting for a can of smoke to allow him to escape? And on top of that, he was taking orders from one of their enemies?

What if it was her plan? What if she killed the old man? She had inherited his fortune— it was enough of evidence for Harrison to draw that conclusion even in its scant or flimsy state. He won't be surprised if she wanted him dead as much as he wanted her to be. Or that the sniper was one of her men. Or everything happening was a part of her bigger plan.

He had a pistol tucked away in his sock, maybe he could catch her at gunpoint?

The instant he glanced at the mirror of her flapjack, she had placed between them, he discarded the idea. No avail. The sniper could easily target him.

He was fucked up.

He could hear his life ticking away.

A click of tin hitting the floor ignited the dying flame in his heart. He felt Sandhya's hand slip over his, delicate fingers tapping against the back of his hand, gliding over his square signet ring that was sitting on his middle finger for ages now, moving further away to feel his rough, wounded knuckles, he never seemed to care about.

She appeared as afraid as him. Or maybe it was part of her plan. Harrison wasn't sure if it was the mutual fear they felt or the gesture, the little ministrations she drew over the back of his hand that had managed to ease his nerves, at least for the time being. His eyes swerved up, locking with hers again, her lips forming the words he was waiting to hear.

"Now!" She screamed on the top of her voice, retracting her hand as the smoke leaked out of the can, suspending itself into the air.

Harrison leapt on cue, ducking below the table. A single shot hits the wood of the chair, he was previously sitting on.

He tried to make the best use of the blindness that the grey smoke offered, pulling the table cloth in a swift motion. The wine and the lit candles fell over the fabric, igniting a fire. The flames and the smoke rose quickly, fanned by the stiff breeze, consuming the Pinterest worthy setting in a matter of seconds as he watched Sandhya's shadowy figure hopping off from the other side of the balcony, her red heels discarded by the decorated flower pots.

In a heartbeat, the fire alarm goes off followed by another shot. The people eating in the restaurant shrieked almost simultaneously as the second shot is wasted, their screams never subsiding as they run around, knocking over things, trying to get the hell out of the building.

Amidst the mist, Harrison grabbed the railing of the balcony, hopping off it, climbing down as promptly as he could, hearing more bullets fire on the place he just abandoned.

His planned smooth landing on the freshly mowed grass goes awry as he stumbles, falling over his knee in an attempt at dodging a shot that went over right his head, almost touching his hair.

There were more gunmen. His expressions were that of horror.

He quickly rose to his feet, pulling the pistol tucked in his sock out, looking around and over his shoulder before squeezing the trigger twice.

A man dressed in the waiter's attire fell from the first floor along with his rifle, hitting the ground, crumbling next to Harrison's feet, presumably dead.

Harrison didn't check. He was sure.

Aim. He was good at it. Way too good.

He paced his way with the pistol pointed downrange, pulling the slide back with his thumb and forefinger to the street full of chaos with people running in all directions, fire alarms blaring in the background. A maroon sedan stopped abruptly in front of him, a quarter of an inch away from hitting him and transporting him directly to hell.

He opened his mouth to swear but the driver was the first to flung the door open. He had red-brown shaggy hair, probably a result of the wind and was dressed in a grey trench coat with the belt undone. His eyes were hidden behind black wraparound mirror shades, hiding most of his face.

The only thing that sparked Harrison's interest was the shotgun poorly concealed inside his coat.

"Get in." Two words, another order. The driver was definitely way older than him, he could tell by his deep, rusty voice. The driver pushed the long barrelled gun in his direction.

Harrison groaned, shoving himself into the passenger seat, accepting the new weapon, discarding the smaller gun and shutting the door behind him.

"Where is she? Where is Sandhya?" Harrison demanded, looking over at the back seat, his frown deepening into a scowl but the driver popped the car into reverse and stormed the accelerator, hard, sending him flying backwards, his back hitting against the backrest.

"She'll meet us halfway." The driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road. Harrison settled himself on the polyester seat, taking a breath before the car took a sharp turn, almost knocking his head against the window.

"Watch out!" The driver warned and Harrison peeked at the rear view mirror.

A black Escalade SUV lunged towards them at a speed higher than theirs. At least four passengers were sitting in it, two of them pushed their heads out of the windows, hands holding shotguns, aiming a shot at the vehicle he was sitting in.

They ducked down, both Harrison and the driver evading the bullets fired at them. The rear windshield blew out with a boom and a crash, spraying glass over the unoccupied backseat.

Enough.

Harrison slid his window down, ducking again when more bullets were shot at them, before aiming straight to the front tire.

He fired one— two— three shots, one followed by the other. The third one successfully hits the wheel. He watched with a triumphant grin pasted over his face as the attacker's car tumbled, crashing against the telephone pole, now motionless.

But his grin didn't last long when they crossed the intersection. Two more cars emerged from the two sides, the same model as the one he had just shot down.

The panic was real this time. He could even hear police sirens.

What the actual fuck?

"We need to hurry!" Harrison instructed, restless in his seat, watching the black SUVs and the white police cruisers, red sirens blazing on their head, racing behind them.

It was a real chase.

They zoomed through the street, feeling alternately light and heavy as they shifted in their seats, leaning right and left as the roads forked as they sailed through the busy traffic, ignoring the honking cars, even honking themselves. The buildings, streets and the traffic began to blur as they raced down, veering frantically to avoid their pursuers.

A ray of hope: Another intersection. The signal was three seconds into turning red.

Perfect.

"You can do this..." Harrison whispered like a prayer, eyes glimmering with hope, focusing more on the road than the man operating the steering he knew nothing about, except for his remarkable prowess as a getaway driver.

You can do this!

The driver panted, breathing with his mouth as he puts the car into the sixth gear, pressing the accelerator as hard as he could, flooring the sedan through the blinking signal, it turning red the exact moment they tear through it.

The pedestrian cars came to a halt upon the red signal, breaking hard, forming a chain, successfully blocking the way of both the attackers and the cops.

The driver barked out a laugh, the type falling more into the category of a chortle than an actual laugh (not that Harrison cared), taking off his shades, shoving them inside his coat, a proud smile plastered on his face as he weaves from lane to lane, disappearing under a bridge, finally stepping on to the much calmer highway.

"Kevin." The driver muttered.

"Huh?" Harrison responded with a questioning look. The guy was at least fifty-five years old, Harrison could tell now. His natural grey hair stood in contrast with his dyed copper ones, adding to his overall charm. His adventurous demeanour has previously mistaken him for being any younger.

Stretching a left hand, "My name is Kevin," the driver clarified, his light brown eyes meeting momentarily with Harrison's blue ones.

Harrison nodded, putting away his gun, wiping the sweat on his palm over his pants, before taking his hand for a brief shake.

"Harrison," He offered his own name.

"I know," Kevin replied nonchalantly, shifting his focus back to the road.

The blond turned to the other side, head leading against the headrest, glancing out of the window, watching the scenery move backwards, carefree as a lark for once, until the driver slowed the vehicle down, parking at the side, near a divergence where a 91' Accord waited for them.

He leapt out of the car. Harrison followed suit.

Taking the back seat of the switch car, alongside a woman that wasn't Sandhya, Kevin slumped into the cushions, stretching his hands over his head, shutting his eyes, probably tired (of course), taking the much needed break. The woman, on the other hand, was busy typing away on her laptop, wired headphones tucked into her ears.

Another man emerged from the passenger seat, passing Harrison on the way, his face invisible in the dim highway lights, taking the maroon sedan. Harrison replaced him, getting into the switch car, sitting on the front, the only seat that was left unoccupied.

"Welcome back." The voice on the driver's seat greeted him.

Sandhya.

Harrison snorted, choosing not to turn his neck to meet her face and rather settling on passing a mere glance at her with a side eye.

She was back to wearing her coat, raven hair whipped by the wind, loose strands sticking over her face, her makeup no longer intact and slightly greasy, except for her bold red lipstick, sitting over her smiling mouth, complimenting her smooth dusky skin.

She pulled the gear, pressing on the pedal, putting the car in motion, its engine roaring for a full minute, her right hand on the wheel, left hand ceaselessly turning the dial of the radio back and forth, till Blinding Lights echoed from the speakers. She kept the volume low, possibly because of the other woman busy on her laptop, definitely because of the man dozing off, sitting behind them. But that didn't stop her from mouthing the lyrics or sway her body with the tunes.

Harrison looked away, outside the window, head slightly out, chin pressed against one of his hands he had kept over the window edge, feeling the cold air hit his face harder when she shifted the gear, speeding off the vehicle.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his lips, the upbeat music filling his ears.

He had different plans...

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

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[barnesbabee]

‘Yes, Mr. Choi.’ || C.S [2]

Summary: Most bosses give you work, this one however got you worked up.

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: Over 1k I bet

Genre: Smut, Angst, Sadness?

A/N: Definitely doing a part three to this, I’m loving this concept lol

  [1] [2] [ꜰɪɴᴀʟ]

 It was only when you got home that night and sat down on your couch with a bottle of wine that you realized what you were doing to yourself... Seeing that man, letting him control you... It was damaging you. You’d never agreed that you would be exclusive to him, but every time you even tried to see another man, to have a date with another man it didn’t work out. 

  No one was as enticing as Mr. Choi, and you couldn’t take him off of your mind. You knew you should have backed down once you stopped trying to find someone else, someone who could replace him and give you emotional support, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it... 

  You loved to see his hungry eyes on your chest when you went to work with a blouse that would expose your breasts slightly more than usual, or the way his stare lingered when you purposely bent down to pick up something that had “slipped” from your hands. His pretty lips, his narrow eyes, his perfect, smooth skin... Every little detail from him drove you crazy. And you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than just work and sex.

  You were already attracted to this side of his, but you had to admit that sometimes you hoped for more at the end of the night. Maybe to share that whiskey with him? Maybe understand why he is the way he is? You had never tried, you knew it wasn’t ‘his thing’ and you didn’t want to disrespect that, as he’d made it very clear that work was all he really cared about. After all, wasn’t it better to have sex with someone you could bond with?

  You eventually passed out on the couch, the tiredness of the previous “activities” combined with the wine had drained every drop of energy in you.

  The phone rang, waking you up from your deep slumber. You picked it up immediately, having no idea where you were, what time it was or who was even calling.

   “Hello?” You asked.

  Your voice came out raspier and quieter than you expected, a side effect from the wine and from having literally just woken up.

   “Ms. Y/N, do you realize you are two hours late? I should have to punish this unacceptable behavior later today...”

  Mr. Choi.

  Before you could reply, you carefully processed his words. Two hours!? You stood up quickly, almost crashing on the floor immediately after, since you were quite dizzy from all the agitation and confusion and looked at the clock on the wall, and then at the state you were in: you were still in yesterday’s clothes (your panties missing) and you reeked of sex and alcohol. There was no way you could make it to work today in time to do anything... You still had to shower and fix yourself, and work was about half an hour away (if there was no traffic).

   “Uh, I’m sorry Mr. Choi, I don’t think I will be able to make it today. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier but I woke up with a horrible migraine and feeling terrible. Once again, I’m sorry for the trouble.” You lied.

   “Oh...” The disappointment in his voice from losing his late-night fuck was quite obvious, but he quickly regained his composure “Well then, I’ll expect you to be here tomorrow, be well, Ms. Y/N.”

  As soon as he hung up you threw your phone on the sofa and rubbed your hands with the palms of your hands.

  What the fuck is going on!? 

  You hushed to the bathroom, quickly removed your clothes and makeup and jumped in the shower.

  The thoughts from last night came back rushing, and the idea of having to say goodbye to your ‘relationship’ with your boss was unpleasant, although it started to seem like the best choice.

  The sooner you let go of this man, the sooner the blissful thoughts of you moaning underneath him with his hand grasped around your neck would go away.

  You’d decided that that night you’d stop by the company and have a talk to him. He always stayed overtime, whether it was to fuck you or to work, and you wanted to be mature about the situation, not handling it like a teenager fling gone wrong by texting ‘it’s over xoxo’.

  The day seemed to go by as fast as possible, and the moment you dreaded soon came. You stood in front of his door, heart beating fast in your chest as you kept thinking if this was the right choice to make... Your head said yes, but your body and heart screamed no. 

  Eventually you knocked on the dark hardwood door. You couldn’t see it, but the man inside was startled, who could it be at this hour? Everyone had gone home long ago. 

  He put down his pen and laid his glasses on his desk. The man approached the door slowly and placed his hand on the handle.

  You, who hadn't heard the familiar ‘yes’ allowing you to come in, had already turned around to leave, thinking he wasn’t there after all, but the door behind you opened.

   “Y/N? Did you change your mind?” San asked with a smirk, confused and surprised.

   The man nearly didn’t recognize you, as you weren’t in the usual office outfit he was used to seeing you in. You had no makeup on, your hair was loose and you wore a Bordeaux summer dress and a light jean jacket. 

  You turned around and gave your boss a faint smile. He stood by the door, tie undone but still attached to his neck, his shirt slightly buttoned down and hair messier than usual. You almost wished he wasn’t there...

   “I’m sorry to bother you Mr. Choi, but I needed to talk to you.”

  Your boss was taken aback with this answer, but stepped away from the door and motioned you to get in nevertheless.

   His eyes never left the hem of your dress that settled just below your ass. San wanted to take you right there and then, but he let you talk first.

   “We need to stop this.”

  Your bold request, that to him had come out of nowhere, hit him like a slap in the face. His expression immediately changed and his eyes locked with yours.

   “I’m sorry?” He asked, for a second thinking he didn’t properly understand what you had said.

   You sighed and crossed your arms. 

   “Look, this we have” you started, pointing between you and him “is fantastic. I love it. But every time I try to go out on a date, every time I try to fall for someone and move on with my life I... I can’t. I can’t because none of them makes me feel what you do.”

   “So what’s the problem then!?”

   “The problem is then what!? We just fuck for the rest of our lives!? San I wanna have kids, I want to have a life besides work, sex and nights out. This is fun now but what is it going to feel like when I’m almost forty!? You don’t start building your life at forty. At forty you already have kids and a stable relationship. And I can’t love someone and imagine a life with them when I go on a date and think how much better you are than them. We need to stop this so I can start my life, we’re not getting younger San.” 

  That had been the second time you addressed him informally. You only ever called each other by the first name when you were fighting.

  The man’s eyes fell to the ground upon realizing that you did have quite a good reason. You made sense, what you were saying made sense. He was honestly expecting a love confession, and that would have been so much easier... This had never happened to him and he was... confused. He was confused that a woman wanted to stop having sex with him, and that only made him want you more. 

  San approached you and grabbed your hips. He pulled you closer and kissed just below your ear. You didn’t stop him, and you didn’t pull away when he kissed you passionately. 

  He pulled away and gave you your signature smirk.

   “One last time?...” Mr. Choi asked, his hands traveling to your ass and pulling your crotch against his. 

  Your body melted into his, and you decided that one last time wouldn’t hurt, just a small goodbye. You nodded as you bit your lip.

  His lips attacked yours and his hands pulled the skirt of your dress up, to expose your panties. Your rolled your hips, making your womanhood grind against his already hard cock. San picked you up and sat you on his desk.

   The man pulled your panties down until they hit your ankles as you fondled with his belt and zipper. Once you had stripped him from his underwear as well, you started stroking him slowly. He moaned into the kiss and bit your bottom lip.

   You then lined the tip of his cock with your entrance, waiting for him to move. He looked down and pushed inside of you, slowly, as if appreciating the view one last time. San held your hips tightly and bit on your neck, making you moan his name. 

   “Louder.” He demanded and spanked your thigh.

  You screamed his name louder, and that only fueled him to go faster. San squeezed your thighs, and your hands found their way into the inside of his shirt, leaving red marks on his back. The both of you soon came, with loud moans and lewd words, but you didn’t let go. Neither of you wanted to let go. Moments like these what kept you both excited for what was to come later that day when you woke up.

   You had a gorgeous, trustworthy man dick you down and he had a woman willing to play along to whatever he suggested. He had taken you for granted, he knew that now, but he never thought that after a year you’d call the quits.

  Eventually you had to pull away, and he pulled out from you.

  You looked at each other with a saddened expression as you composed yourselves in front of each other for the last time.

  As you made your way to the door, you chimed “Goodbye Mr. Choi”, not even lingering for long enough to hear his response.

  You dreaded the day that was to come. You didn’t want to see him and know that he no longer owned you the way you loved oh so much. Thank God it was Friday and you only had to see him for another eight hours for the time being.

  The next day you were quite gloomy, obviously, but the same couldn’t be said about your boss.

  He had the same calm and composed expression he always had in the workplace, and oh how you wished he’d show some emotion for once. 

  The day was going as it usually did, and you became distracted by all the work and your and your co-workers by lunchtime. 

   When you came back however, you saw a scene that made your world crumble. You were setting down your bag in your desk when Mr. Choi approached a new co-worker of yours. She was a year or two older than you, thin, hair dyed blonde and dark eyes that she covered by wearing colored contacts.

   “Ms. Hyejin, could you stay for a while after work? I’d like to discuss something with you.”

   Guess it wasn’t that hard overcoming all that sadness from yesterday.

[copias-thrall]

@makeupmonsters​

He came in by the open window again (and maybe that’s why you left it open, but: shh), hands scrabbling for purchase before he hefted his skinny, noodle body by increments into your bedroom. It took him what felt like 10min, during which you’d only continued painting your toenails.

After heaving himself in, he sits at the foot of your sill, panting.

“No, no,” he wheezes, “I’m all right. No need to get up.”

“K,” you say as you spread your toes, assessing the paint job.

“Bitch. I’m gonna dick you down so good.”

You turn to him. “I can see that”

He gives you the finger. 

There’s a glass of water on your night table, and you pass it over to him; Mary drinks it down in big, greedy gulps—1/3 of it spilling out the side of his mouth and dribbling down his neck to stain the collar of his tee. He hands it back to you, empty, as he wipes off his chin with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” he says.

You shrug. “You better be sweating it out over me soon.”

He smiles with too much teeth. “That can be arranged.”

Soon enough he’s on you—and you can only hope your toe polish is dry enough—with too much tongue and all of his weight pressing into you. He’d taken off his studded, denim vest—but his belts still jab into you, so you squirm out from under him and onto your side.

“Fuck,” he says as he slobbers onto the side of your cheek, “I can’t wait to feel you around me. I’m gonna get you all dirty.”

You’re pretty sure he means in a sexy way, but with his hygiene, he could also mean literal dirt and fleas. You try not to think about it, instead wiggling around so that you’re grinding your ass against his erection.

He sucks hard on your neck as he ruts into you. “Mmm, fuck yeah. Lemme feel that sweet ass, baby.”

