#slapping them shits on there like garnishes

[terraos]

The worst part about spec bio in a fairly unchanged modernized world is definitely trying to navigate the evolution tree and how advanced a species should get in a relative length of time. Where should the cousin species diverge in order for the species in question to be roughly on par with human intelligence in the evolution stages

[farity]

Guardian

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: College AU bar shenanigans

Warning: Smut

.

“Aemond!”

You were surprised to see your friend at the bar.  He turned, the corner of his eye crinkling as he smiled at you.  He’d told you all about how he lost his eye when he was younger, then caught you Googling Lucerys Velaryon but stopped you before you could drive to his house and murder the little shit.

“He’s not worth it,” Aemond had said, adding that the bionic eye he had gotten was just fine by him.  

“That’s not the point,” you’d replied, “he cut your fucking eye out, Aemond, and didn’t even get a slap on the wrist.  If I ever run into him, I will take out one of his balls.”

Aemond had wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.  “Ah, my guardian angel.”

“Not feeling very angelic about it,” you grumbled in response.  You felt protective of him, not just because of the eye and how his father had done nothing about it, but because from what he’d shared over the years, it seemed that other than his mom, his family his family didn’t appreciate him much.  He didn’t complain about it, but you’d gleaned bits of info here and there, and when his family made it to his high school graduation, you saw the dynamic up close and personal.

His father, first of all, didn’t even show up.  He was visiting his daughter from his first marriage, and couldn’t be bothered to see his son give the valedictorian speech.  His mother was proud and thrilled, taking a thousand pictures of Aemond.  His brother Aegon seemed bored, and maybe drunk, his younger brother Daeron was on his phone the whole time, and his sister Helaena spent the time with her headphones on, doodling on a little notebook.  Aemond had told you about her, he loved her dearly and she loved him back, but her autism made her spend most of her time in her own world.  

“Is this your girlfriend?  She’s very pretty, Aemond.”

You smiled, shaking your head at his sister, who was looking at you with a big smile on her face.  

“Hel, she is my friend, remember?”

“Picture of you both!” his mother said, and you stood next to him, both of you holding up your diplomas.

Dinner was an awkward affair, but you did your best to keep Aemond entertained, including throwing tiny rolled up bits of napkin at Aegon’s hair when he wasn’t looking.  

Now Aemond took a spot at the end of your bar, and you wondered what on earth had brought him in.

“What can I get you and why the hell are you here?”

Aemond laughed.  “I do get out sometimes,” he replied, scanning the board high up behind you.  “I don’t know, surprise me.  You know what I like.”

You nodded and turned to the row of bottles.  You did know what he liked.  And vice versa.  And sometimes, you did wonder, but the thought of wrecking the friendship, the relationship that was the most important to you, kept you from saying anything.  Neither of you had dated anyone in college, and the mere thought of going to bed with anyone made you wince.  

Anyone but Aemond.

You added a few ounces of this and that to your shaker, closed it and then tossed it behind your back, making it twirl in the air before catching it in your other hand.  The patrons began to clap and you laughed as you shook it a bit more before pouring it into a glass and adding a slice of orange as a garnish.  You placed it in front of Aemond and clasped your hands daintily in front of you.

“Drinks and a show,” he smiled, taking an experimental sip.  “Oh wow, this is amazing, what’s in it?”

“I’ll never tell,” you said saucily over your shoulder as you went to serve another guy.

* * * * * 

Aemond watched her walking away and smiled into his drink.

“Lucky man,” the guy next to him said.  Aemond met his eyes and the guy nodded towards the pretty bartender.  “How long you been together?”

“We’re not,” Aemond said, “just long time friends.”

The guy looked at him as if he had three heads.  “Uh-huh.”

A group of three guys came in, already drunk from the looks of them, and planted themselves at the other end of the bar.  Aemond watched as they began whispering among themselves, looking at his friend the whole time.  One of them leaned in, getting her attention and she turned to grab the pint glasses for their beers.  The guy who’d leaned in kept his eyes firmly on her ass the whole time and Aemond began to really, really dislike him.

“Want another?” she asked when she came over to check on Aemond.

He had a feeling a clear head would be the best choice given what he could see brewing at the other end of the bar.  “I’m good, thank you, those guys come here often?” he asked, nodding towards the group.

She rolled her eyes.  “Thank god, no, they’re not locals, they’ve been here a couple of times and they get so trashed and obnoxious.”  She smiled at him.  “I’m so glad you came in.  I feel like I’ve barely seen you this week.”  She squeezed his hand before going back to serve some more drinks and beers.

“Just friends, huh?”  The guy sitting next to him said, and when he saw Aemond give him an irritated look, he put his hands up in surrender.  “All I’m saying is, the way she looks at you, maybe you’re not as smart as you look, bro.”  The man left before Aemond could respond.

He’d thought about it.  Of course he’d thought about it.  She was sweet, funny, and had gone from a girl ready to throw a punch in his defense to someone he couldn’t imagine living without.  And she’d still throw a punch for him.  He’d felt a frisson of fear down his spine whenever he’d seen her laughing  with some other guy.  Was this it?  He’d ask himself.  Was this the one who’d capture her heart?  

It was inevitable, he thought, sooner or later she would find someone and he’d be happy for her and wish her the best.  

* * * * * 

You had kept tabs on Aemond for the past hour and his mood had definitely gone down in the last few minutes.  He kept stirring his empty cocktail glass and you wondered just what had happened.  The bar had emptied except for him and the three at the opposite end of the bar.

Speaking of them, they were getting on your last nerve.  Clearly, they thought you couldn’t hear them whispering about you, and as they got more and more drunk, their voices got louder and louder.  You wished Paul, the owner, were here, he was a great father figure who’d soon put those assbutts in their place.

“Hey honey, we want another round!”

You sighed, exasperated, because this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Sorry, boys, you’ve all had enough.  I’ll close up your tab.”

“I want another fucking beer, I’m paying for it!”

You pointed to the sign on the wall.  

We reserve the right to refuse service to any patron for any reason. 

“What the fuck?  You just work here, honey, we pay your wages.”

You continued closing the tab on the computer, and it printed out the signature form.  “Here, sign this.”

“Fuck you, don’t you know who I am?”

“Someone who needs to sign this.”  You tapped on the printout and placed a pen next to it.

You were tracking Aemond’s movements out of the corner of your eye.  He’d stood quietly once you’d denied them more drinks, had slowly walked down the length of the bar, and was now standing, empty glass in hand, leaning against a pillar about ten feet away from the three assholes.

Asshole #1 grabbed the pen and threw it at your face.  He didn’t do any damage, you turned away and it hit the back of your head.  When you turned back around, he wasn’t there, and his two buddies were looking toward the floor, where you heard a sickening crunch.

You checked the last place Aemond had been and he was gone.  

Oh shit.

You went through the side door of the bar to find Aemond straddling Asshole #1, who was grabbing his nose and moaning in pain.  Aemond had his fist pulled back, clearly ready to strike again.