His hand creeps under the hem of your shirt, splaying against your stomach before it inches closer, closer to the waistband of your sleep pants. A part of you can’t wait to feel his fingers on you and to have him drawing pleasure out of you … but a bigger part can’t help but remember the dark crescents under his nails and ringing his cuticles, the dirt embedded in the whorls of his fingertips. And—as much as you want his cock—you can’t help but remember the smell between his legs that had you gagging for an entirely different reason last time.

All too soon your brain can’t help but remind you of the rumors that you’ve heard—and Mary does nothing to dissuade—of what he gets up to in graveyards.

Suddenly you’re jumping off the bed, away from his touch; his hands are still positioned as if he were still holding you, and the bulge in his jeans is obscene. He looks up at you, startled.

“What? Did I hurt you?”

“I just um,” you stutter as you edge toward the door, “I just need a second.”

You see his brows furrow, his mouth almost forming a word, before you’re fumbling with your doorknob and hightailing it to the bathroom. Once there, you sit on the toilet seat with your head in your hands. The throb between your legs is insistent—but you can’t unknow your thoughts on Mary’s … grime. He’s only a little selfish as a lover—better than you’d initially given him credit for the first night you’d taken him home in a tipsy haze—so you really were looking forward to the dicking down he was going to give you.

But … you’re sober now and: gross.

If only he … . And just like that, you have an idea.

It takes longer than you expected—and honestly you’re half certain Mary probably got bored and left—but when you shimmy back into your room in nothing but your robe, Mary’s still sprawled on your bed, nails half done in the color you’d been using: jungle red.

He looks up at you with a soft Dafuq? you think is meant to convey concern.

You lower your voice to give it a “sexy” intonation. “I prepared something special for you. How ‘bout you strip and follow me, hmm?”

A vulpine smile cracks Mary’s face, and he’s all at once trying to scramble off the bed and take off his clothes as he stumbles behind you. You back into the bathroom—your hand toying with the tie at your waist—as Mary yanks off his ripped tee by the back collar and hops out of his jeans, his clothes now a treasure trail on the floor.

By the time you’ve backed yourself into the tiled wall—your robe undone and dangerously close to parting—Mary is just down to his holy, threadbare boxer briefs. He’s too fixated on the sliver of skin that you’re showing to really be too much aware of anything else in the bathroom. He leers at you—biting his plump lower lip—as his hands go for you.

Which is when—smile firmly fixed on your face—you give him a little shove. He wobbles unsteadily, a look of confusion on his face, and you give another. This time, his arms windmill out, and he grabs onto your shower curtain to right himself … but you’re already right there, giving a jab to his chest. Pulling half the curtain off it’s hooks with a plink plink plink, the back of Mary’s knees hit the lip of the tub, and he goes splashing into the hot, soapy water filling it.

A tidal wave sloshes over the side, splatting on the floor and bathmat, as Mary lets out an ungainly GAH before the receding oceans close back up over him. Even though you’re now fully exposed, you can’t help but cackle at Mary’s situation: he’s half sprawled in the tub, his legs sticking up and out, as his half-wet hair sticks to his face, soapy rivulets dripping down his cheeks. He’s eyes flash with murderous intent … but honestly he just looks like a wet, angry cat.

“What. The. Fuck,” he spits as his hands slip slide against the bottom of the tub for purchase.

You grab his scrawny ankles and chuck them into the bathwater, sock and all, even as he squawks in protest.

“Your dick is good, Goore—but you’re not sticking anything anywhere until I’m sure you’re squeaky clean of whatever the fuck it is you get into.”

“Fuck you, get off,” he bitches as he trashes about, water going everywhere.

You grab a loofa you’d had the forethought to soap up, and start scrubbing—behind his ears as well as his neck and shoulders.

“Fuck, all right—Jesus,” he whines as he squirms away from you. “Lemme fucking do it.” He yanks the loofa away from you, never breaking his glare at you as he begins to scrub himself down. At this point his hair is wet, limp against the sides of his skull and his forehead. The remnants of his makeup are the black ring around his eyes and the white cake sticking to his hairline.

“Don’t forget—” you start as you point to his face, and he snarls at you.

“Bitch, I’m getting to it. Fuck off.”

Settling onto the toilet seat, you draw your robe back together.

Mary’s eyes follow you. “Aw, c’mon!” he whines.

You put your bare foot up on the tub lip, curling your toes over it.

“Be a good boy and clean your ass, and I’ll take the robe off.”

Mary scowls at you and crosses his arms.

“You’re an awful lotta work for a casual lay.”

You shrug unaffectedly, even though your heart is thumping.

“Then go fuck someone else. I’m not stopping you.”

You put on an air of nonchalance that you don’t feel as you as Mary stare at each other. Finally, he lets out a huff and a “whatever,” before he’s peeling off his boxers. He throws them out of the tub, and they hit the wall with a splat before they slide down to the floor in a sloshy mound.

Mary cleans himself almost shyly, and you close your eyes as you rest your head against the side of your sink. There’s some splashing around, and then he says, almost quietly,

“Ok, I’m done.”

You open your eyes and look at him, pale and naked in the now-scummy water. He’s still glaring at you, but the intensity has dimmed somewhat as he crosses his arms in front of himself. Smiling, you untie your robe, letting it pool at your feet before you remember the puddle of water. Mary’s eyes laser onto your naked skin before you’re stepping into the water.

“Um—”

“Shh,” you say, putting a finger to his lips before flicking the drain lever open with your toe. You reach past his sitting form as your fumble to turn on the shower.

“What the f—” he sputters, but you’re pulling him up and drawing him into a kiss. As the spray sputters from cold to hot over you two, you reach down to grab at Mary’s ass, bringing him flush with you.

“Yeah, ok,” he mumbles into your mouth.

Twining your fingers into the wet mess of his flat hair, you say, “If we’re only going to get dirty again, I think we should stay here.” Your hand slides to wrap around his half-hard dick, and he moans, quickly reaching down to touch you. Even as the two of you pet at each other, your one hand reaches up to grab his jaw so that he meets your eyes.

“You may be dicking me, Goore—but I’m the one in charge. And next time I expect you to be clean, or I’ll peel those digits off before you get halfway through my window. Got it?”

He swallows hard—adam’s apple bobbing—before giving you a short, curt nod, his eyes blown wide.

“Good. Now, let’s get filthy.”

[jawritter]

Red...

Warnings: Bondage, prostitution, solicited sex, spanking, language, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Hint at Oral sex, unprotected sex (Female receiving), Anal, Edging, Hint of Orgasm control, I think that’s it.

Word Count: 3258

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Reader

A/N: As always please do not copy my stuff!! All mistakes are mine!! If you want to be added to my tag list just ask!! Hope you guys like this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

*****MASTERLIST*****

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With a huff of breath, you blow your bangs out of your face that had fallen from your messy bun that was piled high on top of your head, and lean heavily against the light pole that was on the corner of the street, waiting on the bus to take you home after a twelve-hour shift. 

Your feet were tired, your back was sore, and you wanted nothing more than to fall into a bath with water as hot as you could stand it, and let it soak away all the stress of the day. 

As bad as you wanted it, that didn’t seem to be in the cards for you tonight.

You were just a waitress in one of the downtown restaurants on 6th street in Austin, Texas. A charity event that your restaurant was playing host for had put you working later than normal, and by extension, the clean up had gone on even longer than that. Long story short you had missed the bus that was supposed to bring you back to your apartment after work tonight. 

Now you were standing here, on the side of the road, late at night, waiting for the bus that wasn’t due for another 30 minutes.

The wind blew across your bare legs, and you silently cursed your boss for asking all of the waitresses to wear the stupid red cocktail dresses. You were just about to say ‘fuck it’, and take off walking towards home, having had about all of the cold night air that you could stand against the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Of course, tonight would be one of the coldest nights in Austin, Texas, that was just your luck.

Bending down you unsnap the straps of your heels, swinging the shoes from the straps on the end of your finger, determined that if you were going to walk home, you were not going to do it in those shoes, when he pulled up in a very nice looking black SUV with heavily tinted windows. Rolling down the driver's side window, his deep rumble rolled out of the car.

“How much?”

You should have been insulted, should have told him to fuck off, but there was something about his voice; deep, rough, yet smooth as honey, laced with a promise that burned deeper than any top-shelf whiskey you’d ever tasted. It was enticing and dangerous, all at the same time. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

This was a dangerous game, you knew that. 

All you could see of this mystery man from where you were standing was the outline of his silhouette, his ball cap that covered his head, the strong profile of his face in the dark SUV, and a muscular arm that was draped over the steering wheel lazily. 

The deep strum in his voice pulled you to the car window, against your better judgment, and you decided that you would play this dangerous game. What was life if you didn’t live a little?

You’d always lived a boring, vanilla life, one that you had almost nothing to show for, and honestly as down as you were feeling lately, even if he was a serial killer at this point you felt like you didn’t have a whole lot to lose, and you certainly didn’t feel like you’d be missed all that much.

“Depends,” you swing your hips as you made your way up to the car like you’d seen the whores do in movies before. “What do you have in mind?”

As soon as you stepped off the curb you noticed his wedding ring that was shining in the dim street light coming through his windshield. For a moment you almost stepped back, for just a second you started to do what you should have done in the beginning, and tell him to fuck off.

But there was just something about him. 

A deep throaty chuckle left him, bordering on sinister, and amused as he watched from his dark seat as you made your way to his car window. 

The dome light switched on just long enough for you to see the driver, and if you could have died right there on that curb, you would have. Sitting in the SUV in front of you, was none other than Jensen Ackles.

Switching it off he laughed in earnest at your shocked face. 

“How about three grand, and I keep you for the night?” 

You had to make a decision right there and then. 

Yes he thought you were nothing but a whore, yes he was married, yes this was just a one-night thing, but you did have bills that needed to be paid. Three thousand might get you a car good enough to buy you a ride dependable enough that you could get to work and back, and you were damn tired of riding the bus. Besides, sex with Jensen Ackles is something most people would give their right arm and a leg to do, so what the hell were you standing here debating for?

“Well?” he asked you, bringing you back to reality.

“Okay, Deal.” 

He gave you a smirk that would have made you melt if you didn’t have to keep this act up because if he found out you weren’t a prostitute the deal would be off, and you knew that.

“Get in,” he said, and you heard the automatic doors unlock as he rolled up the window. 

You walked around the car to get into the passenger side, your brain was screaming at you this was stupid, this was dangerous, that you should run away. This man was married, famous, and could be a total fucking nut job, but you also knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you knew he could definitely put his money where his mouth was, and you really could use that money.

Opening the door you climbed into the passenger side of the warm SUV. The first thing that hit you was the smell of his expensive cologne, and something that was just uniquely him. He shamelessly eyed you up and down, running his tongue across his lower lip before pulling it between his teeth as he eyed his purchase for the night.

A deep shiver involuntarily rolled through your body, down your spin, and landed deep in your core. If this was a mistake, it was going to be the best mistake of your life, and if he killed your tonight, with the promise that waited on those perfect, pink lips, you were pretty sure you’d die happy.

Throwing the car into drive, he drove the two of you to the Days Inn Hotel just outside of downtown Austin, bringing the car to a stop right in front of room 102. 

Looking you over he tilted his head to the side, licking those damn lips again, mischief promised in those sparkling green eyes that were quickly becoming lust blown. 

“Okay sweetheart, before we get started I’m gonna need you to sign that NDA in the console there. I can’t have you going around telling everyone about our little night together.” Jensen said, nodding toward the paper you hadn’t noticed sitting there before. 

Reaching out and grabbing the paper you looked over it briefly before signing it. It was the equivalent of a gag order. You could never talk about anything that happens between the two of you tonight, you could never tell anyone about what happened between the two of you while you were here, you couldn’t take pictures of Jensen, and you could never tell anyone anything that was discussed between you while you were together.

You shoved down the fear that ate a little at your subconscious, you watched silently as he tucked the paperwork into the door of his truck out of your sight. 

This is it, there was no going back now.

Leaning over to the passenger side the SUV his lips brushed over yours in a kiss softer than you expect it to be when he finally started to touch you, his hand slid up your inner thigh, stopping at your pantie line, calloused fingers trailing softly over the sensitive skin there. You inwardly thanked God that you had a thong on tonight, otherwise this may not have been very believable. 

I mean what prostitute worth their salt wore ‘sensible’ underwear on the job?

His tongue invaded your mouth, rolling over yours with ease before pulling back and smirking at you, opening his car door, going to the room that you would be using for the night, and unlocking it as you made your way to him. 

Swinging the door open Jensen let you inside the dark hotel room before locking the door behind you, then pinned your body against the wall with his. You could already feel his excitement growing in his tight jeans as his teeth grazed your neck before biting down hard on your pulse point.

A low moan falls from your lips, and your hands travel up to his broad shoulder. He just smirks as he lets your hands explore his body through his thin, black t-shirt.

“Safeword, baby girl? No reason why you shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I’m going to,” he asked you, his voice deeper, and more rugged than it was when he first pulled the car up next to you on the curb, and arousal was already pooling between your thighs at the sound of it. 

You had never been asked for a safeword before, and your heart rate quicked in your chest.

“Red?”

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

One hour, and three orgasms later you found yourself tied to the bedpost with Jensen’s belt, your vision slowly coming back to you from your third earth-shattering orgasm of the night. 

You could hear Jensen moving around the bed, and felt the bed dip with his weight as he situated himself between your legs, running his hand up the oversensitive skin of your belly. It seemed like after the third orgasm everything, every part of you, was hypersensitive, and you couldn’t help the little whimpers that fell from your throat as his mouth latched onto your nipple again, swirling his tongue, teasing, nipping. 

He’d done things to you that you couldn’t even explain. He started by eating you out until you were literally screaming for him, begging him to let you cum, then he worked you over with just his fingers, the last time he’d made you cum undone by rimming you, nothing else, just the constant teasing of his warm tongue swirling around your tight hole, making you virtually cum untouched, all while being tied to the headboard, completely unable to move your arms.

You thought when men paid for sex it was all about them, but Jensen seemed to be enjoying the power he had over you, what he could do to your body. 

When he saw that you had fully come back to him he reached up and moved the hair away from your sweaty forehead so he could see you better. You could feel his thick length dripping precum down on your leg as the tip pressed against your inner thigh with each movement of his body.

Your pussy walls contract around nothing, begging for him to fill you up, wanting nothing more than to have him buried deep inside of you.

“How are we doing, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to stop? Are we still green? Such a good girl, taking what I give you without even so much as a whimper. Bet your gonna be able to take my dick so good, sweetheart, bet your deep as fuck.” 

His little praises sent if it were possible even more slick to your dripping cunt, making you whine needily underneath him, you were starting to wish he’d stop with the games, and just fuck you already. 

“Use your words, baby girl. You don’t want daddy to have to punish you do you?” 

You shake your head furiously, you didn’t know if you could handle any punishment. Your body had already been pushed to a limit it never had before, and you were bordering somewhere on being exhausted, and desperately needing more.

“Please Daddy, please fuck me,” you begged him, knowing that’s what he wanted from you. Your voice is a moaning, whimpering mess that even you didn’t recognize, but at the sound of it his piercing green eyes went a whole shade darker. Lust taking over his hard features as his eyes drank you in

Jensen chuckled as he sucked yet another mark to the many that littered your neck and chest. 

“Hmm, how should Daddy fuck you?... Maybe I’ll leave you all tied up, pound into the mattress… Or … Maybe I’ll turn you loose, and make you ride me until I say stop? What do you think about that one, baby girl? You wanna go for a ride on Daddy?” 

He didn’t give you time to answer, reaching up he undid the belt, and helped you bring your arms down beside your body, massaging your shoulders a little, then your wrist to help with the pain of them being in one place so long.

You didn’t understand why even though he paid to use your body, he would still take time to do little things like that for you.

“I got a better idea,” he said, grabbing you suddenly without warning, and flipping you over onto your belly.

“Hands and Knees, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, so you hurried and did like he asked you, positioning yourself on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. 

You felt the bed dip with his wait as he got behind you, looking over your shoulder you see him stroking his massive cock with his left hand, his lust blown eyes wondering your backside that was still red, and stinging deliciously from the spanking he’d given you earlier. 

Without warning his right hand came down hard on your ass cheek, making a sound that was somewhere between a moan, and a scream escaping your throat. His hand rubbed the area before pulling away, soothing it some before bringing his hand down on the other cheek. 

He continued with his assault on your ass until you were a needy, moaning mess, you never knew you’d be so turned on by someone spanking you, but here you were, your own slick literally running down leg by the time he was done with you. Your ass now a brighter red as he licked those sinful lips, and admired his work. 

“Look at you, you're a mess.” he chuckled low in his throat. “All wet and needy, is that all for me baby girl?”

“Yes Daddy,” your voice was hoarse from screaming and moaning his name, and somehow that just turned you on even more. 

Lining his swollen tip up with your aching cunt he slid home with one sharp thrust of his hips, knocking the air completely out of your lungs with force as he bottomed out in you, your mouth opened in a soundless moan.

Jensen held himself still inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust. 

“I’m gonna fuck this tight little cunt, and then I’m gonna fuck that tight little ass. Want daddy to cum in your ass baby girl? Feel you up with my cum? Make you my bitch?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

That was all he needed to hear before he was pounding into you with a punishing pace, your own dignity left long ago, you were a moaning, screaming mess underneath him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as the coil wound tight in your belly. Before you could even ask permission you were coming undone underneath him, your body was too exhausted to hold back, your velvet walls milking his throbbing length as he pounded into you, and you came with a scream. 

Using your juices that had exploded over his cock, and a little of his own saliva as lube Jensen pulled out of you quickly and lined himself up with your tight whole. You didn’t think he could do it, but he did, you didn’t think you could take him, but you did. His whole cock slid into your ass, filling you up in a way that you never had been before. 

Holding himself still again he grunted a little at how tight you were around him, you could feel him literally throbbing inside of you as he tried to hold back his own release, his balls tightening as they rested against your still red ass cheeks.

“Green?” he asked you, feeling how tight you were around him.

“Green,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly at first, he started pulling himself in and out of you, almost exiting your body before sinking back in fully, soon enough though he found his rhythm, and was pounding into you again. Each drag of his manhood in your tight ass makes you shake under him, pleasure you didn’t even know existed burning through your whole body. 

You should have been ashamed of the noises you were making, but you didn’t care. 

Jensen's hand reached around your bodies, finding your swollen, over-stimulated clit, and started rubbing in circles that matched the pace of his cock that was now pounding into you. Slipping two of his thick fingers inside your throbbing cunt, filling you up, even more, curling them inside you, hitting your G Spot perfectly with each drag of his long fingers. 

“I’m close sweetheart, come for me.” 

That was all it took and your body was jerking under him for the fifth time that night as his pace faltered, and his hot seed filled your ass until it was leaking down your legs, your vision momentarily went black and you knew nothing.

Slowly you started to come back to yourself, shock waves of pleasure still wracking through your pleasure over-stimulated, and wrecked body. 

Jensen had moved you to lay on your back, a warm rag in his hand, now cleaning up the mess between your legs, he had already cleaned up your legs, and ass while you were lost in pleasure. 

He noticed you moving as his astonishing green eyes that really had no color name looked at you softer than they had ever before in all the years you’d been married.

“There she is,” he said, his voice filled with love and affection as he threw the rag across the room, and laid down next to you, pulling your exhausted body against his strong chest, and his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you, letting you know you were safe.

“You okay baby?” he asks, kissing your neck softly, and lacing his fingers with yours over your belly.

You hummed against him, still high from what he’d done to you.

“More than okay, that was amazing, Jay.”

Jensen chucked a little, kissing your lips softly. 

“Thanks for letting me do this sweetheart, I know it was a new thing for us, but I have always wanted to role play that, it’s something I’ve fantasized about a lot but was scared to tell you about.”

Reaching up you run your hands through his short, soft hair, earning a hum from him as he nuzzles his face against your neck.

“It was amazing Jay, I’m glad we tried that. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Jensen lay there playing with your hair as you made yourself comfortable against his chest.

“Happy anniversary, Jensen.”

“Happy anniversary, Y/n.”

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Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​

[thirstythylacine]

Stress Relief

Alright. This damn band and fandom has got the best of me finally.

Haven't written in over 10 years. Definitely never written smut before.

I've given in! There are pages and pages of smut notes in my journals, phone, and computer so I guess this is my new hobby in quarantine.

Relatively unedited so apologies there. 

Yell at me here, or yell at me on AO3 under the same name. 

Also I have a very limited knowledge of how the hell this cursed site works despite being on it for most of its existence. So if there's shit I didn't tag correct here let me know.

Also Tumblr apparently hates making the italicized bits appear here so I’ll reblog this in a sec with the AO3 link if you, like me, really like seeing the emphasis :)

I am otherwise too lazy currently to figure it out or fix it and I’m already reposting this since Tumblr also apparently hates outside links! Thanks Hell Site. 

STRESS RELIEF

He’s been working on this project for a week straight and as usual it’s cutting into personal hours. Though that doesn’t faze him, scribbling notes in the margin of this current translation and completely forgetting to call for dinner. It’s 10:30 at night and I’ve brought him ever meal today as well as coffee multiple times. At this point it’s half just so I can make sure he’s still awake and breathing.

His dinner looks untouched and he’s got ink on his cheek. I don’t even think he noticed me come in until I was right behind his chair with my hands on his shoulders. He only startles a bit and I lean forward to peek at his progress. “You’ve gotten far today” I note, “Though dinner was over two hours ago you know.”

He sighs sitting back against me. “I know Tesoro, I know. This one is just.....very difficult. And she wants it earlier than the rest.” He drops the pen and stretches his fingers. “If I can get this one to her before Friday I think we can have a few days off finally.”

It would be a relief for us both to have a few days off. He squirms as I press at the knots in his shoulder.

"I will literally stand guard outside this office to fend people off if it will help. I was starting to think I might have to tie you up somewhere to keep you from coming into the office this weekend.” He breathes in sharply once and there's a moment of stillness before he’s laughing quietly. Interesting.

I’m solidly around the front side of his desk before I notice the flush on his face. Double interesting.

The last paper in front of him has been moved aside in favor of the dinner plate. He’s frowning at it. The dish isn’t one that would be particularly appetizing cold. “I think......perhaps a trip to the kitchen might serve us better?” I offer. “You can find something better than that and I can find something for desert. I think Papa mentioned there was pie tonight.”

Pie makes a good dinner.” He says with a quirk of the eyebrow. Problem solved.

———

“Hey!” I gasp as his teeth scrape down my neck. “Hey, I told you, none of that tonight. I have a ton of important meetings tomorrow. You know, the kind with people from Outside This Church whom I need to view me as respectable, buddy.” He isn't looking at me but growls a little against my skin.

I tangle my hands in his hair and tug sharply back to meet his wild eyes with mine. “No biting.” “You’re gonna have to save those hickeys for tomorrow, Cardinal...”

He’s adorably huffy about it but also doesn’t falter as he ruts against me. His hips grind sharply into my thighs, pressing me hard down into the cushions of his couch. His arms have me caged in below him and he rests his forehead against mine with a low moan.

At some point we’ll have to decide if we’re moving to a bed, or at least stopping long enough to take off literally any clothing instead of writhing on the furniture like teenagers. It’s so good this way though.

I came by to drop off the last few papers for him to finish and somehow convinced him they could be done in the morning. I meant to also convince him to come have another late dinner in the kitchens but he's in a mood and I can't complain. Having him over me, desperate and needy is better than any drug. I busy myself with the buttons on his jacket and shirt, impatient to get my hands into his chest hair. He hums as I run my fingers through it, and lower. His mouth is at my ear, his nose in my hair. I tug at his belt as he arches over me.

“We should go go to bed” he whispers “we should go to bed so I can fuck you into the weekend. I want to wrap you around me and make you cum until you can’t remember your name”. The words coming out of his mouth are getting deep and breathy. That voice.

Even his perfectly normal, reasonable Latin lectures make me want to get on my knees for him. I'm pretty certain the whole class feels that way. Technically, I know I’m not the only one he sleeps with either but recently I seem to have lucked out.

“You can’t” I growl back as he presses me down. “As much as I’d love to have you buried in me from now until Sunday, you still have 'homework' for tomorrow and I.... I can’t bag out of my important meetings. Sister will literally have me murdered if I leave her alone with those delegates.”

He moans low and deep grabbing at my thigh to pull me further under him, tighter against him. We press back and forth rocking against each other and making out. He’s driving against me over and over in a way that will have me undone very shortly. I have to bury my face in his shoulder to keep my whimpers quiet. Office hours are over but the door isn’t locked and Ghouls have a way of showing up when shit is about to get good.

I'm starting to lose it. “Please, Copia, please, pleaseplease” I beg. He grinds into me slower and slower pressing closer and longer and I think I could die from needing to cum. His breath is in my ear choppy and hot. Little wines, murmurs spilling from his mouth as he gets closer to the edge.

My body arcs up against him, my hands trapped against his chest as an orgasm washes over me. Head thrown back into the cushion I cry out when he sucks at the skin at my collar. I’m gasping as I come down. And then I realize.

Yanking my hands from between us to grab at his head. “COPIA, Satanus! What the fuck did I just say!” He’s a bit of a mess this close to an orgasm and only whines at me when I scold him. His rhythm is getting lost now and though I'm mildly pissed about the bite, I don’t think there’s a better time to test my new interesting theory than now.

I wind the fingers of my left hand tight into his hair and grab harshly at his hips with my right. “Bite me again and see what happens Cardinal. Don’t make me tie you down next time.”

He comes hard. Face buried in my collarbone despite my hard grip on his hair. He’s arched so hard into me I think I’ll be feeling it well into next week. We collapse slowly into the couch. It’s hot and sweaty not to mention the utter mess he's just made. Whatever. He must own 20 pairs of those black pants anyways.

I stroke his hair and laugh softly into it as he tries to regain some steadiness of breath. “Well then, Cardinal.” I arch my eyebrow at him and he's absolutely blushing. He won't quite make eye contact and I can't keep this crooked smirk off my face. He buries his face back against me and grumbles “Maybe time for a real dinner, Tesoro?” as the office door opens. A silver face peeks through, checking the desk and then turning to see us tangled on the couch. “Oh! Sorry, boss. Just, uh, making sure the, uh, lights were off in here. Yeah.” “But um, never mind if you’re still in here working!” The voice fades as the face retreats quickly.

Copia makes a tired sound. “Ghouls.”

———

The free weekend has been axed.

Delegates from the Unitarian Church apparently liked our pitch enough that they decided to hang around for a few days and view the abbey in it’s working state. On the one hand it’s great. Not completely bonkers church allies would be incredibly helpful to us. But I'm mentally tapped out from the socializing. Copia too, has been dragged into the fray. Unlike our Third Papa he can be counted on to treat our guest well without shamelessly flirting with each and every one of them. Unitarian Universalists might not immediately kick a bunch of Satanists out of church club but they still probably view married couples as a little less fair game than Terzo does.

They leave just in time for us to jump right in on the next round of translations. Some books from our archives can only be opened for a few nights a year or a decade. Some can only be opened for a few hours at a time, or only in the perfect humidity, or only by a woman, or a ghoul, or Papa. It’s a particular kind of puzzle game to schedule the translations of these texts. Plus very few people can translate them at all let alone as quickly as the Cardinal.

Imperator schedules, I ferry book and papers. He translates. I return books and papers and organize translations by type and date so we can digitize them later. It’s part of the push to get this church into a modern century. Making an effort to have other church allies is as well. Nihil is totally against it even though his sons are all for it. Or maybe that’s because his sons are all for it.

Everyone is tired. Everyone is busy. The congregation is much bigger than it used to be but still there isn't a lot of down time. We've got a horde of siblings at our disposal to help with all the cleaning, data entry, filing, etc. but someone still needs to steer the ship.

It turns out that managing people is a pain in the ass and regretfully I'm good at it.

Thankfully I still end up spending most of my day filing and organizing piles. It's boring but methodical and leaves me with enough brain space to let my mind rest or wander as it chooses.

I'm deep into sorting notes from the early 30's so we can see if anything matches up with books from that era but my mind has wandered back to the Cardinal's ass in his red pants.

He stepped away from the monstrous paper pile for coffee this morning but two moments later was back leaning across the front of his desk to scribble a note in the margins of whatever he's trying to decipher. It's a very nice ass.

It's been over a week since we've been able to do anything more than snag a kiss between meals, sleep, and work. It's fine, except that it really, really isn't. Stress relief is important. And doing it myself is currently feeling a little subpar when the alternative is so incredibly attractive.

Also. There's this whole other aspect of him that I really want to get another glimpse of. We have been mostly on equal footing or he's been in charge since we've been seeing each other, but I know that's not all there is. Not just because of the way he blushes when I boss him around but also because of that dinner months ago where a wine drunk Terzo whispered in my ear all sorts of things about how delightful and versatile a bed partner Copia is.

I think I want to know all the ways to make him whimper and beg.

Unbeknownst to him, Thursday night we're going to catch a break. Imperator is headed out of town with a few of the Emeritus family for some swearing in of a little sect or two a few cities over. Copia and I have been excused to finish up one really time sensitive book and they're going to be gone for two whole days.

Of course, I know that the book is finished already. He did the last bit around 2am and I just couldn't bring myself tell her in case she decided to dump another stack on us as she walked out the door. Two days isn't enough for a real vacation but it's definitely enough for a little rest and stress relief.

______

I feel like I'm laying a trap. Getting us out of work, convincing him to come back to his rooms to change for dinner.

There's a tiny unmarked bottle of lube tucked on the hallway table next to the Baphomet statue where he hangs his keys. Normally he never looks at that table, just drops his keys across it, puts his hat on Baphomet's head, and comes to collapse on the couch or bed.

There he is though, looking at the bottle curiously, fingers starting to unbutton the top of his jacket unconsciously as his brow creases. I have to move fast. I walk up and my hands take over for his. Unbuttoning the jacket and pushing it back over his shoulders but not taking it off of him. I push at his chest gently until he steps back all the way against the heavy wood door.

"Tesoro, I... " He looks down at my face as I'm unbuttoning his shirt. My hands work downwards and I see as he completely forgets about the bottle. "Hello there" he says with a smile and slides his hands into my hair to turn my face up towards him. I get an arched eyebrow, a little half smile, and then, a little hitched breath as I tug open his belt.

I lean in to rub my nose under his jaw and breathe him in. His arms come up to pull me close and I can feel the rumble in his chest. We stand for a moment in peace, enjoying the closeness before I tug his hands down to lay flat against the door. "Keep them there, alright?" I whisper in his ear.

He breathes out an unsteady yes while I lay kisses down his neck. His trousers are undone and he hums through his teeth as I take him out and stroke him. Lightly over and over. Teasing gently. His head is back with eyes closed which is perfect.

When I ease my lube slick hand down his dick his whole body jolts and his eyes fly open to stare at me. "Oh! Ohhh...." Hands tight against the door his hips push forward into my hand and he screws his eyes closed again as I stroke him a second time.

"F...uck. Oh. Fuck. Tesoro..." he whimpers and the sound strikes deeply hot at the center of me.

I keep my touch firm but slow. A steady torcherous pace. I wonder how long I can keep him here. Trapped between my body and the door, gasping and moaning as I tease him higher and higher.

I want to talk to him but I'm a little afraid this will end too soon if I do so I settle for brushing my lips across his, across his face, against his sideburns until he's begging. "Tesoro, pleeease. PPlease. Ah. Ah. Oh, lord, Tesoro. I need....ah, please."

His face is plastered to my neck and I dig my free hand into his hair to hold him there. He hasn't moved his hands an inch though I see them tremble and grasp.

"You're doing so well, yeah?" I whisper. "You sounds so good like this. I love it. I love hearing how badly you need this." I can feel his knees knock a little as I speak to him. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. Making you come undone for me like this. Did you think I hadn't noticed how pink you get when I tell you what to do?"

"Ah, Satanus. Por favor...." he wines. "por favor....." His hips are trying to press forward, but I've got him tight against the door. I up the pace of my strokes until he can hardly speak. Low gasps and whimpers escape him as I bring him higher.

"Are you close love? I need you to tell me when you're close. I want you to tell me when you’re going to cum." That pulls a little wail from him and he gasps, crushing his face deeper into my neck. "Oh, Santanus. Oh, Lucifer. "

"You gonna beg me, sweetheart?" I husk in his ear. "Come on. Say please?"

He doesn't manage it, curling tight over my body as he comes. His arms forget the door to crush me against him. Fingers grip my back and shoulder so hard it almost hurts and I can hear his breath stop completely for a moment. I let him hold me, pressing myself tight up against him, toes to head.

It hardly feels like he is going to stand on his own so I just clean him up with a conveniently located cloth and pepper his face with little kisses. I brush the damp hairs back from his brow and when he lifts his eyes to mine he still flushes a even brighter red.

I must look entirely too pleased with myself because he quickly closes them again and lets his head fall back against the door with a solid "thunk."

"Fuck", he breathes, "I...ah, just.....Fuck."

I am pleased with myself. Humming softly I tuck him back into his trousers and pull the edges of his collar down so I can kiss him long and hard before patting his chest and moving away back into his rooms. He doesn't follow me and I look back to see him still leaning against the door staring.

"Dinner?" I ask with a bright innocent smile.

He growls with narrowed eyes and launches himself into the room. Shrieking with laughter I race to the other side of his couch. "Come here..." he murmurs. And when I don't move he crooks a finger at me. "Topolino. Come on. Come. Here. "

It's so goddamn hot. I want to.

But.

"Make me." It's impossible to keep a grin off my face knowing that the whole wing of this abbey is definitely going to hear about when he catches me. I have the advantage of steady feet, but his eyes are dark and his smile dangerous.

I am super, super fucked.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

caution: this drabble contains explicit child abuse (from lux’s past, but written as if it’s current). please proceed with caution.

When he hears it, Lux’s movements falter for just a moment. Flinches are mocked, are punished, so he doesn’t let the remembered pain associated with the clinking of a belt buckle jerk his shoulders up or force him to step closer to his room. He hasn’t done anything particularly annoying today so it’s probably not gonna end up with him in pain. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

There are eyes on him. Lux can tell. He hates these long, terrifying moments when his father’s eyes lock onto him, searching for some glaring fault to tear at. The warlock turns the page of his chapter book and tries not to shift his weight on the squeaky kitchen chair.

He’s read this page about four times but the words still aren’t sinking in. It takes another two attempts for him to build up the courage to flick his eyes up, to glance over toward the living room.

There his dad lounges in his armchair, looking just as dangerous as ever. Sometimes Lux wishes he had the kind of dad who has that same type of chair and seems to melt into it, out of shape and lazy, tossing an empty beer can at the TV at most. But no, his dad isn’t like that. He’s a proud veteran of the war, short sleeves rolled up to display the tattoos from the service, his gun on the table beside him in pieces ready to be reassembled. And he’s staring straight at Lux.

His belt is undone, the end hanging free of the buckle. Lux swallows past a lump in his throat and meets his father’s eyes again. Just an angry day, he guesses, and the only solution is hitting. He dog-ears the page of his book subtly.

“Get over here.”

The paperback flops onto the table as Lux hurries to stand. His legs carry him in the exact opposite direction of where he wants to go. “Yeah, Dad?”

There’s nothing but mild disgust on his father’s face. In his resignation, Lux’s mind runs through all the serious dangers he needs to keep track of: the sniper bullet in the glass case that’ll be used to kill him one day, the unassembled gun on the side table, the bat by the back door. It’ll definitely just be the belt right now, so he’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

“Get on your knees.”

Lux hesitates, searching for some excuse to avoid this. But searching for a lie and then being caught in it is dangerous, so after his few seconds of inaction, the warlock kneels, eyes searching for the spot he likes to lock onto. There, a hole, a bullet hole in the carpet. That’s from when he was little and he tottered over to fumble his dad’s gun off the table only to set it off by accident. He got hurt for that, but whatever the punishment was, it’s faded in his memory in the haze of all the others. It just feels like a small, safe act of rebellion to remember pissing the guy off that badly, startling him with a gunshot that came out of nowhere.

The belt clinks again. In eleven years, Lux hasn’t managed to figure out why the belt is used for hurting. Punches work well enough, and they’re random, they’re easy to use and move on, get back to doing other things. This whole thing, though, being made to kneel and take off his shirt and take hits that leave plain stinging, and then welts, and then eventually dark bruises if it goes on long enough? It’s just a lot of work to be put into one little punishment. It’s embarrassing, somehow, to have made his dad so angry that this whole process is the only way to make a lesson sink in.

He doesn’t have a shirt to take off, so there’s one step they can skip. Already he’s thinking about school tomorrow; how the welts will chafe under his shirt, how he’ll be grumpy and distracted, how he’ll get in trouble for his attitude and maybe end up in detention. He could try to be nice and act fine, he thinks, to avoid that, but the thought of having to pretend like he isn’t in pain just makes him angry. Lux curls his fists around two little fluffed-up tufts of carpet.