“Get out,” you shoved one of the other two out the door.  “You, get the fuck out of here.”  You pointed at the other one, who left without checking on his friend on the floor.

“Aemond, stop.”

He didn’t move, fist still ready.  “Are you hurt?”  His voice was full of a quiet rage you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” you placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m fine.  Come on.  He’s not worth it.”

Aemond stood, slowly, pulling the guy up with him.  “Don’t come back.  Ever,” he said before throwing him out the door.  He turned, and you held out your hand.  “What?” he asked.  

“Hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine, Aemond.”  You kept your hand out until he placed his on it.  It looked worse than you’d figured, a bloody scratch that was still oozing, and various bruises on his pale skin.  “Let’s ice it.”

You wrapped some ice from the well in a bar towel and placed it gently on the back of his hand.  “I need to put some stuff on it, we don’t have it here.”

“I can clean it up at home.”

“You can, but you won’t, because you’ll get home and start checking the overseas markets and forget about your hand.”  You watched as he opened his mouth to reply but he realized you were right.  “Let me close the register.”

He grabbed the few stray bottles with his free hand to toss them in the bin, wiped down the bar while you closed up.

He drove the two blocks to your apartment.  Once inside you took out your first aid kit while he made himself at home.  He’d been at yours hundreds of times, studying, hanging out, or watching movies, but the sight of him kicking off his shoes and sitting down on your sofa warmed you.  There was an ease in your friendship, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt it had become a crutch, something you held on to so you wouldn’t have to go any further.

You opened the antibiotic gel, dabbed a little on his scratch.  “It’s stopped bleeding, which is good.  Let me get a bandage.”

“It’s fine, really,” he smiled up at you.  

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “When it gets infected and fills up with pus, do not come to me to take care of it.”

Aemond laughed.  “You love all those vet shows where they lance huge abscesses!”

You laughed along with him, but this time, it hurt.  Was this it?  Was this all you could have with him?  Until some girl with more guts than you came into his life and stole his heart?

“What is it?” he asked, aware of something going on in your head.

“Look, Aemond, uh, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I, uh, I just need to say something here.”

* * * * * 

This was it, Aemond thought.  Either she’d met someone or she was pissed off that he’d hit the guy.  She was steeling herself to say something and it just wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “I mean, I’m not sorry I hit that fucker, but I am sorry you’re upset.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you angry?”

She looked at him.  “No, I’m not angry.  I mean, I’m angry at myself because I’m such a fucking moron, but no,” she cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, smiling at him.  “I’m not angry with you.  Thank you.  Which really makes this much more difficult.”

Nope, it’s not going to be good at all.

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Good friends,” he interjected.  That had to count for something, didn’t it?

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded.  “And in that time we’ve been through a lot, but sometimes, uh, things change, and change can be difficult, I mean, maybe only one person wants change and the other is just fine the way things are.”

The pool of dread forming in his stomach was growing colder with each second, with each word she spoke.  

She’s met someone.

She let out a long breath.  “Oof, okay, so I want you to know that however you want to take things is okay with me, I want you in my life no matter what.”

“I will take whatever you give me.  You’re the most important person in my life,” he said, “and whatever this guy means to you, I will respect-”

“Huh?”

“I will respect your relationship, and-”

“Aemond, I fucking love you.”

He stared up at her, the knots in his belly refusing to unwind.  “As a friend,” he said quietly.

“That, too.”  She looked terrified, “but no, that’s not what I meant.”  She swallowed.  “I love you.  I’m in love with you.”

He hadn’t heard right.  He had missed a word somewhere.  Some key word that changed the meaning of everything she was telling him.

* * * * * 

Oh shit, your worst fears had come true.  Aemond was staring at you like you were speaking in a foreign language.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“And, uh, I get it, you don’t feel the same, and I am not going to push or anything.  I treasure our friendship, and every-”

He’d stood and wrapped one arm around your waist in the blink of an eye, cradling the back of your head with his hurt hand.  His mouth found yours as he turned, pressing you against the wall.  You gasped and he deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm on yours.

Tangled up in each other you made your way to your room as he removed his jacket.  You pulled away, seeking reassurance in his gaze.  Aemond smiled softly at you, taking your face in his hands.  “I love you, too.”  He pressed his forehead against yours before you pulled him back down to kiss him again.

In your bedroom, you turned him around so he sat on the edge of the bed while you removed your sweater, while he stared up at you.  He whispered your name as you straddled him, clad now in your thin t-shirt and work shorts.  “I have dreamed of you,” he said before he slipped his hands under your shirt and began exploring.  

You had wanted those big hands on you for a long time, fantasized about those long, elegant fingers, and as he roamed higher up on your sides you raised your arms to let him pull the shirt off.  He was so warm against your skin, the heat of him making your head spin.  He slipped one bra strap off your shoulder, kissing the indentation left by the strap on your skin before rubbing his cheek against it.  “So very soft.”

He repeated the process on the other side while you reached back to undo the clasp.  “I’ve always loved how your skin smells,” he murmured against your neck before he cupped one breast in his hand.  He lowered his head to take the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.  You began to squirm and his hands went to your hips, keeping you still while he continued licking and suckling.  

“Aemond,” you breathed out, threading your hands through his hair.  Each swipe of his tongue sent a spike of pleasure between your legs, and as you rocked against him, you felt him getting harder.  “Come here, please.”

He obliged, crawling up until you could yank his shirt off.  God, he was gorgeous. You’d dreamed of sliding your hands all over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the muscles in his back under your fingers, and now you explored every inch you could.  You reached down to the waistband of his jeans and felt him shiver as your fingertips began working the button and zipper.  

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You stopped immediately.  “What is it?  Do you not want to-”

“Yes, of course I want to.  I don’t have any condoms on me.”

You reached up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.  “Aemond.  You’re clean, I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.  We’re good.”

He grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.  “Are you sure?”

“Aemond, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay, making sure,” he leaned down to kiss you as he shoved the rest of his clothing down his legs.  “Your turn,” he said as he began undoing the fastening on your shorts.  You let him pull them and your underwear off, now wishing you’d worn something fancier, lacier, smaller.  

* * * * * 

Aemond thought there was no more beautiful sight than the one before him.  He’d gone from despair to utter joy and now she was looking up at him like he was the world to her.  He kissed her again and again, to reassure himself this was real, this was happening, and when she reached down and began stroking him, he nearly came on the spot.  

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.  Jesus.  She was going to fucking kill him, but he’d die a happy man.  He guided himself between her legs and began pushing.  She was wet and hot and her hips were pulsing up, taking him deeper each time.  

He tried to take it slow, ruthlessly containing the desire to snap his hips so that he was fully inside her.  She was making little whimpering sounds and he would cut his own throat before he hurt her.  Slowly he filled her, and when he pulled his hips back, she moaned, wrapping her legs around him.