Thwack. Lux jerks and his brow crumples; he has to bite his lip to keep quiet. He wouldn’t get yelled at for making a sound, probably, but just knowing that his dad would see it as a sign of weakness makes him want to prove he’s tough. The bullet hole in the carpet remains, and his eyes stay locked on it even as they tear up with the coming blows of folded leather against his back. It’s eerily silent in between the lashes. He never feels more alone than when he’s taking the belt, when he remembers sorely that no one is near, no one can make it stop. Not even his mom, who couldn’t ever stop it from coming, but who helped after, all gentle and worried. No, Lux is alone. Alone with his dad, and the belt, and their quiet house.

~

Walking through the hallways at school with welts under his shirt is when his thoughts are always darkest. When he’s bitter that no one’s noticed what’s been done to him, and when he desperately hopes that no one will notice. Sometimes he gets home to find small lines of blood on the inside of his shirt from where the worst welts apparently bled, and he crumples with relief knowing that the blood didn’t seep through and get him caught.

He steps to avoid students hurrying to their classes, angling his shoulders to avoid all bustling. If anything, a backpack, an arm, a swinging locker meets his back, he’s going to make a sound. The teachers standing at their doors waiting for their students watch him, some subtly and some with open concern or judgement. Lux adjusts the textbooks in his arm, cheeks flushing. Yeah, he’s got his books for once. Puts a strain on his back that’s no fun, but he’s so anxious over what his dad will do if he gives him a reason to get angry, so today he’s gonna try in his classes. That was the plan, anyway, that he formed last night at 2am to calm himself down from a wave of panic. He can try in his classes, and he won’t get detention, and everyone will be a little less pissed at him than usual.

History class. That’s this period, and it’s going to be good. A relief, maybe even some fun. Lux hustles, a little bit, to get to his favorite teacher’s class on time.

Mr. Carter holds the door open for him with his usual smile. Lux flashes a half-smile back. If Mr. Carter ever suspects anything or worries about Lux, he doesn’t let it show, not at the start of class. Lux thinks he knows more than he lets on, but wants Lux to think he’s getting away with hiding things, and that makes it so much easier for the warlock to shed his stress for the span of a class period and listen.

Finding his seat and sliding his books onto the wire shelf underneath, Lux folds his arms onto his desk and leans forward in an attempt to look casual without letting his back press against his seat.

“Good morning, class,” Says Mr. Carter, letting the door close behind him as he walks over to his whiteboard. Lux relaxes at the guy’s posture alone. Mr. Carter just walks, he doesn’t stride, doesn’t take heavy angry steps, doesn’t put on any kind of haughty demeanor that authority figures tend to put on. The guy leans against his desk, popping the lid off a dry-erase marker and seeming to consider the color of it before looking back up at his class.

“So, today, we’re going to be debating, class.”

Lux perks up, eyes watching keenly for everyone’s reactions, and watching the teacher too. Lux loves debating, Mr. Carter knows that. But can he really work up the energy to do it today? Is he in such a rotten mood that he’ll get offended and lash out and be laughed at?

“Everyone will participate. Even if you don’t want to talk in front of the class, I want everyone to write down their arguments and slide them over to their debating team members, alright? And if it doesn’t get too heated, guys, pizza on Friday.”

A rare smile breaks across Lux’s face. Free food, and incentive for the class not to get all loud and angry today? A chance to debate, or to just write down his ideas, no pressure? Mr. Carter is the best.

Mr. Carter glances at him, and Lux’s stomach flutters with the panic that comes with being noticed, only to instantly settle into he knew I’d like this plan, he’s got my back, this is gonna make today so much less sucky.

~

The debate has heated up, and Lux, usually eager to jump in and land a well-executed point, is slinking back in his seat, avoiding eyes. Mr. Carter is watching every point of action, keeping an eye on his students’ volume levels and movements. Here and there, though, he glances at Lux, worried that maybe this debate topic has veered over the line.

“Cops are dying and those no-good killers are just roaming the streets! They’re all a bunch of crackheads you know, they’ve got knives and guns and no permits, they’re all fucking-”

“Language, Mr. Peterson,” Chides Mr. Carter, arms crossed, tense as he considers how to calm down a classroom full of passionate, but misguided, young people. “And remember what I always say about assumptions versus facts? This is less of a debate and more of a witch hunt at this point.”

“Witch hunt! Speaking of, let’s talk facts,” A girl chimes in, and Mr. Carter seems to relax. She’s one of his most clever, quiet students - if she’s joining in, she’s got to have a good, mature point to make. “Witches have been burned at the literal stake, hunted down, and today it’s not poking a girl to see if she bleeds and then drowning her in front of the town. It’s monitoring your search search history, it’s cops dragging people off the street with guns and tasers. How far can we go with murder and oppression in the name of safety before we become the thing we fear?”

Mr. Carter reels from the force of her logic, nodding. “Excellent, Miss-”

“Warlock sympathizer!” Cries the guy that was cut off for making assumptions, pointing at the girl who refuses to back down. “They’re killers, that’s not an assumption that’s a fact, government says so, news say so, my dad’s a cop, he-”

“Then your dad’s the killer,” She shoots back, face flushed. “Witches are getting murdered, can’t find a safe place to live, can’t even get a job, they’re dying out there. There’s no healthcare for women with magic-”

“Women with magic? Like people of color?” Jeers someone from the back of the classroom, and snickers break out.

“-and some of us can’t even afford food for kids, for warlock kids who got kicked out for being who they are, the witches give the kids food and the warlocks don’t because they need the strength to go fight off the cops dragging their friends off to die, and… and…” Her argument fades as her voice falters. The whole classroom is staring at her, dumbstruck.

“Witch,” Someone mutters, and her skin goes grey.

“Incredible,” Cries Mr. Carter, sweeping forward. Lux isn’t breathing, where he sits at the deck farthest from the debating, his instincts screaming at him to run, get to the door, before the grabbing, the accusations, the death. “Excellent. Thank you, Miss Abby. You can sit now.”

She does, legs wobbling, somehow summoning a nervous smile.

“I asked her to drop that point into her argument at some point today, so I could see how you’d all react. That’s the real lesson here, today - Mister Connor, put that phone away, no texting your girlfriend in my class, you know the rules.” Mr. Carter shakes his head as the class snickers at Connor, who opens his mouth, hesitates, then turns off the phone that shows the number for reporting a warlock sighting half-dialed. “Class,” Continues the history teacher - and Lux spots a tremor in the man’s hand as he raises it - “You all just fell victim to the number one pitfall in debating. You panicked at hearing something that’s seen as a taboo in our society, and instantly all logic left the room. You were ready to pick up your pitchforks and jump into your assumptions rather than facts, weren’t you?”

“But, Mr. Carter, we’re supposed to report-”

“Not in my class, you’re not,” Interrupts the teacher, eyes hard with stern disapproval. “Listen. I’m not discussing the broad topic of dangers to society and what role in that magic users play. I’m talking about logic and reason as used in debates in this isolated environment. I’m talking about your instincts in an argument, and how you can avoid losing an argument when it really matters. For example, Miss Abby, as I asked her to, aimed to distract you all. It worked instantly. In a political debate that you’d see on the news, the first mention of warlocks switches the debate from taxes and civil rights and the funding of things like hospitals. Do you see that now? How she could have been arguing something that would establish a policy that your political party is directly opposing, but with one buzzword like witch, she distracted you?” Mr. Carter presses on with a lecture about the strategies used in debating, a long winding talk that bores everyone out of their near-frenzy to attack.

Lux and Abby, meanwhile, take the time to remember how to breathe and keep their eyes on the floor. No one seems to remember that they’re there as everyone tries to find a sneaky way to scroll through apps on their phone or doodle in their notebooks as the teacher rambles and starts to write his talking points on the whiteboard.

Lux wonders, sitting very still to avoid reigniting the pain in his back, if Mr. Carter really knew Abby was going to say that.

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Eleven

A/N my entire dorm room smells like cleaning supplies and fresh spring air as I have been scrubbing all day with the window open in preparation for my two week hibernation. Hope you all are staying healthy and away from triggered stans ;)

Thursday, October 31st, 2019

“Look out! Here comes the fiercest, most ferocious animal in the world!”

Daniel came down the stairs and into the living room, carrying Clementine in his arms. She was dressed in a giraffe costume, little freckles drawn on her chubby cheeks, and a huge smile plastered on her face. Daniel had matching drawn on freckles on his cheeks. The room ‘awe’d out loud.

“Say ‘rawr’.” Daniel whispered to her.

The ten month old let out a tiny ‘rawr’. The room offered her a gasp, making her smile proudly. Daniel set her on the carpet so Florence could take her picture.

“Giraffes don’t say rawr.” Corbyn piped up.

“They don’t say anything, actually.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “What am I supposed to tell the kid? ‘Say nothing’!”

“She’s good at that.” Zach nodded.

“I think this is the cutest giraffe I have ever seen in my entire life.” Corbyn said, “Even surpassing Daniel.”

“Wow.” Daniel pouted.

“I’m very glad I trusted you to pick out her first Halloween costume.” Florence said quietly as she sat back down on the couch, plenty of pictures in her phone to send to Callum.

“I told you I knew what I was doing!” Daniel teased, picking the baby back up.

Florence put on a soft smile, keeping her eyes on her best friend and daughter. Only a few nights before, someone who meant so much to her virtually walked out of her life. She hoped Grayson would come back to her eventually, she felt like a piece of her heart was missing and he had only been gone for three days. Florence spent the day of the 31st at the boys’ house and into the late afternoon when she would take Clementine trick or treating. Aidan, Jonah, Corbyn, and Jack were going to a party that night down the street, leaving Daniel and Zach to entertain their all too familiar guests.

“Finally done.” Aidan said as he and Jonah came downstairs as well. Aidan had dressed up as a zombie, ripped clothes that he had thrifted and green and brown paint smeared over his face. Jonah was a cop, his black button up mostly undone and tucked into his black skinny jeans. The handcuffs that hung off his belt made the room howl and clap.

“Shut up.” Jonah laughed.

“Sexiest cop I’ve seen.” Zach called out.

“Clementine looks so cute!” Jonah beamed, leaning in to gently poke her cheek.

“Get - your - dirty - hands - away from her.” Daniel said quietly, covering the baby’s head with his hand and turning away.

“Dirty hands?!” Jonah frowned.

“You know what I mean.” Daniel eyed the open button up shirt.

“Let’s get a move on.” Corbyn said, jumping up from the couch and grabbed his helmet from the ground.

“Why are you still 7 years old with your damn astronaut costume?” Jack grumbled, giving his friend a shove towards the door.

“At least I actually dressed up.” Corbyn retorted.

“I did too!” Jack protested, gesturing to his ripped jeans, beanie, sunglasses, and skateboard. “I’m a skater boy!”

“You look exactly the same as you always do. Just shirtless.” Corbyn frowned before walking for the door.

“There’s no pleasing anyone.” Jack grumbled, stopping to kiss Clementine’s cheek on the way after his friends. The oldest few left with loud goodbyes.

“I hate being a literal child.” Zach frowned, his voice muffled slightly behind the fake vampire teeth he wore, as he leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “Now I’m stuck with the baby gang all night.”

“You could have gone. No one there is going to ID you.” Daniel said. 

“Yeah until my mother finds out. Then I’ll be dead. I’d rather be sober than dead.” Zach grumbled.

“Suit yourself.” Daniel shrugged.

“You can have Clementine’s candy.” Florence said.

Zach perked up, “Really?!”

“Hey! I was going to have the candy.” Daniel frowned.

“You shush.” Florence directed to her best friend. “Zach’s the other baby here so he gets first dibs.”

“Hey!” Zach frowned. Florence chuckled.

“We should head out!” Daniel said, rocking Clementine dramatically in his arms. “Before the baby falls asleep.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to have to carry him to bed.” Florence nudged Zach before standing up.

“You guys are so mean.” Zach grumbled before following them to the door.

The group walked down the street in the direction away from the frat houses. A few streets down, more young children and their parents were out trick or treating in the setting sun of the Toronto suburbs. Clementine, from her spot in Daniel’s arms, peered around the bustling street with her mouth open wide, one arm draped lazily over his shoulder.

“Where should we start?” Daniel asked, coming to a stop.

“There!” Zach pointed to a house on their left. A bunch of children were at the door and they could see and older lady dropping pieces of candy in their bags. The children rushed back down the steps as Daniel led their tiny group to the door. The old lady smiled at them.

“Say ‘trick or treat’!” Daniel said to the baby. At merely ten months old, Clementine only curled shyly into him.

“Well aren’t you the cutest giraffe in the city?” the lady chuckled. “How old is she?”

“Ten months.” Florence answered proudly from beside them.

“A first Halloween calls for lots of candy.” The old lady said, dropping a few pieces in the bag that Florence held. “Any for the little boy too?” she asked.

It took Zach a second to realize she was talking to him. He stood at only 5’6” next to his friends’ 5’11”. Daniel bit back a smile at Zach’s appalled face.

A nervous “N-No!” was all he got out.

Once they were back on the street, Daniel burst out laughing, Florence smiling next to him.

“All of you, shut up.” Zach grumbled.

They continued down the street, stopping at a few more houses. Florence finally took Clementine for a little while, after convincing Daniel that his arms would give out if he didn’t pass her over. A few adults complimented Daniel on his matching face paint to the baby, making the shy boy blush and thank them.

After thirty minutes, Zach claimed the baby, carrying her up to the next house excitedly.

“He could be her big brother.” Daniel snorted as the two of them waited on the street.

“Yeah, if I gave birth to him at 2 years old.” Florence rolled her eyes.

“I mean...whatever.” Daniel chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets. Zach cut across the lawn to the next house, Clementine’s little giraffe hood bouncing on her head. Florence linked her arm through Daniel’s as they walked on together.

“When are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he questioned.

“What do you mean?” Florence asked.

“Oh, come on.” Daniel laughed. “Any other day you would kill yourself laughing by an old lady calling Zach a little boy. You barely smiled.”

“How are you so good at reading people?” Florence chuckled.

“I just know you well.” Daniel shrugged. “So what’s up?”

Florence looked over at Zach standing at the next house with Clementine in his arms. The gentleman at the door was fawning over the baby.

“I don’t know where to start.” Florence mumbled.

“Try it.” Daniel shrugged.

“I met this guy, Emilio, the other day. He’s Callum’s new boyfriend’s twin brother.”

Daniel repeated the long title to himself and then nodded, encouraging her on, his eyes on the pavement in front of them.

“And we hit it off. I guess, bonding over how much we miss our brothers when they’re in LA.” Florence sighed.

“Ok?” Daniel said slowly.

“And we hit it off. Like, really hit it off.”

“And by that you mean you slept with him.” Daniel stated plainly.

“Fuck, don’t say that.” Florence held her face in her hands. Daniel only frowned at her as they stopped walking. “I mean, yeah, I did, but I don’t...I feel like shit about it now.”

“You regret it?” Daniel asked.

“No.” Florence said. “God, no. He’s fucking amazing.”

Daniel tried to smile but it didn’t show.

“Grayson found out though. Monday night. He thought that we were dating this whole time but I thought we weren’t.”

“I thought you were too.”

“Fuck.” Florence whined, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, I just messed everything up. Now Gray isn’t speaking to me.”

“Why didn’t you think you and Grayson were dating?”

“We never talked about it; about titling anything. I’m still getting over Matt and trying to figure out who I am and trying to raise a baby. I didn’t want the ties to a relationship. I don’t know. I wanted experiences. My first and only relationship left me pregnant. I just...fuck, I don’t know. I wish I could just relive so much and change so much.”

Daniel took her in his arms, holding her warmly before saying, “I know it feels like the end of the world but it’s not. Everything happens for a reason. Things will work out. Grayson is just hurt and it was all just some miscommunication. It’ll smooth over.”

“Do you hate me?”

Before anything else could be said, Zach came trudging down the street, Clementine giggling in one arm and the arm holding the bag of candy wrapped around her back.

“This kid is heavy.” Zach wheezed, pushing the baby towards Daniel who scooped her up.

“Surprised you lasted that long with these noodle arms.” Daniel patted his best friend’s bicep, Clementine curled in his other arm.

“Speak for yourself. You’re literally a walking breadstick.” Zach rolled his eyes.

“Do you think we’re done for tonight?” Florence asked. “I’m tired.”

“Tired?! It’s barely 8:30.” Zach gaped.

“Look at her.” Daniel said, gesturing to the baby who was falling asleep on his shoulder.

“I wanted more candy.” Zach frowned pathetically, looking into the open bag in his hands.

“Poor little baby.” Florence draped her arm around his shoulders and they all headed back towards their house. Zach opened a chocolate bar on the way and he and Florence shared it. It wasn’t long before they were back at the house, Daniel flicking the lights on as they entered.

“I will never understand how you don’t like chocolate.” Zach said loudly through a mouthful.

“Can you shut up?” Daniel whispered sharply, gesturing to the sleeping baby.

“Sorry.” Zach sighed. “But honestly, it’s weird.”

“I didn’t ask to be this way.” Daniel grumbled, laying Clementine down gently on the couch. He reached for the diaper bag where her change of pyjamas was.

“I got it, Dani.” Florence whispered. He stood back and let her change the baby into her pyjamas. Zach sat across the room, eating candy, and scrolling through his phone.

“Are you staying over?” Zach asked Florence briefly looking up over the top of his cell phone.

“Uhm-“ Florence looked to Daniel.

“No. I’m driving her home.” Daniel answered for her.

Florence couldn’t help but feel that simple sentence as a stab to her heart. More often than not, Daniel had her stay over; now he seemed to be getting rid of her. She figured it was because of what she told him on their walk. Did he think less of her now?

The ride back to her apartment was filled with awkward silence. Daniel didn’t even turn any music like he normally would. Florence found herself biting her lip nervously until it tingled, staring intently at the passing city lights. Once in the parking garage, the two didn’t move for a moment too long.

“I’ll see you on the weekend?” Florence asked.

“No, I’m at the studio all weekend.” Daniel said.

“Oh. Will I get to hear anything you produced yet?”

“Possibly.” Daniel shrugged, not looking at her. Silence fell over them again.

“Ok. I better go.” Florence sighed, leaning over to hug him awkwardly before getting out of the car. She grabbed sleeping Clementine and her things and waved as Daniel drove off, leaving her, yet again, standing alone in the parking garage.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 15 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Paul makes Gene an offer on getting rid of the curse.

            He sat there on the mattress for longer than he needed to, staring at his hands, gaze traveling up his wrists to his forearms to his shoulders, sloping down dully from there to his cleavage. Assessing the same damages he’d gotten accustomed to over the last seven days. But it was different now. It wasn’t an effort at calming himself down the way it had been at first, a bizarre sort of compare and contrast. Reassurance that he wasn’t completely unrecognizable, if only to himself. He hadn’t been male model material as a guy; he wasn’t Playboy material as a girl. Same moles, same scars, same bad chin. Top-heavy like he’d always been. Basically devoid of a waistline like he’d always been. All the old hated imperfections had carried over, right down to the microtia. It had been a cold comfort then, but now he was ticking off each flaw as another demerit, another reason he might get turned down at the pass.

            Intellectually, none of that was going to make a difference. It didn’t take much for girls, if they wanted it. Not looks, not money, not anything. It wouldn’t take much for him. He could get laid. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d fooled around with another guy.

            It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d fooled around with another guy while he was like this.

            The door opened without warning. Paul jerked back on the mattress, scrambling unsteadily to his feet, expecting it to be Carol standing there, come back to throw another couple bitter words his way, or a drunken VIP.

            “Paul?”

            Instead, it was Ace. He was sweaty, with his shirt disheveled, belt and fly undone, hair slightly matted. No underwear, which wasn’t surprising, but the sum total wasn’t a sight he’d seen in awhile. He must have been in one of the other rooms earlier.

            “Hey.”

            Ace did a bit of a double-take at the sight of him, eyes lingering on his chest before he seemed to right himself again, stepping fully into the room.

            “Hey, listen, I saw a chick with freckles coming out of here crying, was that her?”

            That sounded about right. Paul’s stomach curdled.

            “Yeah. I just talked to her.”

            “But you’re not back.” Ace had his hands out, gesturing towards his own imaginary breasts as if he needed to. Maybe he thought Carol had cursed him into thinking he was normal again. “She didn’t turn you back.”

            “No kidding.”

            “What the hell did you tell her, man?” Ace paused. “What the hell did you do to her, anyway?”

            “Nothing.”

            “’M not buying it. She’s got Paul Stanley, Junior in the fucking crib at home, and she’s mad he ain’t got your eyes.”

            “There’s no baby.” No use explaining it to Ace. He wouldn’t understand. Paul didn’t think he got it himself, not really. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

            Ace tilted his head.

            “Whatever. Her husband leave her after she fooled around with you, then?”

            “There’s no husband, either. I just hurt her, that’s all.”

            “Real specific. Well, if you won’t tell me…” Ace drifted off idly, yanking a hand through his hair. Paul was oddly grateful that Ace hadn’t bothered zipping his pants back up, not because he wanted a look at his dick, but because it was a weird bit of normalcy. A sign Ace actually saw him for who he was. “Do you wanna have me go after her? Fuck, Paulie, if she didn’t think you were gonna pay her enough to fix you, then I’ll—”

            “It’s not like that.” Paul clasped the watch on his forearm. Twenty minutes. He had all of two left. He didn’t want to stay here thinking about it. He didn’t want to tell Ace. “Look, she told me how. I’ll get it taken care of.”

            “But what’s she want you to do?”

            “I said I’ll get it taken care of.” He crossed the room, pushing past Ace to get to the door. “Ace, I’ve got to go.”

            “Jesus, is it that bad? Hang on there. Lemme get Peter and Gene, we’ll help you out, this isn’t all on you, y’know.”

            “It is all on me.”

            He could hear Ace fumbling to follow him, but Ace wasn’t fast at all. Ace was prone to stumble around even without heels or alcohol. He had to be loaded right now, loaded and tired from getting off. No way he’d stayed sober tonight for his sake. No way.

            But he didn’t have a reason for running from him. He wasn’t scared of Ace, just scared of what he represented. Another guy whose current livelihood now depended on Paul fucking someone. Anyone. It didn’t matter who. It shouldn’t matter who.

            Paul ran straight into the dance floor in a bid to get rid of him. A bid that worked. The crowd of writhing bodies swirled around him, enveloping him, a sick sea of warm arms. He had to shove at and past what felt like dozens of people, but Ace wasn’t behind him anymore. He couldn’t even hear Ace calling him over the blaring music.

            But that wouldn’t matter for long. Even if he fell or just got distracted, it wouldn’t take long for Ace to get back up to the VIP floor. He had to hurry. The blond doorman was back at the floor’s entrance, happy enough to let him past. Racing upstairs, he grabbed Gene, who looked pale and worried, tugging him by the sleeve.

            “Paul?”

            He took off the watch, putting it in Gene’s hand.

            “Let’s get out of here. I got what I needed.”

--

            Paul’s hand in his didn’t feel as comfortable as usual as they stepped out of Studio 54. He looked distant, harried. But every time Gene tried to push for an answer, he just shook his head and told him to wait. He rolled up the glass partition almost as soon as they got into the limo.

            “What did she say? She’s lifting it, isn’t she?”

            “She’s not lifting it. She’s having me do it.”

            Oh, no. They’d need those spellbooks and sigils after all. Gene’s heart thudded in his chest.

            “If we have to, then we have to.”

            “I have to, not you.” Weird how Paul was sounding both more and less like himself with every passing day. That old acerbic clip he’d first heard out of him at seventeen (“yeah, I write songs”) was inching back in. “It’s not that bad.”

            “So what do you have to do, then? Summon a demon or something? Pledge your soul to Satan?”

            Paul didn’t crack a smile.

            “No. I just have to sleep with somebody.”

            Gene raised his head.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah.”

            “That’s it?”

            “That’s it.” A dry laugh. “I dunno. I guess you and the guys don’t have to worry about the tour now.”

            Gene let out a breath. That’s great was almost on his tongue. All right was a close second. But a look at Paul stopped him from either. For something so simple, so easy, he didn’t look happy about it. He didn’t even look relieved. He wasn’t wearing his usual distracting pout, either. He just looked… deflated, somehow. He looked like he’d just gotten stood up for senior prom.

            Maybe he just wanted approval. Bolstering-up. Gene’s lips were suddenly dry as he started up again.

            “What do you want to do?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “How do you want to get it taken care of?” Gene hesitated slightly, waiting on a suggestion that Paul wasn’t offering. Stupid to hope. Despite getting him off last night, despite the kissing earlier, Paul didn’t seem to be considering Gene as an option. Probably better for both of them, really. He’d have enough to sort out as it was once Paul got back to normal. “Pick some guy up at a bar tomorrow?”

            “Pick up some guy?” Paul repeated. He almost looked—offended, maybe even hurt.

            “Or… would a girl work?” Gene didn’t know if it would, but maybe that was the real source of Paul’s distress, the thought of having to get penetrated while he was like this. Maybe it made him feel vulnerable. Maybe he wanted to reclaim some of his masculinity before he actually had it back in the literal sense. God knew Gene had robbed him of plenty of autonomy without even meaning to, directing him on where to go every single day, making all the phone calls for him, buying his food, clothes, everything.

            Yeah, that was probably exactly what Paul wanted, to get to sleep with a woman again. It wouldn’t be that hard to orchestrate; there were plenty of lesbian bars around. He’d be safer picking up a girl than a guy. It might even be fun for him, a weird bit of fetishistic wish-fulfillment. Picturing Paul with another chick wasn’t a bad mental image, either. He’d probably be shy about it at first, lying down, tan nipples peaked, breasts heaving, as some pretty little thing pushed apart his thighs, lapping and sucking against his warm, slick folds, it—

            “I’d be a fucking lousy lay for any dyke right now.”

            “You would’ve been a lot lousier last Tuesday.”

            Paul looked away, shoulders slumping. He kept twisting the skirt portion of the dress between his hands, then staring at his hands, something Gene had never known him to do before. He had a myriad of other tics, like sticking his tongue past his teeth when he was nervous or trying to concentrate, but this wasn’t one of them.

            “I’m tired of going to clubs, Gene. And I’m tired of involving other people.”

            “Then…”

            “We could take care of it ourselves at home.”

            Gene’s mouth went dry. His dick, the perpetual traitor, was half-hard just at the thought of fucking him, his leather pants as unyielding as a vice trap. He shifted his legs, but it didn’t help. Not that it really mattered much. Paul still hadn’t glanced his way again.

            “You want to?”

            Paul was silent at first.

            “It-it makes more sense, doesn’t it? You’re right here. And I’m not stupid, I know you wanna—”

            “But do you want to?”

            “I wanna get back to normal.” Evasiveness too obvious to be believed. “I’ll let you. You’ve been wanting to this whole time, anyway, might as well get it out of the way.”

            He couldn’t argue with that. But there was something weird about the way Paul was putting it. Get it out of the way, like it was a chore. It hadn’t felt like a chore when he’d gotten him off prior. It sure as hell hadn’t felt like a chore to kiss Paul during the dance. Or to have Paul kiss back, eager and wanting, pressing up tight against him, trying so hard to leave no space between them. It hadn’t been a chore at all. He’d liked it. He’d liked it a whole lot.

            He’d thought they might sleep together if the curse lasted long enough. Had been within a hair’s breadth of suggesting it just before Paul saw Carol. But he’d figured there was a good chance they’d fall into it some afternoon or evening anyway, if not on the dance floor. Something banal and domestic. Laying around in bed turning into fooling around, turning into fucking, just as natural and uncomplicated as it would’ve gone with any girlfriend. Even more so. Gene hadn’t had a girlfriend in years that he hadn’t slept with long before she’d gotten the title.

Gene hadn’t really thought past that. But now, knowing that sleeping with Paul would end the curse entirely… it felt funny. Uncomfortable. Like it’d just thrown a wrench in the way everything was going. He’d still do it, sure, but combined with the way Paul was acting, it didn’t sit well.

He reached over, tapping Paul’s arm. Paul jerked a bit, turning to face him.

            “It’ll be good. Hey, we can even take a picture if you want.”

            “A picture?” Paul’s brows furrowed.

            “Yeah, for my photo albums.”

            He’d meant it as a joke. But Paul stiffened up in response, lips drawn in a tight line, and he turned his head towards the window.

            “Sorry. I didn’t—”

            “It’s fine.”

--

            The rest of the limo ride was quiet. He didn’t try to touch Paul any, no more reassuring taps or handholds. Not that it mattered. Something seemed to be already ruined.

            By the time the driver had stopped at Paul’s, Gene almost asked Paul if he’d changed his mind, or wanted to wait. He wouldn’t have blamed him any. But Paul’s mind seemed set. As soon as they were back in his house, Paul was stripping off his shoes and pantyhose in the foyer, tossing them on the floor. He was waiting on Gene, watching him with a gaze Gene couldn’t really read, as he tugged off his boots.

            “Give me just a second,” Gene protested. “We’ll get there.”

            “Okay.”

            Gene followed him to his room once he’d gotten rid of his boots and socks. He sat down on the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling weird about it—he didn’t normally strip completely when he slept with someone, and maybe Paul wouldn’t appreciate being treated any differently. Or maybe he would. Paul wasn’t so much as looking in his direction, sitting next to him on the bed’s edge, hair gathered over one shoulder. Gene figured it was so he could unzip his dress, but Paul hadn’t yet reached behind him to tug the zipper down.

            “Are you sure about this, Paul?”

            “Yeah. Course I’m sure.” Stiffly, Paul shifted backwards, until he was fully on the bed, long legs splayed apart but somehow tense. 

            Gene finally got his shirt off. Then Paul seemed to react again, shifting to his knees, one hand clasping Gene’s bare shoulder while the other started to unzip and shove down his pants, leaving them hanging just a bit past his hips. Gene reached behind Paul, fingers headed for the zipper of his dress, but Paul shook his head.

            “Don’t.”

            “Hey, this is a little uneven here,” Gene tried to joke. The consternation on Paul’s face made him stop. Maybe Paul was just nervous and gearing himself up. He’d at least have to take off his panties to fuck.

            “I’ll get to it, okay?”

            “Okay. Take it easy.”

            Gene took a breath as Paul’s fingers reached his boxers. Tension was still practically emanating from Paul, even as Paul began to yank them down. It just made Gene feel all the more wary. He hadn’t gone for a kiss or a grope or anything; the only touching Paul was doing at all was just to try and get Gene’s clothes off.

            He grabbed Paul by the wrist before he’d gotten his boxers more than an inch or two down. His grip wasn’t hard, but Paul froze up anyway, instantly dropping his hold on Gene’s boxers, looking strained, almost caught.

            “Gene—"

            “Hold on,” he said quickly. “We’ve got to talk first. How do you wanna do this?”

            “I don’t care. However you want.”

            “However I want?”

            “It’s not that much leeway, is it?” Paul’s mouth twisted. “I’m up for it. It’s fine.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Would you stop asking if I’m sure?”

            “Okay. Okay.” Last night hadn’t been like this. Forget last night, two hours ago hadn’t been like this. Gene wasn’t sure what to do. He reached out, hesitating before slipping a hand underneath the dress, past the nightie and the bra, cupping one breast. Paul didn’t really react. Just sat there, stiff as ever, and after a second or two, he withdrew his hand.

            “You don’t want foreplay?”

            “It’s not that.”

            “I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t want it, but—”

            “Look, it’s fine. Touch me wherever. I told you I don’t care. Can’t you just go for it? What’s holding you up?”

            “You are. You’re acting strange.” Oh. Oh, wait a minute. Gene felt like he was William Tell without the expertise, endlessly trying to shoot a target blind, but he thought he might have hit on it. An explanation for why Paul didn’t want to strip. It still didn’t quite feel right, what with how Paul was picking out low-cut tops and short-shorts of his own accord, and it didn’t account for all of his behavior, but—“Do you want the lights off?”

            “I haven’t fucked around in the dark since I was nineteen.” Paul’s expression changed as soon as the words fell out of his mouth. “Not… not actual fucking.”

            Not last night, he meant. Gene nodded.

            “Then…” God, this was awkward. “I don’t know how to make you comfortable. What do you want here?”

            “Nothing! I told you, it’s fine.”

            “You don’t seem fine.”

            “I am. You’ve got millions on the line here. Go ahead.”

            “It’s not about the money.” Bewildering just to say that, and more bewildering still to mean it. Paul stiffened like he was expecting an injection. “Something’s not right. I’m not going to do this unless you’re really up for it.”

            “I am up for it! Christ, what do you want? A striptease?” Paul yanked his bra straps down past his shoulders, unhooking the clasps in the back, pulling the bra out from under the dress through the sleeves. He tossed it against the wall. Gene looked away, but Paul grabbed his arm. “Go for it. Why won’t you go for it?”

            “You’re scared, that’s why.”

            “I’m not scared! What the hell do I have to be scared of?”

            “I don’t—”

            “You think I’m afraid of being hurt, is that it?” Paul snorted. “I can take that.”

            “That’s not exactly—”

            “Try taking it up the ass sometime, that’s a lot worse than—”

            “I don’t mean that kind of hurt.”

            Paul didn’t respond immediately. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the insistent tick of the clock on the nightstand. Paul had let go of his arm at some point, his hands finding and clasping his own knees instead.

            “Don’t be an idiot, Gene. Don’t turn me down because you don’t think I can handle it after.”

            “Paul, listen,” Gene started, reaching for Paul’s hand. Paul’s fingers curled against his knee, but he didn’t pull away. “It’s not about handling it. You’re stressed out, and that chick made it worse. We can try again tomorrow, if you want.”

            “I want to right now.”

            “No, you don’t.”

            Paul drew his hand back from beneath Gene’s.

            “How the hell would you know what I want? I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Isn’t that good enough? Can’t you do it for me? Y-you’ve done everything else!”

“Not like this.”

            Paul got up from the bed, stalking out the bedroom door. Gene yanked up his pants and followed him, grabbing the back of his arm.

            “Where are you going?”

            “Out.” Paul yanked his arm away, walking faster. He grabbed the jacket Gene had bought him from where he’d left it on the living room couch, snatching up his keys and wallet from the coffee table. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

            “Paul, don’t.”

            “Don’t what? You won’t do it for me.” A rattled gasp for breath as Paul yanked the jacket on. “You’ve got no say in it.”

            “It’s late. I don’t want you going out there—”

            “Without you chaperoning?” Paul started to laugh, the sound strange and throaty. “You don’t think I can do anything. You want to pick someone out for me? Scope them out?”

            “No!”

            “I bet y-you’d rather me stay a girl. I won’t. You can bet your ass I won’t.”

            “I don’t—Paul, that’s not it, something’s bothering you. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

            “There’s nothing to regret. Fifteen fucking minutes and it’ll be over.” Paul was stepping into the heels he’d kicked away in the foyer earlier. Gene reached for his arm one last time, hand lingering in the air. “You don’t understand a damn thing. You think I—y-you think—” he started, then wrenched open the door, slamming it shut in Gene’s face.

            He could have stopped him. Grabbed him at the door, or even yanked him back inside from the driveway. Maybe he should have. But he didn’t want to humiliate Paul any more than he already had. Didn’t want to manhandle him, didn’t know what he would’ve done afterward. Paul didn’t want to talk, that much had been obvious. He might have tried to throw Gene out of the house next. He wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with him.

            Paul had left his stockings on the floor. Gene picked them up, tracing a finger across a run right down the side of one leg. Then he crumpled them in his hand and walked back to Paul’s bedroom, before he had a chance to see the taillights of Paul’s car disappear into the night.

[the-mystical-aquatic-gay]

At some point before whenever I end up posting this thing, I posted a redesign of Queen Bee for an ML Rewrite my friend @flags-and-fanfiction at I have been working on.

In that post I mentioned our version of Black Cat!Felix who we’ve named Night Prince; this post is about his design and probably some facts about our version of Felix in general. So lets jump right into his design!

Okay so there’s his design! Sorry if the picture is just kinda stuck off to one side or something, I’m not sure why it’s doing that. Might even just be a weird thing on my side of things only? Whatever, anyways if you want more information I’ve got all kinds of fun things under the cut for you!

Just like with our lovely Queen’s redesign, I’m gonna start off with things that are actually a part of the costume and then go into other things afterwards. I think I’ll start from the top this time and then work down:

Okay so first we’ve got his black vest/over shirt thing (I’m sure there’s a proper word for it so if anyone wants to tell me feel free). Anyways, as you probably figured out already from his name being Night Prince, Felix’s costume is largely inspired by classic princely attire.

I wasn’t sure when I originally finished what you see up there, but I think now we’re probably gonna leave it pretty basic? Cause even in canon Felix isn’t really the type of character to go for some fancy, over the top, attention grabbing outfit when its completely his choice what to wear.