He couldn’t help himself, sinking inside her again, the feel of her a lure he couldn’t resist.  “God, yes,” he murmured, driving faster.  She reached up to kiss him, her hips rolling to meet his every thrust.  He felt her nails sink into his shoulders, and she whimpered again.  “Aemond, I’m- “ she managed before he felt her start clenching around him.  She let her head fall back on the pillow, swooning as the pleasure swirled inside her.  He let go, his resolve shot to hell as he let the orgasm overtake him, too.

* * * * * 

Damn.

You felt Aemond pull you to his side so he wouldn’t crush you.  That had been the most amazing sexual experience of your life.  His heart was racing beneath your palm as he cradled you against him.  

“Are you cold?” he asked, nuzzling your cheek.

You shook your head, safe and happy in his arms.  “Will you stay with me?”

You felt him smile.  “As long as you’ll have me.”

[karlachismylife]

UHMMM HIIIII this is @valscodblog but her main acc!!

AND IM IN DESPRATE NEED OF HEADCANNONS-LIKE FLUFFY ONES FOR SOAP AND KARLACH.

like-who cooks?? who cleans??? just homey fluffy headcannons <3

love, Val <3

HI PRECIOUS oh you just know how to make a fella happy, thank you for asking about them T_T honestly, i think while they're actively adventuring with the whole party and task force they don't do shit >< like, they're not that irresponsible, there's just always someone who does chores more efficiently, leaving these two ADHD sweethearts to forage, hunt, stay on watch and participate in wood chopping or some other shit requiring a lot of strength and not so much thoughts. but when they somewhat settle down in their own little home...

Two of us wearing raincoats

Domestic fluff with Karlach x Soap

CW: a bit suggestive in some parts, title from a Beatles song, some self-projecting headcanons.

UPD: corrected some wrong facts.

cooking is definitely in Soap's reign. while scottish cuisine can be extravagant sometimes (i swear, i love scotland for a lot of things, but what the fuck are they eating oh my god T_T), Karlach is definitely not a picky eater and will stuff herself full with whatever her love puts on her plate. the only requirements are for it to have meat and be in large quantities, and those are easily ticked off. however, she actually genuinely likes a lot of dishes Johnny whips out seemingly with random ingredients! always on duty since a very young age and ten years in hell, Karlach barely remembers what a home-cooked meal tastes like, so for her to just smell something cooking in the kitchen or just outside the porch if it's outdoor meal day makes it already the best she's ever had. add the sheer adoration and giddiness she feels whenever Soap takes care of her, and she's right there, a dreamy look in her eyes and tail coiling around Johnny's ankle when he allows Karlach to hug him from behind and steal a bite of the garnish. she can cook, meat especially, but she just never learnt any fun recipes, so she can only watch, learn or guess how to add a little more flavour to a simple steak. unless you want a fried imp on a stick, that's her specialty (tastes awful and it's not her fault).

also, Johnny definitely knows how much Karlach likes seeing him wear an apron and does it as often as he can. it's not as much a sexy thing (although there are plenty times when there's just the apron and he earns himself a hefty slap on that bare ass- okay, we'll discuss that another time, hehe), but that same domestic feeling that they both miss, each for their own reasons. he definitely has the "kiss the chef" one and gets all his tips for good service in kisses and grabby clawed hands squishing his sides while Karlach stays pressed to him from behind.

when Karlach does cook though, Soap is not allowed the same privileges of being handsy on the account of it always ending up in their food burnt. even if she was boiling some eggs for breakfast. Karlach is best girl at everything except self-control around her beloved soldier, doesn't matter if they've been married for thirty years already, she cannot resist his touch, so Johnny's banished to serving plates and salivating over the frying smells and a good view of Karlach's rear.

cleaning, on the other hand, is more of a Karlach's thing, even though they are both shit at it (ADHD go brrr, you know). they both can stay disciplined and ready for duty at all times, but what surrounds them is utter chaos most of the time, which, honestly, only makes their remarkable service all the more impressive. they're just used to it, mugs of tea strategically forgotten on random surfaces only to be conveniently found at the right time (hours later, yes, but Karlach can heat it back up rather quickly lol), clothers scattered around, hanging from chairs in piles so thick that it's uncomfortable to sit on said chairs, dishes stacking up into leaning towers... Karlach gets the dark urge almost always first. probably at some other important task's expence, but she will hyperfocus and scrub the whole house until it's squeaky clean and her back is a bit sore.

however, they both enjoy doing the dishes! for Soap it's an act of service, for Karlach just a prefect mindless task to get her hands busy and let her thoughts wander (and a source for Soap puns, yes), they don't fight for it of course, but sometimes Johnny does them despite having also prepared dinner. he honestly isn't that bothered about splitting every chore fifty/fifty, if Karlach ever raises concern, he just shrugs and tells her he wouldn't let her lift a finger around the house if it was up to him - or that she pulls more weight in other areas (like the gym, lol. does she bench press more than him? she very much might...)

favourite position - cuddled up wherever they find enough space for their two huge bodies to be squished together. pathological cuddlers. will absolutely spend some of their free time just lounging like two couch potatoes, arms locked around each other and - yes, you guessed it - fidgeting. cuddling before sleep, after sex, in the morning, after coming home, when having a bad day, a good day, a neutral day, no day... Soap gets to be little spoon so often and he loves it just as much as pressing up against one particular red tail and holding his palm over the calm engine. getting up in the morning can be tricky since they often get dragged back and cuddled to death by a protesting cuddle monster muttering about five more minutes.

they need, like, an alaska king size bed just so they don't push each other off. absolute menaces to sleep with: it starts so sweet, hands holding, legs tangled up and one thrown over the other's hips, Karlach's tail holding onto Johnny's waist securely... and then they switch sixty sleeping positions, have a three-part breaking dance-off, reenact wars they've been to in characters and exchange a meaningful sign language conversation. all while asleep and blissfully unaware. the amount of times Johnny nearly lost his eye to Karlach's horn or Karlach was almost smothered by Soap's heavy weight plopping right on top of her with every pillow and blanket hogged (they have two extra for each and it still doesn't help)... poor Clive doesn't get to sleep in bed with them smply because it's safer for him to stay on a beside table.

enthusiastic house remodelers! Soap is very crafty and likes to build and asemble furniture from scratch, and Karlach wants their shared home to be perfect for their tastes - she knows all too well what it's like to be homeless. changing interior design and moving furnitue almost every half a year is fun for them, they never run out of ideas how to make their home even more homey! they almost do not argue when renovating, which is a bit surprising given they're both hot-headed, but they definitely resolve any disagreements right there on the floor of an empty room or pressed to a soon-to-be-painted wall.

fixing shit is Soap's duty. Karlach gets frustrated easily when something broken isn't getting fixed easily, so even if she knows what to do well, she might worsen the situation by raging against a shaky table or something.

breakfast in bed for both of them. they can never predict who's getting up first, so whoever wakes up buzzing (or just falls off the bed first) and is lucky to escape the cuddle monster definitely takes their time to pamper the other, cut some butt heart-shaped sandwiches or make a loopy smiley face out of eggs and bacon/sausages. both avid tea drinkers even though Soap prefers coffee. he just is constantly thirsty (in all ways).

snack beasts. they are constantly chewing on something, partially because it's a fidgeting thing, partially because they need their sugar fill. the whole house is filled with snack stashes, sweet nuts in little bowls, paper bags with cookies, berries always in stock... absolutely steal each other's snacks and offer to share without even thinking, it's an automatic thing no matter how deep in thoughts/busy they are. Karlach is more of a sugary and sweets snacker, so she often has sugar crumbs in the corners of her mouth, cookies clutched in her big palm, a honey jar with a stick she dips for a taste freqiently; Soap on the other hand is mostly after everything chewy, not so important whether it's sweet or not. probably has some chewy sticks/toys in addition to constant snacking. like a wee puppy with growing teeth.