For the undershirt, the sleeves aren’t that big because I was trying to make him buff or anything, I just wanted puffy sleeves on his outfit

Also that bit at the top of his undershirt around his neck is supposed to be a collar; like on his regular civilian outfit, but I wanted it to have the top button undone. Just as a little nod to him being more open and free when he’s Night Prince

He has black gloves, and this is also where the only golden accent on the costume is. Because lets be real, Felix wouldn’t wan that bell on his costume. And I know that’s its not some sort of requirement of for the wielders’ costumes, because I checked the wiki page for the Ancient Chinese Black Cat Miraculous Holder (Hēi Māo) and he’s got no bell. But I still liked the little bit of gold on the costume, so that’s why hes got the golden knuckles. Also they’re good for punching if needed, and these would probably be on the knuckles you can see too; or at least the second set of knuckles

At his hips he has these dark green rope things? Again I don’t know names for things but I’m pretty I’ve seen stuff like that on prince outfits before, so its here

Next up we see some dark grey leggings. Obviously because magic jewelry, its not gonna like rip or anything regardless, but its still not quite like normal legging material, its a bit more... heavy duty I think would be the right word? Like its still fabric, but its not that super thin stuff you’d see in tights or a leotard or anything. I forgot to say it before but that goes for all of the costume, it’s all thicker than you’d probably first guess even without the miraculous magic boost

Finally, we have the shoes. On a guess most, if not all of you recognize these as being for ballet, but more specifically they’re pointe shoes. This is because in our AU, one of Felix’s activities as a civilian is ballet. To some extent his whole costume is inspired by ballet costumes

Quick side note before I finish up on the actual costume things, the reason he decided to go into ballet is because we’re saying that Emilie was a ballerina, probably not professional or anything; but she was in ballet and so Felix went into it for a connection to his mom.

Also Emilie disappeared when they were way younger, probably like five to eight or something instead of a year before canon starts up

Okay so I think that’s everything I’ve got for notes on the actual drawing. Feel free to ask questions or give suggestions or whatever if you have any. Anyways, now its time for powers, design elements that aren’t seen in the drawing, and any other cool details I can think of:

So we decided Felix would look good with long hair, its darker blond than Chloé or Adrien have but not like a super dark blonde or anything. It’s only long when he’s transformed, and he usually just keeps it in a low ponytail. But at some point, maybe its a really slow patrol day or they’re just chillin together or something, Ladybug (yes its still our lady Marinette) decides that he should experiment with his hair and decides to try out some styles on him and see what he likes

I mentioned before that he’s in ballet, but much like in for Adrien in canon, ballet is far from his only activity. Another activity of his, and one that he shares with Adrien both in canon and in our AU, is fencing; because of this we decided to make his weapon be a rapier

I didn’t draw one, but realistically there’s gotta be some sort of belt or something to store his rapier on. I don’t know what exactly that’d look like, but it’d probably have a spot for the rapier on both hips and some pockets

Okay so we don’t have a ton planned for his powers, but we are gonna have more then just Cataclysm for his powers

Also I think we’ll have Cataclysm work through his actual weapon not his claws like in the show

He will still have claws though, they’ll probably be golden tooHe’s also gonna have some sort of shadow travel type of thing, partly to help him keep up with Ladybug (since she can literally fly and still has her yoyo) but also partly. For anyone who doesn’t know, shadow travel is basically teleportation, but from one shadow to another; we’d have a different name for it though because shadow travel is the name Rick Riordan used for this in his books

His final design might have epaulets, those shoulder pad ish lookin things you see on prince outfits, but I couldn’t draw those so they’re not on here at least

We haven’t talked much about his mask, but I did find this is a google search while writing this post:

Now obviously white and gold with only little black accents isn’t really his color scheme, but something like this with different colors is definitely an idea we like for our Prince’s mask. Can’t guarantee it cause this idea is something we just thought of, but I think it’ll stay because I’m now loving the idea of Night Prince with a mask like this one

I think that’s everything we’ve got relating to Felix’s superhero persona for now. It’s probably gonna be a while before I do another post all about one of the heroes because I don’t have any other designs done. Maybe I’ll do just kinda a general info dump post about the AU as a whole? Not sure yet. But if I do make another superhero post soon then on a guess it’ll probably be on either Rusé Rouge (our Fox!Nathaniel) or Sailor Turtle (Turtle!Adrien).

Anyways, feel free to let me know your thoughts. If you have any suggestions for this design or Queen Bee’s design then feel free to comment them here, dm me, send me an ask, whatever you want. Same goes for if you have any questions about anything else for this AU, I love this AU so much and would love to share our ideas with this fandom.

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 30: The Author’s Home

Hi everyone, thanks so much for your patience in getting this new chapter up. No warnings for this chapter that I can think of. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. <3

The link to the chapter on AO3 is at the bottom of the chapter under the read more because tumblr’s algorithm blows.

December 30th

--

One of the things Cullen liked most about Varric was that despite his wealth and his popularity as a writer, he lived modestly. His home in Kirkwall was a simple town house. There was nothing attention grabbing or vulgar about it from the outside. Situated in Kirkwall’s more ‘middle class’ district, it was at the centre of everything. Varric never was one to flaunt his money or the reach he had with his books. His grounded nature regarding money was one of his best qualities, in Cullen’s opinion.

After the ship docked in Kirkwall, it was a short ten-minute drive to Varric’s house. Out front there was enough space for several cars to park, so Cullen pulled in giving enough room for other vehicles to pass by. There were two other cars already parked side-by-side. One was Varric’s and one Cassandra’s.

Being by the sea, Kirkwall had been spared most of the winter weather. It was cold, a bitingly harsh wind cutting through the air and striking right down to the bone with every strong gust, but there was no snow. The wind brought with it the overwhelming smell of the sea. A pleasant scent, and one that Cullen would always associate with Kirkwall.

Given how the events at Kinloch affected him, he was always surprised that what happened in Kirkwall did not do the same. Perhaps it was because he had friends living in the city, or perhaps because he did try to help when everything happened, and the city was in pandemonium. Perhaps he didn’t carry the same amount of guilt with him when it came to Kirkwall as he did with Kinloch. Or he understood the grief better to deal with it as an adult from an adult’s eyes rather than Kinloch from a teens. He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t something he spent a lot of time thinking about… Not something he allowed himself to spend much time thinking about. So much of his life had been spent looking to the past. It was about time he started looking more towards the future.

Nevena was a bundle of excited nerves beside him in the car when he turned the engine off. He thought back to their arrival that first day in Haven and the contrast to now. It was like seeing a completely different woman.

Arriving at Haven she had been silent, stiff, and all the colour drained from her face turning her grey. He remembered how her breathing increased, how panic and fear took over her. He knew then that their arrangement would be nothing like he had dealt with before. That Nevena would need a gentle hand, guidance, and a silent support. No one had a reaction like hers without a reason. Once he learned the reason for her fear, he understood.

Now, she was excitedly looking around, eager to get out of the car. Her face was flush with almost child-like glee and wonder, eyes bright and wide. She leaned forward in her seat, pulling on the seat belt as if to get a better look at the house. Cullen’s chest swelled whenever he caught a glimpse of her infectious smile. He was gone. So very, very far gone. He hoped his closest friends would like her – but he knew even if they did not, he would still adore her.

“This is such a gorgeous house,” Nevena stated, walking around the car to the boot to help Cullen get their suitcases. “I would love a place like this.”

“What about your flat?” asked Cullen, placing his case on the ground and reaching for Nevena’s.

“Oh, I love my flat,” she shrugged, “but I’d love a bit more space. An office would be nice, a bathroom with a claw footed tub… and a separate kitchen.”

“Even though you can’t cook?” Cullen teased.

“Even though I can’t cook.” She poked her tongue out, “But a place like this with a nice big garden for a dog or two. It’d be perfect.”

Cullen slammed the boot closed, “that does sound nice.” After locking up the car, he grabbed his case and went to pick up Nevena’s. She beat him to it, lifting it off the ground and followed him towards the front door.

Before they reached it, the door opened wide to reveal two people standing in the threshold. Cassandra, tall, her dark hair still short with a braid around the crown of her head, her beautiful sharply angled face smiling at him stood beside Varric. He was shorter, broad across the chest and shoulders, his dirty blond hair beginning to grey a little around the temples was pulled into a short ponytail. Despite the cold, he still wore his shirt with a few buttons undone, displaying the top of an impressive chest of hair.

Behind him, Cullen heard Nevena gasp. “That’s Varric Tethras!” she almost squeaked.

“Curly!” Varric greeted, opening his arms wide and stepping down the steps towards them. Cullen put his suitcase on the ground, accepting the welcoming hug. “It’s been way too long!” Varric squeezed him and leaned back, lifting Cullen a few inches off the ground. Cullen sucked in a breath and was grateful when his feet found solid earth again, not used to being so easily lifted. That Varric managed not to give himself a hernia was impressive.

“I know,” Cullen patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Varric.”

“Good to see you, Cullen.” Cassandra hugged him, tight and heartfelt. He returned it, happy to be reunited with his friends. Despite her sometimes austere appearance, Cassandra was one of the kindest women Cullen knew, and one of the sappiest. She always gave good hugs, and this was no exception. He viewed her as another sister… just slightly less nosy.

“You too,” he smiled at her when they released the hug. She looked healthy, and happy. Stepping away, Cullen reached out towards Nevena who was standing a few steps behind him. He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her forward. “This is Nevena Trevelyan. Nev, this is Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cassandra shook Nevena’s hand firmly.

“You too.”

“And—”

“Varric Tethras.” Varric gave her hand a brief shake before sweeping in to take Nevena’s attention as Cullen knew he would. “So, Curly tells me you’re quite the fan!”

“Uh…”

“Which of my books have you read?” He guided her up the steps towards the front door. Nevena threw a look at Cullen over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with what Cullen could only assume was both panic and awe.

“Uhm—all… of them?” Nevena replied, her voice a little stilted. Cullen found himself smiling. “Thank you for the copy of The Viper’s Nest, too,” she added hurriedly. “It’s my favourite, and my original copy, I read it to death – literally. I’m just… I really, uh—”

Varric laughed and turned back to face Cullen at the top step, “I like this one,” he said. “You should keep her.” Before Cullen could rebuff him, Varric was already leading Nevena inside the house, talking about showing her around and letting her see his office. Cullen overheard something about a new manuscript, which was drowned out by an excited shriek.

When both Varric and Nevena had disappeared inside, Cullen looked to Cassandra who gave him a fond, if slightly exasperated look, shaking her head a little. “He’s terrible, I know.”

“Just being a gracious host.”

“And leaving us with the heavy lifting.” Cassandra picked up Nevena’s suitcase before Cullen had a chance and took it up the stairs. He followed her in, closing the door behind him.

Their house was warm, and the air was filled with the smell of homemade mulled wine and pine needles. The pictures that lined the walls were a mixture of artwork, prints, and photographs depicting everything from high-rise buildings at night, to landscapes described in Varric’s novels. It was bright, but cosy, and felt lived in and well loved. Cullen felt comfortable and welcomed walking in, rather than the uneasy feeling he’d had entering the manor house in Haven. Cassandra led him first upstairs to where the guest rooms were situated, putting Nevena’s suitcase in a separate made up room down the hall from where Cullen would be sleeping.

He almost said that separate rooms weren’t necessary but caught himself. After all, Cassandra and Varric were under the impression that he and Nevena were simply friends, faking their relationship. They didn’t know that they had chosen to take a step forward and void the contract between them. He made a mental note to bring it up later, and to ask Nevena if she would prefer to share or stay separate.

After shedding his jacket, he went with Cassandra to the kitchen.

“How have you been?” asked Cassandra. She poured water from an old-fashioned tea kettle into two mugs, letting the teabags inside stew for a few moments. “After our conversation on Christmas Day, I admit I’ve been a little worried about you.”

“Ah,” Cullen took the mug when she offered it, “that. Yes.” He took a sip, more for distraction than anything else. Cassandra lifted a brow, dark eyes boring into him. “Everything is fine… Your talk certainly helped.”

“Did it, indeed?” She looked at him shrewdly. Cullen would swear that Cassandra was born suspicious. She never took anything anyone said at face value. Perhaps it was a side effect of knowing and living with Varric. Cullen almost felt as though he was on trial. “So, your relationship is still under contract? Of course, you don’t have to pretend here as the pretence was only for the benefit of her family.”

“Well,” Cullen cleared his throat, “there’s a bit more to it, than that.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Oh?”

“It…” he glanced around the farm house style kitchen, looking for another topic of conversation. Anything to get out from under her accusatory gaze. “H-have you redecorated in here?”

“Yes.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you. Cullen—”

“And I noticed the hallway seems to have had some work done, too.”

“Cullen—”

“What have you and Varric been up to?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I know I am.” He threw Cassandra a small smile. When her eyes narrowed even further, he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated, how?” she inquired, putting her mug down on the island counter where they were sitting. She drummed her fingers against it, a habit of hers he picked up on when they first met.

“Well—”

“She’s a bright spark, that one.” Varric cut him off, entering the kitchen from another door towards the rear. He went to where the kettle was and poured himself tea as well. He looked from Cullen to Cassandra, clearly noticing the heavy air between them and sat on one of the stools beside Cassandra. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Ye-

“No.” Cullen interjected before Cassandra could answer fully. She gave him a sour look. Cullen knew he was going to get interrogated by her and probably Varric, he just wanted to put it off a little longer. “Where’s Nevena?”

“In the lounge with all the books.” Varric stirred his tea. “I’ve never seen someone’s eyes light up like that at the sight of books! I’m pretty sure she’d be happy if we just left her in there the rest of the day!”

Cullen chuckled, “Good… Thank you for extending the invitation to her, and for being so welcoming. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving her with her family.”

“I didn’t broach the subject with her but now you mention it,” Varric blew over the surface of his mug, sending steam wafting towards Cullen, “What happened?”

Cassandra was scowling a little, clearly annoyed that she could no longer grill Cullen, but her scowl softened with Varric’s question. Cullen had a feeling the two of them had talked about him and Nevena before they arrived possibly planning what to ask and wondering what on earth had transpired in Haven to send them all the way to the Free Marches at such short notice.

“Family skeletons coming out of the closet and being used as weapons,” Cullen answered with a weary shrug. “The oldest sister, Ineria, on Christmas Day decided to drop a bombshell that Nevena –who for three years has believed she was adopted – was actually a half-sister. Their father’s daughter. A daughter he had with the woman who accidently killed his son in a car crash.”

Varric’s eyes widened. He and Cassandra looked at each other, and then back to Cullen. “Well, shit.”

“Yes. Shit.” Cassandra’s skin paled slightly. “That’s quite a bombshell to drop. Was there a reason?”

“Nevena trying to help her niece who is… suffering under Ineria’s controlling heel. Ineria took offense to it. She believed Nevena was trying to turn her children against her, when in fact Nevena’s just been trying to help,” explained Cullen. “Her family are all kinds of messed up. There’s…” he ran his thumb and forefinger across his forehead. “I’m glad to be out of there, to be quite honest. It’s been a… stressful few weeks.”

“I can imagine.” Varric rubbed his chin. “And with the added stress of keeping up appearances for them, you must be worn out.”

Cullen exhaled sharply a short chuff of laughter, “Oh, that part has been the easy bit. Once we got over a few of hurdles it was… easy. Natural.”

“Natural, huh?” Varric’s mouth grew into a large grin. “How natural?”

Looking at him with amusement, Cullen shook his head in silence and rolled his eyes. He took a drink from his mug feeling his stomach knot. “She got me to go back to Kinloch,” he said softly, looking down into his mug. He didn’t need to look at his friends faces to know how shocked their expressions must have been. He could feel it in the air, the surprise and the mental questions they were asking themselves and him.

“Kinloch?” Cassandra repeated, “As in… Kinloch Kinloch?”

“Yeah.”

“The place you swore you’d never go back to?” Varric added.

“Yeah…”

“B-but…” sputtered Cassandra, her voice growing a little irate. “When we tried to just talk to you about that, you… you shut us out, for weeks! Told us never to mention it again! That you wouldn’t go back. You couldn’t.”

“I know I did.” Cullen lifted his eyes and met hers. “I’m sorry about that. It was… wrong of me. Ungrateful. I know you were only trying to help.”

“Forget that!” Varric waved his hand dismissively. “How did she get you to go? What, is her voice magic or something? Make you more suggestable? What? Because if she’s that persuasive, I need her to talk to my publisher!”

Cullen laughed a little, exhaling sharply through his nose and peered down into his mug again. He tightened his hands around it, feeling the heat seep into his skin until it was almost unbearable. How could he explain to them how he felt about Nevena? How could he put into words the way she inspired him and made him want to be better? What would they think? Would they think he was losing his mind? Or that he’d already lost it? When he lifted his head to look at his friends, they were both watching him with expectant expressions. He sighed and drummed his fingers against his mug.

“I don’t know if I can explain it,” he said eventually.

“Try.” Cassandra’s voice was hard, her lips pursed. She could be sceptical, and Cullen didn’t blame her for being wary. She didn’t know Nevena, of course and Cassandra had a protective streak when it came to him.

“She…” He started, then stopped trying to find the right words. Eyes closed, he focused his mind. “There’s something about her that just… fits with me.” He said, opening his eyes and looking across the counter to Cassandra and Varric. “She’s never pushed me, and she doesn’t push me. She didn’t force me to go to Kinloch, I went of my own accord because she… she inspired me to do so.”

Varric and Cassandra exchanged uncertain looks. “Inspired you… how, Curly?” asked Varric.

Cullen pushed his mug to one side and rest his hands on the counter top, gesturing as he spoke. “A few days after she found out the truth of her birth, even though she didn’t owe her family anything, she went back to Haven to speak to her father, to learn about everything. He told her what I assume is the truth, including that her birth mother killed herself…” He pushed a hand through his hair. Part of him worried that Nevena might overhear him divulging such sensitive information. Another, slightly more selfish part didn’t care. It was good to talk to someone else about what happened in Haven.

“After learning that, she could have run away. Gone back to Denerim and tried to forget – no one would have blamed her for doing so. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She did what I should have done after Kinloch, and decided she wanted to face her demons. She wanted to learn more about her mother. It was one of the deciding factors as to why we came here. She didn’t… wouldn’t let something like this dictate her life, or her actions. She…” he breathed out deeply, brushing his fingers over his chin. “She chose to be brave. Like she’s chosen to be brave her whole life.”

“Brave?” Cassandra took a sip from her tea. Her expression had softened a little through Cullen’s explanation.

“She’s suffered abuse at the hands of her family since she was a child, being blamed for being the replacement for her brother – though it was no fault of hers given she was an infant. She’s suffered indignities and bullying from her sisters, and worse from her psychotic ex-finance. Everything she’s been through, it would make sense for her to be cynical and cold and mean. But she’s not. She’s suffered, and it’s just made her kind, and loving, and good.” Cullen clasped his hands together. “I think that’s brave. I think to face a lifetime of abuse and come out wanting to be kind takes immeasurable courage. More courage than I have, certainly.”

After a few moments pause, Varric cleared his throat and nudged Cassandra. “So, Kinloch?” she prompted. “Her bravery inspired you to go to Kinloch?”

“I decided that if she could face her demons head on, and not cower to them, then why couldn’t I? Why hadn’t I? I had been running from what happened for years. Haunted by the events and the torture I endured. Haunted by the guilt of surviving and blaming myself for it happening. Going back there… it helped lay some ghosts to rest.” Cullen swallowed thickly. “What happened will never go away, I know that. I’ll always have the scars, mental and physical. But going back helped. It felt good to go back. To visit the memorial that was erected and remember the people who perished. To remember them as they were when I knew them. Not who they became as our captivity lengthened…” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly don’t know if any of it makes sense,” he admitted with a wry smile down into his half-empty mug. “I don’t know if I’m fooling myself or… or anything. I just… Nevena makes me want to be… better.”

“She’s got you going to places even your friends and family couldn’t get you to visit,” laughed Varric. Cullen lifted his gaze to him. “Sounds like things between the two of you are pretty damn serious.”

The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked. “I think it is,” he said, his voice soft, thoughtful, and with no hint of amusement. Still, there was a warmth in his chest when he thought of Nevena. A contentment and familiarity that made him want to get up, find her, and take her in his arms. He may have been speaking to Cassandra and Varric, but Cullen realised then he was admitting to himself how deeply his feelings went. How much Nevena had already impacted his life. To his surprise, the acceptance of those feelings was not frightening.

He loved her. Was in love with her, and possibly had been since early into this charade. Only, it wasn’t a charade any more. Somehow his mind and heart had ignored his usually safe and slow approach to romance and courtship. Instead both had fallen incredibly hard and fast for the gentle blonde woman who jumped like an excited greyhound the day they met. And it didn’t bother him. He was happy with this development despite it going against his normal, cautious nature.

“Well,” Cassandra’s voice shook him from his more pleasant thoughts. Her expression was still hard, and he couldn’t read her. He knew she could be a romantic, but the way she looked at him, he wondered what she was thinking. “Be that as it may, while you’re here you don’t have to pretend to be in this relationship anymore.”

“I know—”

“You’ll have the chance to put some distance between yourselves and to think about everything. Rationally.”

Cullen furrowed his brow at that comment not liking the implication behind it, “We have been thinking rationally.”

“I’m sure you have.” Cassandra got to her feet and took her mug to the sink. “But a little time to really consider what you want and how you feel never hurt anyone.” She emptied the remaining contents of her mug down the drain and rinsed it out. As she did, Cullen looked to Varric for clarification receiving a shrug in return. “Shall we go and find our other guest? I feel like we’re being bad hosts.”

Realising her words signalled the end of the conversation, Cullen rose off his stool without another word.

The hours of driving and boat travel caught up to both Cullen and Nevena mere hours after arriving at Varric’s home. They each yawned their way through a hearty dinner, which only served to tire them out more. By nine-thirty, Nevena had fallen asleep three times on the couch and went to bed. Cullen was struggling to keep his eyes open and focus on the conversation between himself and Varric. He made his excuses at ten and made the slow ascension upstairs to his room. On passing Nevena’s room, he paused for a moment and considered knocking but thought better of it when he noticed there was no light spilling under the door and that she was probably asleep. He carried on towards his room, exhaling heavily when he closed the door behind him.

The room itself was comfortable and a good size with a queen-sized bed taking up most of the space. He hadn’t unpacked at all since he and Nevena arrived, and after switching on the light he hauled his case onto a dresser to find some comfortable sweatpants to wear to bed. Even though the room was welcoming and homey, it felt a little cold and empty now. Having been practically living with Nevena for several weeks and sharing a bed with her the last few days, he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of sleeping alone. He’d grown rather accustomed to the weight of her on the mattress beside him, and the sound of her breathing in the darkness.

He noticed his phone vibrating in his back pocket while he removed articles of clothing from his suitcase. When the screen lit up, he saw Nevena’s face beside the notification of a text message.

[Nevena] Are you still awake?

Cullen quickly typed a reply and sat down on the edge of the bed.

[Cullen] Yes. I thought you were asleep? Everything alright?

He waited a moment, putting his phone on his bed and continued his search for something comfortable to wear to bed. He found a pair of grey sweats and started to change when another message arrived.

[Nevena] I was tired, but now I’m in bed I’m wide awake. Go figure! Do you have a minute to talk about something?

Cullen pulled on his sweats, tossed his jeans onto the bed, and removed his jumper before replying. He, also, now felt as though he was getting a second wind. The prospect of a few minutes alone with her, the opportunity to kiss her – which he hadn’t had all day – exciting him a little.

[Cullen] Sure. Be right there.

Now changed, Cullen quickly pulled on a hoodie over his head and raked his fingers back through his hair in an attempt to neaten it. He checked the hallway before leaving his room entirely, not wanting to run into Cassandra who seemed more reluctant to accept Cullen’s feelings towards Nevena, which surprised him. He had expected her to be supportive and positive, but he also knew that Cassandra was protective and often took time to warm up to people. If her attitude did not change, then he would ask her about it, but he had no doubt that Cassandra’s iciness would thaw once she got to know Nevena a little more.

Once outside of Nevena’s room he took a breath to settle the flurry of nervous energy now twisting his stomach into knots and knocked to announce himself.

“It’s open.”

Cullen entered, closing the door firmly behind him. He saw Nevena sitting at the end of her bed, legs outstretched her hands tucked under her thighs. Her room was much like his, homey and comfortable with a dresser, queen sized bed and a few other simple bits of furniture. He could tell from how messy the covers were she had tried to sleep. The smile on her lips reached her eyes, and the wild butterflies in Cullen’s stomach grew a bit more frantic. He cleared his throat softly but remained where he was.

“Hi…” he mumbled.

“Hi,” Nevena smiled up at him.

“You alright? What’s on your mind?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck a moment later. Getting right down to business was how he dealt with feeling uncomfortable. He had no reason to feel uncomfortable in front of her, but for some reason he felt as though he was breaking some rule set down by Cassandra and Varric. He put it down to the fact they were in separate rooms now. It was like he was sneaking around…

Which he was. Technically.

“I was thinking about what we were going to do while we’re here. After the party tomorrow, I mean.” Nevena explained, pulling her hands out from beneath her thighs and clasping them in her lap. “I guess, now we’re here I’m… a little lost.”

Cullen chuckled to himself and relaxed. “Well… You grew up in Ostwick, so I imagine looking for information there would be a good start.”

“Probably. I’ve done a few searches for Miranda’s name online, nothing really comes up. No news reports or articles about the accident or about her suicide.”

“I think old newspapers are sometimes stored in libraries,” said Cullen. “That might be a good place to start. I imagine Varric knows at least one person who would know, or who would have a connection to a library. Given his vast social circle.”

“Mhm…” Nevena nibbled her bottom lip and Cullen noticed she was clenching her hands together, nervously.

He moved towards her, “Nev…” He took her hands and dropped to his knees in front of her, lifting her hands to his mouth he kissed her knuckles. “You can walk away from this. You don’t have to find out information about your mother. You don’t need to deal with it while it’s still raw.”

“But we came all the way here,” Nevena mumbled, staring down at their hands. “It would feel like I’d wasted time, to come here and not do what I came here to do.”

“I hope you don’t feel like you wasted all of your time,” he was teasing, but he saw the realisation and then shock register in Nevena’s expression. She gasped almost comically, slipping her hands from his and holding him around the face.

“No! No- I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean—Sorry, that was—”

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright.” Cullen stroked her arms, trying to calm her. “I was only teasing. I’m sorry.” Nevena’s cheeks grew pink, eyes flicking back and forth between his. She did not release him, and the proximity made Cullen’s stomach twist pleasurably.

“I kind of like when you call me sweetheart…” Nevena lowered her eyes, bashful and coy. A complete transformation to the woman who the night before had willingly taken him in her mouth and brought him to a dizzying climax. She really was an enigma to him.

“I kind of like saying it,” he replied, feeling the dopey smile on his face. Stupid, lovesick fool that he was. “You can decide what we do in your own time. We have a few days, and it’s unlikely some places will be open until at least the second. In the meantime, we can do other things in Kirkwall.”

“Can you show me your old stomping ground?”

“My old stomping ground?” he repeated, laughing. “If the Hanged Man is still there I’m sure I could muster a visit. It was quite horrendous back when I was stationed here.”

“I’d like to see Kirkwall from your perspective.”

“Then I’ll show you around Kirkwall on a day where we have nothing planned. I’m sure Varric and Cassandra would be happy to join us.”

“Ah,” Nevena grimaced a little. “I don’t think Cassandra likes me much. Every time I look at her I get the feeling she’s judging me… or trying to see if she can set fire to me.”

Grinning, Cullen shook his head, leaned forward and kissed her forehead, “Cassandra is like that with everyone at first. She takes a bit of time to warm up to people. She’ll get there with you, I promise.” Nevena smiled weakly. “It seems like you and Varric hit it off though?”

“Yes!” Her eyes lit up. “He’s so down-to-earth! Not at all like I expected… Shorter in person, too. I love how completely blunt he is about things. He’s even said I can give the first draft of his new manuscript a read while we’re here. He wants to hear my thoughts on it!”

“I knew he’d adore you.” Cullen said, enraptured by Nevena’s enthusiasm. Just like I do.

She chuckled, “I wouldn’t go quite that far.” Nevena gently pushed her fingers through Cullen’s hair. “Thank you, Cullen.” She linked her fingers behind his neck.

Cullen quirked a brow, “For?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “For convincing me to come here. For giving me a once in a lifetime opportunity to not just meet Varric Tethras but stay in his home. For… for…” She tutted and shook her head.

“For…?” Cullen prompted, gently butting his nose against her temple.

“For… just for coming into my life, I guess?” Her expression grew into a small wince, and she shrugged her shoulders, averting her gaze to the floor. “I just mean… I don’t think I could have got through everything that’s happened in the past few weeks without you. You keep saying that I’m remarkable, but I don’t think you realise quite how wonderful you are.”

“Well,” Cullen chuffed, his cheeks burning. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’m serious,” Nevena spoke more firmly, eyes on his. The bashfulness and coyness now replaced by quiet determination. “You could have turned around at any time and walked away. Said you were out, that the disaster that is my family was more than you signed up for. I wouldn’t have blamed you in the least. But you didn’t. You stuck around. Stuck by me… You’ve demonstrated more loyalty to me in the short time we’ve known each other, than my family have my whole life, and I am so grateful to you for that. It means…” she shook her head and tutted to herself. “I don’t think I can fully express what it means to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Cullen replied, teasing a lock of her hair back behind her ear.

The room fell to silence as the two of them simply gazed at one another. Nevena curled and twisted tendrils of Cullen’s hair around her fingers, occasionally brushing the skin at the nape of his neck. He relaxed into the touch, unsure what to say or do. Not knowing if there was anything he should or could say. He simply wanted to enjoy these moments with her. Moments where there was no stress and no anxiety in either of them. Moments where they were both content in one another’s company.

Suddenly, Nevena giggled, shaking her head at her own private joke. Cullen pinched the sides of her waist, making her jerk and yelp a little. “What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling at her amusement.

“Have I kissed you today?” Nevena asked him, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

Cullen chuckled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Ah,” she nodded a few times. “Would you like me to rectify that?”

He closed the space between them, whispering, “Please.” A moment later his lips met hers, and he felt the warmth of her kiss and her presence begin to flow through him.

In moments, the soft kiss grew more heated. It grew into a kiss that was more teeth and tongues, than lips. Cullen curled his fingers into the slouched top Nevena wore, rising off his knees. Nevena’s gentle hands around the back of his neck grew firmer, grabbing onto the material of his hooded shirt and pulling at it. Pulling him. Drawing him closer as she shuffled up the bed. She led him. Cullen pressed his weight into one hand on the covers and crawled up after her, the kiss breaking for brief moments when the mattress shifted under their combined weight. These moments of boldness were intoxicating to him and Cullen’s blood flowed so quickly to his cock it left him feeling a little light-headed. Even before he was sprawled over her, one knee positioned between hers, and a hand spread over the top of Nevena’s back, he could feel himself harden – the prospect of another intimate encounter chasing away any thought of sleep.

He still owed her for the previous night, after all.

Parting, he helped her yank his top off over his head and arms. Nevena tossed it blindly to one side before claiming his mouth again. Her tongue pushed beyond his lips, fingers tightening and gripping his hair. Cullen scratched his fingernails over the top of her back and she arched up into him, a soft, strangled sound leaving her throat.

“Shh…” Cullen laughed, leaving her lips to tend to her neck. Nevena tilted her head back, already writhing beneath him, her hips grinding upwards, seeking friction and heat.

“I feel like a disobedient teenager,” giggled Nevena, soft hands and tapering fingers trailing delicate patterns up over the muscles of his back. Cullen found himself astounded by her, not for the first time, how easily she could switch between gentle and demanding. Her affectionate touches a stark contrast to her heated kisses moments earlier.

Peering down at her, he pushed her hair back away from her forehead. “I suppose it does feel like we’re doing something we shouldn’t be.” His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Although we’re not really doing anything.”

“Yet.” Nevena’s mouth broke into a cheeky grin.

Cullen chuckled, a short breath of air through his nose. “Yet…” he repeated, lightly pressing his lips to hers and following that with more feather-soft kisses over her cheek to her ear. Nevena shivered beneath him, her chest expanding on a deep, contented sigh. “I do still need to repay you for what you did on the ship,” he whispered to her, before gently biting down on the shell of her ear.

The change in her was immediate and obvious. Her body stiffened beneath him, and he heard her suck in a quick breath. Cullen pulled back, watching her curiously and ensuring her put some space between them so she could move if she wanted. “Nev?” Tentatively, he touched her cheek, softly brushing his thumb along the swell of her lower lip. The teasing grin was gone, and though she smiled it was quick and seemed hesitant. Cullen quirked a brow in a silent question. Nevena lowered her gaze. When she began to move to sit up, Cullen rolled off her and followed, sitting beside her quietly.

“About… that.” Nevena swallowed thickly and tucked her hair behind her ears. Cullen’s heart rate increased, and he could feel it thudding at the back of his throat. He was suddenly conjuring all the things she could say, and none of them were positive. Perhaps she regretted it, or perhaps she didn’t want to do that for him again. Perhaps she had only been joking about wanting to go down on him, and he had not taken some hint… Some extremely subtle hint. He tried to keep his face impassive, but curious and hoped the sound of his blood pounding was only audible to him. “Uhm… I... have never… uhm…” she lifted a hand and gingerly scratched the back of her neck. Her eyes darted to him, then away at lightning speed, focusing on her feet on the carpeted floor. Cullen noticed then that her cheeks were flushed a deep red, the colour spilling down her neck and beneath her shirt.

He realised, with dawning relief and concern, that she was embarrassed.

“You’ve never…?” he prompted gently, taking her hand from behind her neck and softly nudging the side of her temple with his nose. He kissed her knuckles, tracing the veins and bones of her hands with his fingertips.

Nevena watched him in slowly building silence. A silence Cullen did not disturb. She was gathering up the courage to say something, and he would not interrupt that. She would speak when she was comfortable, and he would listen. It was how their relationship would work. The both of them not just listening but hearing what the other was saying.

“It’s kind of humiliating,” she said, expelling a shaky breath. “Maybe it’s weird, I don’t know… But I guess… I’m… not such a big fan of… that.” Cullen lifted his eyes to look at her, and if possible, she was redder than before. “It probably makes me a freak.”

“No,” Cullen shook his head as he lifted it. “I don’t think you’re a freak. We all have our likes and dislikes.”

“Hm.” Nevena smiled awkwardly.

“Can I ask why? You started by saying ‘I never’… Have you never enjoyed someone going down on you?”

A small, strangled noise escaped her, and Nevena slapped her free hand over her mouth. She squeezed her eyes closed, visibly grimacing despite half her face being covered. “Sorry—” she said, voice muffled by her hand. She removed it, scratching her cheek a few times as if trying to make her gesture more casual. “I didn’t expect you to… To say it so bluntly.” She groaned, rubbing her hand over her eyes. “Sheltered upbringing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cullen said, trying to lighten the atmosphere with a more relaxed tone to his voice. After all, this wasn’t a horrendous conversation to have. Even if Nevena was embarrassed, if they talked about things now, it would make things less awkward and better overall, later. “So, do you not enjoy it or…?”

“Maybe it’s more my experiences haven’t been positive with it?”

“Does it have something to do with Rick?” asked Cullen. The way Nevena’s shoulders curled and her eyes lowered answered for him. He shifted closer, pulling her into his chest and wrapping both arms around her. “If that’s the case, and you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. When you’re comfortable, okay?”

“You have the patience of a saint,” Nevena mumbled into his chest. Her arms snaked around his waist, hands clasping behind him. She buried herself into him as close as possible and Cullen’s hold around her tightened protectively. After about thirty seconds of silence, Cullen was surprised to hear her speak again. “He was rough, the way he was with everything.”

“Nev…”

“It hurt. He would bite. And…” Slowly, she shook her head. “It was just rough, and painful. I guess it put me off.”

“Okay.” Cullen kissed the top of her head before nestling his cheek against her hair. He felt almost guilty for being excited at the prospect of more physical and erotic touching. Felt guilty for imagining the sounds she might make with his mouth on her, and his head between her legs, rather than his fingers. He would need to take everything slow, with her. Work up to things, check what she was comfortable with and what she was not. This was new ground for him… For them both. It would take time. Nevena was worth it.

Nevena was growing accustomed to waking up to the cocoon of warmth that was Cullen’s body, wrapped around her. She felt him moving behind her, shifting his weight sluggishly and breathing in the first deep breath of the morning. When she leaned up on an elbow and peered over her shoulder, she was surprised to see him looking reasonably awake and tapping the screen of his phone. She flopped down to face him.

“G’morning.”

“Hey,” Cullen stretched out an arm to cradle her shoulders and pulled her close to his side, quickly tilting his head to kiss the top of her head. Not for the first time she found herself pleasantly surprised by how easy it was for the two of them. How casually they fell into relaxed and familiar gestures of open affection. She treasured each and every one, wanting to memorize them and replay them. “I should get back to my room.”

“Why?” Nevena glanced up at the screen of Cullen’s phone. It was just gone six in the morning, and it was still dark outside.

“In case Cassandra or Varric knock on the door. It’ll be a little tell-tale if I’m not there to answer.”