Soap prefers baths to showers and Karlach does have fun with a longer soak as well (especially if bubbles and/or her hot husband are involved, and yes, it's always steamy with her. literally, she can still boil the water if she stays long enough). absolutely wash together most of the time, or at least share the bathroom before going to bed, one of them showering and the other one pissing/brushing their teeth. will hold hands when Karlach's in the tub and Soap is on the toilet and vice versa.

despite their love for a good cuddle lie-in, they definitely prefer active recreation and hobbies: hikes, sports, dancing, rock climbing, exploring, town fairs browsing, woodworking... except for some very low-energy days (executive dysfunction is no joke) they will be out, getting up to some safer-than-war adventures. definitely go camping a lot, also try to invite their mates too even though not everyone is so enthusiastic. but they can have fun at home too, they will most definitely sunbathe and go for swims in the river/little lake not far from home (even though it might turn into shell hunting or cave exploring. or waterfall sex. mostly waterfall sex.) or have quiet dance nights just in the living room.

absolutely run out under the rain to jump in puddles, splash each other, roll in the mud and kiss while they're soaking and yelling at the thunder excitedly. just another benefit of hardly getting cold - the rain evaporates from Karlach's skin and creates their own cloud of mist to pretend like they're two thunderstorm ghosts stalking through the small village. they are the worst influence on the neighbourhood kids and are absolutely responsible for the little tieflings and other children coming home covered in mud and dripping on mam's carpet.

a little (not little) extra for modern!AU :)

Karlach hates vacuuming solely because of the sound, and yes, she can still hear it even if she blasts music in her headphones or on the stereo ungodly loudly. it just irritates her to the point of raging (misophonia said hi), she'd rather sweep the floors manually or just let Soap take over. she is a little self-conscious about it though, so he has to play up his knight in grey sweatpants with no underwear on shining armor act and play-fight for the bloody vacuum until she feels better and leaves him to do the chore.

training is a family activity! they obviously go to gym together as much as possible (oh Soap is there only to show off his buff girlfriend and watch her excersise to the point where they have to excuse themselves for a bathroom break), but they have a little makeshift gym at home, like, maybe just a treadmill and some small equipment for days when they don't feel like going out. actually, i think they have a little gym even in Faerûn, that one was definitely built mostly by Soap with help from Karlach. it's nothing fancy, but since it is somewhat a novelty (very different from the usual training grounds with dummies and everything) they probably have neighbours and local kids/teens come and use it in exchange for thoughtful and heart-warming gifts. Karlach talks everyone's ears off about how crafty her husband is, and said husband walks around with chest puffed out like a bloody turkeycock.

they actually fight over music despite having similar tastes! but they have different opinions on when is what soundtrack appropriate. you cannot tell me they do not enjoy oldschool rock (and not just rock) (yes this might be just a wee bit self-indulgent BUT YOU HEARD THAT THEME IN KARLACH'S AVERNUS ENDIND RIGHT???), like, two-thirds of their playlist are from the period of late 1950s to 1990s. Price definitely approves. they are definitely both metalheads, perhaps not the most "true" ones, but they would get a vinyl record player to listen to some Iron Maiden or Gojira (please metalheads don't kill me if this is a poser thing to write, i respect the genre just not my style-) BUT they will fight over what should be playing in the car/while on the bikes/in the gym. they both don't like to sit with headphones on when together, so "each listens to their own" isn't a solution. and yes, they are a bit obnoxious about blasting their shit with windows open, but they try to remember to be respectful...

definitely obligatory listening to scottish bands, Simple Minds and others close to top on their spotify. Karlach would probably be curious to look for obscure bands and discover indie artists and share found gems with Johnny. also - yes this is also very personal, but i sincerely think it suits them - they love Ren (yes, he's welsh, i know), Karlach a bit more probably since Soap's lifestyle and views contradict Ren's message at some points, but they both know all the lyrics and get emotional when listening to his music. also, like, boxing to his music is the best outlet for everything pent up.

they both are so bad at grocery shopping, oh my god T_T they are absolutely prime victims of flashy marketing, eye-hurting wrappers, misleading deals with yellow labels and supermarkets' floorplans. Soap is a lost cause, Karlach sends him to fetch some milk and he comes back with a full bag of sweets, steak "for the weekend" and gum with the transerring kids' tattoos inside. it's a miracle if he remembered about milk AND brought the right one (he's definitely the type to buy some yummy-looking bannana-soy-whatever-overpriced-bullshit when they needed simple cow milk for masala tea). Karlach is slightly better simply because she gets just so overwhelmed by the choice that it's easier for her to stick to a poorly scribbled list of things she's used to. actually gets upset when she feels like she wants just a little something extra, but can't figure out even what aisle to look at to satisfy her craving. even worse if she goes grocery shopping when hungry (quickly becomes hangry and might call Johnny for emotional support).

skincare is a joke to them. the only times they do that is when they see some stupid animal-print face masks or when Soap gets tricked by packaging and smells and buys some chocolate body scrub with red pepper thinking it's pudding (first he eats a spoonful, finally discovering that it's not pudding at all, then tries it on his whole body to see if he'll smell like chocolate after, and he SWEARS swallowing that shit wasn't as painful as feeling it burn his asscrack and- yes this might be from my experience too). they have a home spa date and clown around the whole time, wearing fluffy robes, eating cucumbers off each other's eyes, lounging around with fancy wine glasses filled with beer and gossiping about neighbours. take a hundred silly pictuers and decide that their favourite part of a spa day is when they wash everything off in the shower together and have sex. a lot of it. nothing more arousing than your man with sparkly pink eyepatches stuck to his freshly shaven mug.

haircare is a whole another story, though! they are both very proud of their hairstyles and want them to look good, so they do frequently shave off outgrown parts (often do that for each other without going to a hairdresser) and style it. Soap's hair tends to get flat so he will worry about volume, while Karlach (who i strongly believe to be blasian) needs oils and moisturisers for her hair. it's pretty short and only mildly wavy, so not the most troublesome to keep healthy, but she does look out for it. also for her horns too, it's canon that she uses oil to care for those babies!