“We’re adults… We’re not doing anything wrong,” said Nevena. “We didn’t even do anything last night so…”

“I know.” Cullen placed his phone on a bedside table, rolled over to face her and kissed her forehead. “I know we didn’t.” His fingers brushed her cheek as he moved her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “But, we’re guests in their house, and they have their own rules. Varric probably wouldn’t care, but Cassandra…”

“Mhm…” Nevena quirked to mouth to one side. “Yeah. Considering I don’t think she likes me much already, probably best to not kick the beehive.”

Cullen chuckled, “I told you, Cassandra is just protective. She’ll warm up to you.” Another kiss to her forehead. “Give her some time.”

Nevena grumbled into her pillow, earning an amused smile in return. After a brief exchange of words, goodbyes, and kisses, Cullen tiptoed out of Nevena’s room, easing the door closed with a soft click. She settled into the duvet and the warmth his body left, spreading out a little for comfort and closing her eyes to welcome a few more hours sleep.

A short knock at the door disturbed her and she cracked an eye open. After a few seconds, there was another brisk knock. Nevena kicked the covers away, climbed out of bed and crossed to the door, pulling it open with a flourish. “Did you forget someth—” her words caught in her throat at the image of Cassandra, not Cullen standing before her. Cassandra, flushed with a sheen of sweat across her face, dressed in hi-visibility running gear that hurt Nevena’s eyes to look at. “Hi,” Nevena squeaked.

“Expecting someone else?” Cassandra’s tone was accusatory enough, but she narrowed her dark eyes a little for good measure. Nevena was already short, Cassandra made her feel tiny under her cool gaze. “Forgive me for coming to speak to you so early, but I had trouble sleeping.”

“…Okay.” Nevena nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other while gripping the door.

“I went to return something to Cullen’s room last night, and when I saw he wasn’t there, your room was the obvious answer to his whereabouts,” Cassandra explained. Though her eyes were sharp and remained focused on Nevena’s face, there was a slight lift in her voice which made Nevena think she wanted to be having this conversation as much as she did. “You are both adults, what you choose to do is up to you--”

“Well, thank you for that.”

“--what I will say may cause offence but, that is not my intent. I only wish to gauge...” Cassandra tutted. “Please, understand that Cullen is important to me, and to Varric. He was a broken man after Kirkwall, and after his ex-girlfriend left him. He suffered. It took a long time for him to recover, and it is clear as day that he cares about you. A great deal. I only ask… that if you do not feel the same that you do not let him believe that you do. That you do not string him along or play with his emotions. Please don’t hurt him. Don’t lie to him... It…” she sighed deeply. “I would worry about what it would do to him. To have his emotions toyed with.”

Nevena stared at her for several seconds that grew longer and longer as time passed. She wasn’t sure she was hearing things correctly. Cassandra was asking her not to toy with Cullen’s feelings. Not to hurt him. She wondered just what he had said to Cassandra while Varric was showing her his collection of books. It worried her, creating an uncomfortable gnawing sensation in her stomach. Why would Cassandra think she was going to hurt him? Or that Cullen was at any risk of being toyed with? Did Cullen say he thought she was stringing him along?

She banished the thought from her mind quickly. That was not the issue right now. Right now, she needed all her attention on the woman on the other side of the threshold. The woman watching her uncomfortably, unsure if she should go now she had said her piece, or if she should wait for a response.

“I don’t intend to hurt him,” Nevena said, summoning her voice from somewhere and surprised by how firm it was. “I know how badly he was hurt when Solona left. He told me. He told me about Kirkwall, about Kinloch, about the lyrium. I know it all. I am not going to hurt him, or mess around with his feelings or lead him on. I wouldn’t— I couldn’t do that to him. I care about him. He cares about me, and I care about him. So much. I would…” Nevena shook her head and brushed her fingers back through her hair. “I understand your protectiveness towards him. After everything he’s been though, if I was in your shoes I would feel exactly the same towards some strange woman he brought to meet you… But, I promise, you have no reason to worry about me. Or how I will treat him. I—” she caught herself and swallowed her words like a heavy stone sinking into a deep pond. Cassandra’s expression remained passive. Cassandra would be a good poker player, given how well she controlled her expression. “I like him. Very much. And while I am a little terrified and overwhelmed by how I feel about him… and while I might feel like I am not good enough, I intend to stay with him… as long as he wants me.”

The words were raw and honest, creating a strange sensation of pain in Nevena’s chest. Warm, intense pain that slowly began to spread throughout her limbs down to her extremities. It was as though her heart was expanding. As if the protective cage she had put around it since Rick had finally cracked and was broken. Nevena clenched her hand on the door to keep upright.

“Good,” Cassandra breathed out, her stance relaxed, and she appeared visibly relieved to hear Nevena’s reply. Her demeanour changed in an instant, no longer intimidating or intense. She grew softer, her face lighter with a smile. “I meant no offense. To hear you say that you care about him… It makes me very happy to hear.”

Nevena smiled a little but remained silent.

Reaching towards her, Cassandra gently squeezed her right shoulder. “If you doubt Cullen in anyway, I can assure you that he would not have brought you here, to meet us if he did not care for you quite deeply. His affection towards you is as sincere as yours seems to be toward him, and for that I am both relieved and grateful. I care about him, you see. He is as close to me as a brother.”

“I understand,” Nevena smiled again, itching to crawl back into bed and organize the conversation of the last two or three minutes. “It’s good that he has people who care about him. Who are watching out for him. He’s lucky.”

Cassandra looked her up and down. “Yes… I think he is.” With small, enigmatic smile, Cassandra bid Nevena good morning and that she should return to bed. Nevena closed the door, exhaled a long breath that did the job of releasing all the tension she was holding in her body.

As she climbed into bed and lay on her back, Nevena stared at the ceiling. She knew sleep wouldn’t come now. She stared at the light fixture, listening to the birds outside the window beginning to awaken and noticing the small shafts of light piercing through the curtains over the foot of the bed. Her mind raced. She had almost said she loved him aloud. Almost. It was an idea she had considered. A thought she had only flirted with on the ship. Catching herself as she almost spoke it… suddenly everything became a lot more real.

Chapter link to AO3

Look at these kids! Having healthy conversations about sex and what they like/dislike and also coming to slow realisations about how they feel about each other... While the other person remains blissfully oblivious. XD

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm a quiet shipper of Tethraghast, but if its not your thing I totally understand. I just think its a nice ship and admittedly, I wasn't a big fan at first, but it's grown on me over time. This chapter was fun to write, I'll be honest. I hope you all approve of my Varric and Cassandra. As always, I try to keep them as close to their canon counterparts as I possibly can, but I have to take a liberty here or there with them. I've always seen Cullen and Cassandra's relationship as very almost familial. Like she looks out for him like an older sister would, and he feels comfortable with her. Even if he tries to skirt around things at times.

What about you guys? What did you think of the chapter? Did you enjoy it? Do you think Cullen should have pressed for more information about Nevena's aversion to certain intimate acts? Do you think Cassandra was right to go to Nevena and ask about her intentions with Cullen? What did you make of Nevena's answer? And what did you make of Cullen's explanation about how he feels about her? And how he admires her?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/tags or by dropping me a message.   Thank you, as always, for the continued support and love. You guys are the best readers I could ever, ever hope for and your support means the world to me. <3 I hope you enjoyed, see you in the next chapter!

[thedistantstorm]

Fever

Steelponcho + Zavala x Hawthorne + The Farm + Sick!Suraya + Concerned!Zavala + ALL THE FEELINGS + Cayde bailing because poker + Continues from First Aid 

-----+++++-----

She's been feeling woozy for a few days now. It's nothing she hasn't dealt with before; It's just a cold. She keeps away from everyone as best she can, tries to stay hydrated, and attempts to wait it out.

The weather has been wet and cold, raining non stop. Her poncho is waterproof enough, but it's not a tarp - despite what Cayde says. She coughs into the crook of her elbow. Her head feels like it's full of cotton, and her throat is sore and scratchy. But, the comms pick up a report of Fallen in the vicinity, and they're stretched pretty thin, so it looks like she's got work to do.

It takes most of the day to track down the group of dregs in the surrounding forest. The rain provided decent cover for both friend and foe, thundering down without pause. She eventually got the lot of them, miles away from the Farm but still wholly threatening. The walk back was the hard part. Her addled brain was having a hard time determining if it were hot or cold, and if she turned her head too quick, she felt like the ground was coming up to greet her.

A couple times, she leans against a tree for a minute, just one, to gather her bearings. It makes no sense to her how she returns after dark.

-----+++++-----

He absolutely won't admit that he's worried. Cayde his giving him The Look™ and has waggled his eyes suspiciously at least four times since they've decided to sit at the fire pit on the southernmost edge of the Farm. He keeps looking in the direction of the trees, listening intently, just in case anyone needs help.

Not because Suraya Hawthorne left this morning on patrol and has not A) checked in, or B) returned, and it has been nearly ten hours.

“She can take care of herself, Zavala,” Cayde says precisely when Zavala suspects his brows knit together with yet more worry. “Relax.”

He covers his right arm with his left hand, feels for the healed injury there. The scar is soft and a shade of pale blue that blends in with his skin. He likes the reminder, even if he isn't thrilled that he has the scar in the first place. She insists it will fade out of existence, anyway, with time.

There's a hoarse, chest-rattling wheeze from the west, and the sound of footsteps come from one of the beaten paths. Whomever it is, they are stumbling. He sees the glint of a familiar barrel as Suraya Hawthorne drops her rifle and pack indiscriminately on the ground in the rain and sways toward the fire. The fire pit is sheltered enough by the trees that it's relatively dry.

“Heeeey, guys,” She slurs and Cayde sniggers, shaking his head.

“You have one too many, Poncho? I thought you were out on patrol.”

To Cayde's right, Zavala is fighting the tight feeling in his gut that screams something is wrong.

She laughs, and it's a weird sound, like she finds Cayde far funnier than he has any right to be. Then, abruptly, she looks around, like she's just woke up from a crazy dream.

“Is…” She looks unsure, blinking slowly as she looks toward the fire, “it hot or is it just me?”

Zavala stands, meaning to approach her where she is just under the canopy of trees.

“Hawthorne, you have been in the elements all day. Are you alright?”

There’s a bit of a delay, but she makes a sound between a scoff and blowing a raspberry. Cayde’s eyebrow plates creep up towards his horn at an alarming rate. “Yeahhh, 'm fiiiine,” She waves a hand. “Jus’ hot.” There's another shuffle forward, less productive, and then another cough.

And oh, that cough. It makes his chest hurt just hearing it. “Hawthorne?”

Her head whips in his direction and he sees her eyes clear for the slightest of seconds... right before they roll back into her head and her body crumples.

Lightning fast reflexes allow him to catch her before she lands in the wet grass. Her lashes flicker and her eyes try to open again, but to no avail. He can feel the heat rolling off of her in waves, through the non-metal parts of his gear. It seems like a bad sign, considering she's wearing rain-soaked clothing that should be chilled like the air around them.

“Cayde,” The Titan hisses, “Fetch someone to evaluate her, now.”

The Exo perks up at the order, running toward the tent village that makes up the majority of the Farm like his life depends on it. The Awoken shifts her weight and tucks his left arm under her knees so he can carry her inside where it is warm and dry.

He realizes when he gets her inside the otherwise unoccupied farmhouse that he has to get her out of her wet clothing. Despite priding himself on cool professionalism, something about propping her body against his while he attempts to disrobe her makes him sweat. He bites his lip with no one coherent around to see it, and endures. First the poncho, which falls to the floor with a wet squelch, then he lays her back on the bed and attempts to remove wet socks and boots. She begins to stir, and he hopes he can get her awake enough to prevent him from having to complete this task for her.

Above him, it's like someone flipped the lights on in her brain, and Zavala barely dodges her foot as she tries to kick him. He recoils and rises to his full height, regarding her warily.

“Hawthorne, you are ill,” He says, palms low and out in a measure like he's trying to tell a wild animal not to bite. “You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

She looks down and blinks several times. The fog in her brain temporarily recedes. “I - wait, what're you doing here? How did I get back?”

His eyes widen. Without asking for her permission, he puts his hand against her forehead, humming a concerned note at just how hot her forehead is. He doesn't comment on the fact that her eyes slip closed in blissful relief when he does. “How long have you been sick?”

“Mmm…” She flops her hand around. “Couple days. But I'm fine. Totally okay.”

Instead of answering, he offers her a hand to pull herself upright, and she does so teetering precariously.  He quirks a brow at her and she frowns.

“If you were really okay,” He says when she cants forward, catching her with a hand on each of her deltoids, “You wouldn't have fainted.” The words are quiet and full of mirth, and he thinks she might be out again until she looks up at him, blushing spectacularly, since she was absolutely not that red a minute ago.

“Don't tell me I fainted into your arms like some damsel in distress,” She says meekly. Her eyes are glossy and fever-touched, but there's something else in them, too. Something trusting. “It's just a cold.”

The slightest upturn of his lips has her scowling. He chuckles, “Despite how Cayde would tell it, you fainted without discretion for who would catch you, if anyone. Your dignity is still intact.” His eyes flick up to hers, and she sees a playful streak in them that she wants to hold onto, the voice of reason telling her no, not to instigate the one falling prey to the fever. “I will defend your honor, milady,” Zavala kneels, one hand over his heart like some knight (she wonders if are they glorified Titans or if it’s the other way around) and she shorts, trying not to giggle. “But Cayde, sadly…”

“Y’know, for a miserable bastard, that smile of yours is kind of charming. Tell anyone I said that,” She coughs, “And I’ll tell them I was delirious. Because I’m pretty sure I am if I think your mug is somethin’ special.” She shivers and the moment breaks, his concern winning out over banter.

Zavala tuts, and his fingers reach for the hem of her shirt. “Arms up,” He whispers. She is too tired to argue and complies. He peels the wet garment from her. She shivers, goosebumps dotting down bronze arms. He rubs them gently once her shirt joins her poncho on the floor.

Suraya manages to get the belt and buttons of her pants undone, without much difficulty, while Zavala returns to untying her boots. He hooks two fingers into her belt loops and tugs and literally looks anywhere but at her because he is still flesh and bone and she is wild and free and hips and thighs and Traveler take him, he is doomed.

Only one flimsy pair of black underwear and a brutally abused chest plate remain. The effort is having an effect on her though, and she knows it. “There should be clothes in that trunk,” She says, between coughing fits. “Just grab whatever.”

It only takes him a second to locate the trunk in the corner with a paltry collection of clothes belonging to the woman. He grabs the first pair of underwear and shirt he sees, not wanting to be accused of being some pervert snooping around in her things.

She takes the underwear first, and Zavala hastily retreats to the hallway before her sickness-addled brain decides she should strip bare in front of him, which, it seems, she was ready to do. Not that there's much privacy in this wayward camp, or it's anything he hasn't seen before, but something about this is different and he really cannot afford to think on why that is right this second.

Cayde’s voice crackles over the local comms, and the Commander is immediately thankful for the choice he's made. He almost blushes at the thought of the Hunter catching them in such a compromising state.

“Sorry to put you in such a bind, amigo,” Cayde calls, “Buuuut, there’s a bit of an emergency situation over here at the triage station. Some lady is giving birth. Sounds horrible. But, all the medics are occupied. They said to make sure she rests and give her a fever reducer. And then, y’know, call them if she can’t breathe or something. Poncho should be totally fine, she’s just overdoing it - sound like anyone else we know? Ring any bells? Ah well. Have fun fussin’ over her. I’m definitely going to go work on Vanguard Stuff and definitely not join the poker tournament happening in the barn. Smooches!”

The connection cuts before Zavala can get a word in edgewise, and he grumbles under his breath. At least if Ikora were here, she’d have actual assistance. He doesn’t even know what her temperature is. Certainly there’s some matrix for medication and time or something, he feels like he can remember that from early on in the City Age, when the refugees were coming in…

“Uh, Zavala?”

The tentative tone shakes him from his thoughts, and he returns to her room. “Hawthorne, Cayde said-” All the air leaves his lungs as if she’d punched him in the gut. She’s laying on the bed, panting with exertion from trying to undo the corset style ties that cinch her chest guard onto her frame.

She squirms. He does his damnedest to keep his eyes on her face and not on the expanse of toned muscle and creamy skin between panties and the guard, or the heaving of her chest. If he’s being honest, the flush on her cheeks that travels down to - nope, not a safe topic either.

“Okay. I know I’m the worst,” She all but moans in discomfort, “But I started undoing it and I knotted it somehow this morning because I was too sick to give a shit and now I don’t have the energy to figure it out, and I can’t tie it back up without stabbing myself in the side with one of the broken pieces.” She points out the slivers of boning that are jabbing her in the side along her ribcage. It very obviously needs replacing. Her eyes are pleading. “Help.”

That wistful not-smile is back and he shakes his head very minutely. “Remember how you called me the mess?”

She sighed. “I’m the mess. Is that what you want to hear?”

“It does help,” He replies, taking the two steps necessary to bring him beside the bed. “I am just unlacing the ties?”

“Yeah.” She shifts and sits up, to give him room to work with. He gulps silently as he sees the valley between her breasts come into view. She did say she was able to loosen it somewhat, he recalls as he forces himself to look away.

“This isn’t some rouse to seduce me, is it?” He asks, sinking onto the mattress behind her and evaluating the tangle of strap and ties.

“Yes. I got myself sick so I could throw myself at you,” She drawls sarcastically as he works out the knot. “Seriously though. If I was trying to seduce you, don’t you think I’d be telling you to call me Suraya instead of Hawthorne? Make it a little more personal?”

“True,” He concedes, his breath on her neck. With the knot free, the main closure gapes a little, and his fingers graze her side as he unfurls the cording. Light, is her skin soft. “But I think it’s working, Suraya.”

He knows he doesn’t imagine her gasp.

One hand goes to the center of her chest, holding the armor in place to prevent any accidental exposure, and she rolls over to her knees to look at him. “Zavala,” She warns.

He closes his eyes and berates himself. Idiot, he thinks to himself. “Forgive me,” He says. “I should not have-”

Her thumb grazes his lip. It’s so gentle he can’t help but press his lips into the caress, turn his head into her open palm. Her chest tightens from something that isn’t a cough she’s holding back.

“We can’t,” She tells him, firmly, pulling away. She knows how it looks, in her underwear, practically splayed out in front of him. Sick or not. Neither of them can afford this weakness, and she knows it. They are the very antithesis of each other. “This can’t happen. I... I’m sorry.”

“No apology necessary, Hawthorne,” He says, face blanker than she’d ever seen. It hurts more than she expected it to. “You require rest to get well. I will send someone to bring you a fever reducer and leave you to it.”

“Zavala, I-”

He gets up immediately, heading for the door. A white-blue hand clenches over the trim of the door frame, and he turns like he wants to say something different, maybe even argue with her, but he only sighs.

“Feel better.”