while fixing stuff around the house is still mostly Soap's duty, fixing their bikes is Karlach's passion. she might actually have a whole garage in modern!AU, but even if she doesn't, she still spends hours elbows-deep in machine oil and grease, tinkering with the engines and polishing their shiny steel steeds. Soap often has to come get her out of her hyperfocus to have a bite and a cuddle-smooch (or more) session on the garage petrol smelling old couch.

watching football with beer and smoking (and possbly all the mates interested) is a must. they are so very yelling at the TV and slapping each other's thighs when there's a dangerous moment - and kissing when their team scores. probably the only thing on TV they will never interrupt with getting handsy, they're both too invested lol. god forbid someone in the room roots for another team than them, this will be such a heated arguement that outsiders might think there's a murder about to happen (it never strains their friendship with anyone).

luckily for Soap, modern!Karlach will not melt snow around herself, so they can and will go snowboarding at least once a year. he absolutely gets a kick out of teaching her, and their high body temperature is a welcome feature on such vacations. however, they still wear those stupid lovers-cojoined mittens on walks even though their hands never get cold.

whew, that was a ton of word vomit, haha, thank you for your ask! they are SO appreciated as well as likes, reblogs and just the love i see here for my precious explosive adhd meow meows T_T feel free to request more! also not just about them, i will gladly write for other COD or BG3 characters. any pairing, also x reader or x OC, why not. i need to get my english writing skill up, feels so weird to see it compared to my first language texts...

[necros-writing-stuff]

YOU WANT TI HEAR ABOUT THE RECIPE I WANNA BAKE FOR EDEN??? 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

ALRIGHT FOLKS, I hope y'all are ready for my fav seasonal treat.

I hope Eden would like it too

TODAY'S TREAT ISSS *drum roll*

NUSSECKEN BABY!!

It's a german, cookie-like treat whose name roughly translates to "corner nuts." I'll be using grams and mls because I don't know any other measurments.

INGREDIENTS!

For the topping

200 grams of butter

150 grams of sugar (I usually put less sugar, do as you like tbh)

15 grams of vanilla powder

4 tablespoons of water

400 grams of whatever nuts you like! Almond, hazel, walnuts, you name it. I personally really like almonds, sometimes mixed with hazel.

For the cookie base

300 grams of white flour

1 teaspoon of baking poweder

130 grams of sugar (again I usually use less)

2 eggs

15 grams of vanilla powder

130 grams of butter

extra ingredients

Dark chocolate (you'll need this one to garnish the topping)

Jam (traditionally you use apricot or orange marmelade, but you can use the jam you like most.)

PROCEDURE!

Start with the mixed nuts topping, because it'll have to cool down before you can actually put it together.

For the topping:

- take yor nuts of choice and blend them. Cut them up enough to have a rough crumble. You want them to be crunchy, not creamy. But definetly not big chunks. A crumble consistency.

-in a pot, put in the butter, sugar and water, and melt them.

- add your crushed nuts and cook them for 5-10 minutes MAX. Just enough to combine it all and be a little sticky.

-let it cool down a little.

For the cookie base:

-in a bowl, put all the ingredients together, and start working them with your hands.

-You have to work it like a pie crust. If you don't have experience, here's sone tips:

-don't use electronic tools. Your hand's warmth will melt the butter and combine it better.

- at first, it'll feel dry and crumbly and you'll be tempted to put liquid in it. DON'T DO IT. trust the process. Believe in the slowly melting butter.

-keep working it until a solid dough forms. It has to be firm and the ingredients must be well combined.

-don't overmix it.

COMBINING THE INGREDIENTS

-Take a solid tray, put some baking paper on it. Slap the cookie base on it and start flattening it. Ideally you'd put it in a rectangular shape to cut the cookies better.

-The cookie height should be around 0.5 to 1 cm tall. Depends if you want a tall cookie or not, or if you simply prefer quantity over quality.

-Slap the jam of your choice on the cookie dough. Distribute it on the whole surface. Use more jam than you think you need: it'll help to stick the cookie and the nuts together.

-slap the nut topping directly on the jam. Don't care to keep the layers clean, smear the jam with the nuts if you have to. That shit has to stick together. Distribute the nuts evenly.

-shove the bad boy in an oven at 200 degrees Celcius for 20-25 minutes. Check the sweets, if you want the nuts to be a bit toasty you can put on a grill mode at the last minute. NO MORE THEN A COUPLE MINUTES. Otherwise the nuts might burn.

- let the bitch cool down to room temperature.

- once it's cold, cut it up into triangles. (That's the traditional shape, squares work too)

chocolate topping:

- take a large pot, fill it with water and put it on the heat to boil.

- take a smaller pot, put in enough chocolate to coat the cookies in, and submerge the small pot into tue warming water.

- this is a pretty safe way to melt chocolate without burning it. Just be careful to not splash yourself with the boiling water.

- once the chocolate is melted, take your cookie triangles and dip the corners into the chocolate. Then put them on a tray with baking paper and let the chocolate cool down.

-alternitavely, take a sac-a-poche, fill it with the chocolate and just pipe it on the crumbled nuts. A spoon works too.

Let the chocolate cool down and VOILÀ! NUSSECKEN!

They're not too difficult to make, the only bore is the waiting time for stuff to cool down. Hope y'all like this recipe! ;)

I want to feed it to Eden snsbnansn

OK BEFORE I FORGET:

What kinda sweets do you think Eden likes? I thought about the Nussecken because the nuts remind me the forest(?) somehow and it feels very homely to me. If you have headcanons, oh Maestro of Eden, please share >_<

-💜

1) thank you so much for the recipe, I'm gonna try it at some point and I'll let you know how badly I do at it lmfao.

2) I think you're right that Eden would like this a lot because we see them enjoying roasted chestnuts in game. Which makes me think they'd enjoy those chocolate bars with nuts in them.

Also, scones with fruit jam! Both made by PC! Black Berry jam piled on Eden's shelf in the seasons they grow, ingredients for scones on every shopping list.

Keep Eden away from anything resembling warheads or sherbert. If it's sour they'll die. Just nice and sweet things, but not artificial flavours.

[bengiyo]

Laws of Attraction Eps 1 and 2 Stray Thoughts

For @lurkingteapot, @negrowhat, and @troubled-mind, here are some highlights from the voice recordings Bestie and I sent to the chat while we were watching the first two episodes.

Episode 1

Ben: They were death-flagging on this child, so David and I decided to take the over-under on how long it would take this child to die. We gave it five minutes. So, two minutes later.... David: They ran over that child like Wile E. Coyote!

David: I can't go to Thailand. Ben: I'm scared! I'm really scared!

Ben: I'm so excited. This is giving everything. We got a kid run over by a car after death flagging six different ways, and David's like that list better not be in that bag! Cuts to the bag. The list is covered in blood. David: This is a Mexican telenovela!!

Episode 2

Ben: Let's talk about this sandwich. This man put all this presentation into a single sandwich, which he cut in half! Then split between the two of them, garnished with a piece of lettuce, a slice of tomato, and a ton of onion....along with some orange juice from concentrate?? With bread that looks like it was burnt to within in inch of its life on a George Foreman Grill..... This man is insane.... Like we already knew that. This man is as insane as Bill in Kill Bill 2 using a whole chef's knife to spread mayonnaise on a sandwich.

Ben: Okay, David, you were correct. I'll give you a Clowned Correctly award. David said that that man is not touching him because he's insane and he absolutely wants that man to want him when he finally fucks him. I love it though! He's like, "You were drunk, and you puked on yourself. So I removed your clothes to clean you up, and lusted. I sure did! But I didn't touch you! Because that would get me 4-20 year in prison. And they're not gonna have my ruffles and bubble baths in prison." David: "I'm a not-so-secret luxurious bitch. I don't DO cells." Ben: This high sadity mofo's like, "Uh-uh. But! Since you're sober now!" David: "Let's talk!!" Ben: I love this man. David: "Good! What's really good?"

Ben: Not this man getting out of this car... David: With the gayest shirt! Ben: What the fuck is going on with this collar and these overlong goddamn sleeves? This man is a menace. David: This is giving, "Give me shirt but also a Faustian nightmare." Ben: He looks like someone just popped a can of cinnamon rolls. David: I can't want more for you than you want for yourself. Ben: I...am overdone...with this show... David: And not champagne colored! You're a gay man! You know better! Ben: Look how it's sitting on his shoulders! This is a travesty!

Ben: I know we comment on how unhinged this man is in every scene, but why is he taking the One Ring to Mordor as well?

Ben: This is the least insane he's looked in this show, and that's saying something. We've been here for nine hours.

Ben: I see why @ginnymoonbeam said this show might be for the KinnPorsche enjoyers because this is now the next show where we've watched a father slap his son in the most bitchless way possible. David: Slaps always come in threes! The first is your first salvo. The second, this time, is aiming to fuck up some real estate. The third is the disrespect.

David: They clearly defined her relationship with her employees. They are not afraid of her. If these are hoes, they feel taken care of. Ben: I don't know what the relationship is between Organ and Silvy's characters, but I hope we get to see them fuck on screen. David: If we don't, why am I here? I require women doing filthy shit to each other. I can get BL anywhere. I came to see women doing shameful things with each other. I came here for Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in Bound. I did not come here for the Bridges of Madison County. Ben: Girl you ain't never lie!

David: I'm here for this. The unapologetic sissiness is what I live for. He had me when he pulled out that little gun. "Now, I can date you, but I can also put you down like a dog." You know there's nothing I love more than Gays With Guns. Look at God. Won't he do it. Ben: God had nothing to do with iQIYI.

[cuddyclothes]

Okay, some Thoughts about Good Omens 2 and that ending and stuff

Disclaimer: I’ve never read the book. I’ve never heard the radio show. Beware, there is criticism under the “keep reading” as well as my analysis of the ending. I’m using male pronouns but feel free to substitute the ones you prefer.

I loved “Good Omens 2″. And have rewatched it at least three times, as well as having it on in the background. And watched clips on YouTube, especially of the ending. I’VE CRIED A FUCKING RIVER. The beginning with Angel!Crowley squealing and squeaking with happiness over his new universe is cute and heartbreaking.

And naked Jon Hamm! Who doesn’t love naked Jon Hamm? He is hilarious.

But here were my problems as I was watching it. First: Crowley’s present day hair. Hated it, hated it, hated it. The little curl bobbing around when he moved his head kept distracting me. It was a beautiful red first season, and all of the hairstyles were lovely, especially when it was long!!

What’s with the color and curls? Aziraphale’s hair is still the same. And no full-on serpent eyes!

And no odd little noises. What happened to the odd little noises?

The plot was thin. Hanging the whole thing on something as small as Gabriel’s disappearance after the enormity of S1 left it a tad lacking. The Nazi zombie “minisode” was irritating. If you’re going to have Nazi zombies, don’t let them stumble out and kill more people! Also, it was so SATISFYING when they were killed. (Does that count as retcon?) The zombies were mainly there so we could watch Aziraphale play with the feather boa and be flustered all over the place. It was so unnecessary. It would have been better minus Nazi zombies. But zombies are all the rage these days, so I guess you have to have them.

I’m generally down with the horror side of things, except for those poor graveyard guards, doomed to fall forever. And why did Maggie love Nina so much? Nina was basically a grump who barely smiled and certainly gave her no encouragement. I know they were supposed to mirror the main couple but it was pretty weak tea. The more anvilicous, the less enjoyable. Seriously, I didn’t give a shit. The only part I liked was when they told Crowley to back off.

While I knew when watching that the series was mostly fan service on a silver platter garnished with parsley, I still enjoyed it. I would watch Michael and David talk about coding. (In my day we’d say read the phone book but do phone books even exist any more?) However, again, my toes are broken from all of the anvils. I squirmed at how shameless it was. I knew there would be fan art and fan fiction and GIFs out the wazoo, so who am I to piss on somebody else’s fun? But for me, there were moments when I wanted to say, “tone it down a little! We get it!” 

Especially since Aziraphale was such a prissy little fluff ball through the whole season. Does anyone else think S1 Aziraphale would have been a ferocious warrior when the demons showed up? Rather than “oh dear, here girls, you fight the devil’s army!” He could have yeeted the demons into the holy circle! By the way, who made the holy circle? When he calls, “Anybody there?” who answered?

And, and, AND there was no significant fights between Aziraphale and Crowley! Remember “How can somebody so clever be so stupid!”?  When the conflict between the main characters is insignificant (until the end) it diminishes the whole stakes. Which is why I feel like the ending was hastily slapped on, even if it did rip my heart out of my chest.

But I’ve thought a lot about the ending, and I think Metatron played Aziraphale like a harpsichord. Do you think for one minute Metatron thinks Aziraphale could lead Heaven and a huge project like the Second Coming? Of course not, he thinks Aziraphale is a chump. Azi will think he’s in charge while Michael and Uriel walk all over him.

Aziraphale didn’t want to go to Heaven, but Metatron flattered him AND offered to let Crowley return as bait. That did it, because Azi can be an idiot at times. Remember how he thought he could go have a word with Heaven and straighten everything out in S1? When Crowley says no, Aziraphale has made a promise and I don’t recall him ever being able to break a promise. When they kiss he’s hopelessly confused and crying. 

Metatron comes along, Azi almost protests that he doesn’t want to go, but again, he made a promise. This is just me, but when he’s in Heaven’s elevator, as we watch it go up, we see him slowly being brainwashed

[laketaj24]

Serotonin

Author’s Note: I finally finished something in my drafts after two months. I feel semi accomplished today! Taglist is open, as are requests!!!! Send them… I want them.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, language

Inspo Song: Why are you here?

 The eyes searing into you from across the club belonged to Meg Styer; you knew of her well, based on Colson’s Instagram, she was the new arm piece. The well-known model had a reputation of making herself known to the exes, even if that meant starting confrontations when they were not needed. She crossed her long russet brown legs; they shimmered in gold, as did her entire outfit. You felt immediately outdone, thinking of the minimal effort you’d put into the outfit or your makeup today. Tonight's outing was not supposed to be about Colson or this new woman; it was about falling out of this fucking slump you'd found yourself in for the past month.

"It’s lively here.” Eric grinned. Straight edge, Eric.

You cringed inside; if your mother could have created someone on an app, Eric would have been him. Without a doubt, he was handsome, with dark hair, delicate features, and not a tattoo or piercing in sight. The club had been his idea, but parts of you believed he’d gotten the idea from your sister, who knew that there was no way in hell you’d sit at a restaurant and eat. You liked the action; your job called for you to sit in silence and awkward conversations; you didn't want your life to be a damper as well.

“It is,” you looked around, taking everything in, including the abrasive eyes that still remained on you, but it didn’t matter once he entered the room. The black shirt revealed his entire tattoo-riddled chest, even the one of your name he’d gotten a few years back. He looked like he might be up to trying you tonight, so you had to disappear and do so quickly. “We should go to the booth you got.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

It wasn’t a good idea; you sat uncomfortably across from the pair watching their every move while trying to suppress the need to end the date abruptly and slap the fuck out of him. Irritating you always was the one thing he did exceedingly well. Meg sat in his lap, draping her arms over his body, throwing her ass on him like she had no shame!  Did he know it was you across the room from him? Did he care? You watched as the waiter brought your third glass of tequila to the table and leaned into Eric, noticing the earthy cologne mixed with the whiskey. He smelled nice, or perhaps you were elusive to the bullshit because being near to him dulled the ache of the scene across from you.

The room to be secluded offered no privacy, so even when you felt alone, you were smothered in the thoughts of what if he saw you kiss or touch this guy- what the fuck was his name again? You uncrossed your legs, clumsily kicking the round glass table in front of you and spilling his drink but thank god not yours.

“I need some air; I’m gonna go get some.” You paused and took your glass. “I’ll be back.” The words scrambled out, and you did too, pushing up from the leather couch and not looking back to see Eric’s reaction to the awkward movements.

Too many people surrounded you, and at the moment, all you truly wanted was to hear nothing and feel nothing, even if it meant you had to get shit-faced. The stairwell didn’t have many people in it; only two women consumed in one another and Colson.

Your heart sunk once you realized it was him, from fear, dread – fucking embarrassment, maybe? He shook his head; you took notice of the three earrings in one ear while the other garnished a seat of crosses that dangled. Colson’s hair was slightly disheveled atop his head; the dark roots peeked out of the platinum blonde tapered cut. He looked great as usual. “I thought you were in for the night?” Colson’s voice carried over the music because he refused not to be heard, especially by you. He looked down at you, nursing the glass of chilled tequila. You’d acquired a taste for it over the years of being with him, Colson drinking tequila like water had rubbed off on you. “This doesn’t look like your place.”

“Did you want something?”

“Why are you here with that broke down,” He paused dramatically, raising his hand as he thought of more insults. “Tom and Jerry looking motherfucker?”

“That’s the best you can do?”

Colson drug his teeth over his lip, “Where you meet him?”

“Where’s that instamodel chick? You know the one with the plastic ass and tits? You leave her in the car just so you can go check on your other hoes, or is she in here with them?”

“Man, stop.”

“I saw her looking at me, don’t tell them about me. I’m not your concern, and I am damn sure not theirs.”

“How’d you catch her looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?” Colson’s cocky smirk sent a rush of anger coursing through your body; even when he lost, he found a sure way to find a confident victory in it.

“Bye, Colson.” Your eyes met his, remembering how blue they were. Even when he was dead drunk, they found a way to still hold onto the Colson you knew was in there somewhere. The sweet one that danced in the rain and stayed in bed with you every free night he could give -- you shook it off. Breaking eye contact with him to look anywhere but the blue crystal stare. You cut down to the ground, admiring your pumps before he turned away from you and left.

The drink was no longer cold, and the tequila didn’t even burn as you chugged down the remnants of the clear liquid. You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath, and then leaned against the stairwell.

“Long night?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Already, I’m so sorry. Could we leave here?”

Eric shook his head yes and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly, fine. It’s fine.” You swallowed. The hazed state of your mind needed to be cleared, especially before you left with him. “Can I meet you upfront? I’m going to freshen.”

“It’s fine; take your time.”

 You wouldn’t take your time; the quicker you were out of this place, the better. Whenever you were in his element, your mind refused to do the right thing. You moved through the crowded dance floor, carefully avoiding familiar faces. And finally, you were at the restrooms splashing the cool water on your face. You looked yourself over, grateful you hadn’t worn makeup—the trickles of water run down your rich ochre brown skin.  Too many thoughts raced through your mind out there but not in here. It was silence, and your mind was in a stupor. For a second, everything stilled, your heart and breathing were relaxed, and everything was back to normal, that moment as everything else was short-lived.

Colson’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you. “I cannot believe you lied to me?” The door clicked behind him.

“I didn’t lie to you.” The way he casually entered the women’s bathroom to start an argument pissed you off. “And get the fuck outta here.”

“We talked earlier today, and you said you were in for the night.”

“You said you were going out by yourself, and you got a whole entourage. So, same shit, we both just single now.”

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to come here. You don’t get to follow me in the bathroom and talk to me about fucking lying when you-.”

Words ended when his lips met yours, he towered over you, but he didn’t mind the effort it took to get to your lips. He walked you against the wall- steadying your steps to his until he picked you up, and as if your body knew the routine, you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips eagerly kissed him back, tugging on his bottom lip before returning to take more kisses. How were you this hungry for him? You wanted nothing more than him to fuck you, rip this dress and ruin you in this unlocked bathroom. “Y/N.”

“Fuck me.” You pleaded.

He only needed the confirmation to move towards his belt buckle unsheathe his dick. There were two ways you fucked, frantic and as if you would never see one another again and then slow – ironically, they both had the same outcome. Your heartbeat matched his, strumming against your chest, and his matched yours. You loved it. There was no foreplay needed; you wanted to feel every inch of the pain he had to offer. He pushed the black dress up to your thighs, bunching the fabric enough that it revealed your pussy for him. He swiped his tongue over the pads over his fingers and swiped your lips. You were wet for him. You had been the whole night, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. He pushed the long finger into you, curling it to press the soft pad that made you squirm and throw your head back in pleasure.

He moved from the wall to the counters, not giving a fuck if someone walked in or not; he spread your legs wider for him and gripped your curls. Exposed to the world, but all you could see was him. You reveled as he slammed into your hilt deep, muted your sequel with his lips, and paused. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He whispered. “Y/N?”

“Shut up,” Your pussy answered for you, squeezing to pull him deeper as he fucked into you. He wasn’t even deep enough for you; your fingers tug on the black shirt as you thrust to meet him each time. Your skin clapped against his every time, his cock expertly hitting that spot inside of you that made you want to cum right then and there. You held it, panting as it began to build up all over your body. He knew the signals, the way your hands rapt against him, legs quivered, and your pussy throbbed.

“Up.” He said, listening to the door open behind him.

Decency had left when he started fucking you, there was no way in hell you’d stop now, and Colson possessed no fucks when it came to sex. They could watch whoever the fuck it was. He positioned you in front of the mirror, bent over for him. Colson’s heavy hand came down on your ass, and then he pushed into you arching your back before wrapping a hand around your hair and fucking into you wildly.

Your ass bounced back on him, and his moans made you wetter. Your fists clenched as you tried to steady yourself – there was no controlling the orgasm that flowed through you. Your breath quickened, your toes curled, and your eyes snapped closed as his name rolled from your tongue.

“Open them eyes.” He gave an arrogant laugh before leaning over you, pushing himself deeper and flicking his tongue over the lobe of your ear.,

Your eyes opened, and you saw yourself flushed with sweat, mouth open, and him fucking the shit out of you. The scene erotic, beautiful, and shit you wanted it again and again. “Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“You think that fucking clown ass suit gone give you this?” He laughed as he slapped your ass again. “I thought not.” He guided you back on him, taking your hips in his hands, making sure you took every inch. He was greedy himself, watching your breast bounce in the reflection of the mirror, all while hearing you echo throughout the entire bathroom. It was music to his ears. Colson slowed his stroke momentarily, peppering, kissing down your shoulder blade before increased his pace once again, and your body jolted. You ground against him, urging him to cum and the pressure built. He panted against your back for a moment and then kissed your exposed skin. “Don’t go home with him.” He whispered, retrieving your panties from his pocket. Colson lowered himself to his knees and turned you around.

“You can’t tell me that.” You whispered.

“I’m asking.”

“Are you taking her home?”

“I can drop her ass off at her place right now.” He smiled, pointing. “Shit, you can ride shotgun.”

Good memories flooded of his snarky ass sense of humor and late nights. “You’re silly.”

Colson adjusted your dress and then stood in front of you, making sure your hair and lipstick was not smudged everywhere. “Drop Chandler off and come home.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Dom’s voice did not seem shocked. “This other chick is trying to kill me out here. Y/N?”

“Dude, will you get the fuck out of here… like now.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“This was-,” You step away. “Uhm, I don’t know. I’ll call you okay?”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.” You clarified. “Or the next day, just give me a damn minute to breathe?”

“Bet.” He sighed. “Should I go first… so it won’t seem suspect?”

“You’re a 6’4” guy leaving the women’s restroom, you’re busted.” You chuckled.

 A/N: I through Dom (Yungblud) in there because I kinda love him just as much lol might right him too! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you! Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @taytayize123 @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee​

[themadlostgirl]

Treasure Hunt

*Some wholesome fun with a little Panlix tension to garnish*

~~~

We had new toys on the island. New to me anyway.

The Lost Boys and I crowded around the beach and stared out at the ship anchored on the horizon. Pirates.

Where they had come from or why there were here was a mystery to us. But one thing was for certain, they were certain to be fun. Peter ordered all of us back to camp while he spoke to the captain. Not that most of us listened anyway. We stuck around hiding at the entrance to the jungle to see what would happen.

A single rowboat came ashore with a trio of men. One was covered head to toe in tattoos, one was short and portly with a bright red hat, and the third I had to assume was the captain. He had a tall, dark, and dangerous look about him that I’m sure plenty of tavern wenches falling all over themselves.

“Holy shit,” the boy next to me muttered softly, gaze locked on the captain.

“Snap out of it, Teddy,” I slapped the back of his head, “What would Sanjit think if he saw you drooling over someone else?”

“I think he would understand.” Teddy shrugged, “Come on, even you have to admit the man looks great.”

“He looks good, I will give him that,” I peered closer, “Does he have a hook for a hand?”

“Nice,” Teddy grinned wider. I slapped him again.

Peter and the captain talked and argued before the captain and his men got back into their boat and left for their ship. Peter turned around and addressed us hiding in the trees. “You can come out now you disobedient tree stumps,”

Half of the boys fled at having been found out while the rest of us emerged. “So what brings them here?” I asked first.

“Youth and revenge, not the first time I’ve come across that salty sailor. Have to say, he has a lot more backbone as a pirate than he did when I first met him.” Peter said. “Captain Hook he calls himself now. Sounds much more fun than leftenant Jones.”

“Is the revenge he craves against you?” Felix asked. “I could see him blaming his brother’s death on you.”

“No. He’s upset about that for sure, but apparently the Dark One killed his lover and cut off his hand. That’s who he wants to get revenge against. Figured he would have more than enough time staying here while he concocted something. Idiot doesn’t even have a way back. It’s clear he didn’t think any of this through.” Peter scoffed with a smile. “His idiocy is our gain. Tell me, what do pirates always have?”

“Drinking problems?”

“Yes, but not what I was looking for.”

“Big hats.”

“No.”

“Terrible songs!”

“Treasure!” Peter snapped, “They have treasure!”

“Oh...that makes more sense.” I nodded. “What is treasure to us? Not like we have any shops to purchase things from using any of their shiny baubles.”

“True. But it means a great deal more to them.” Peter grinned. “Tomorrow morning, we’re gonna go on a treasure hunt.”

When we got back to camp those of us that stuck around informed the others about what had happened with Peter and the pirates. Many of them were excited about the idea of a treasure hunt. By the time dawn broke the camp was abuzz with anticipation.

“Morning everyone,” Peter greeted his camp, “Last night your fearless leader, me, snuck aboard the pirate’s ship and stole their chest of treasure right out from under their nose.” The camp whooped with cheer. Peter held up his hand to silence the boys. “I have now hidden it somewhere on the island. First person to find it is King for the day. That is...if any of you flopping codfish can find it.”

The boys jeered and raced off in all directions to find the treasure. I had started to run off with them when I remembered I didn’t have a weapon. Knowing the boys they would get violent and try to steal the treasure from one another when it was found. I needed something to defend myself with. I turned around to head back to the now abandoned camp.

I ducked into my tent to find a suitable weapon when I heard voices in the camp. I poked my head out and saw Felix and Peter were the only ones still around. I understood why Peter was still here but why was Felix?

“How long do you think they’ll be out searching for the treasure?” Felix asked Peter.

“They’ll search all day and probably into the night before giving up.” Peter laughed, “The whole time they’re digging around dark caves and in rotten tree trunks the chest is safely buried by the mermaid lagoon. None of them are going near there and even if they do none of them will think to start digging.”

“Maybe I should go dig it up then,” Felix said, “Let myself be crowned king for the day.”

“Now where is the fun in that? Let them struggle for a good while first.” Peter looked around the camp and I quickly closed the flap of my tent. I don’t think he would be too happy about my eavesdropping. “It’s nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once. The noise can get grating at times.”

“I understand that better than most,” Felix’s voice answered. “Even rarer that our Lost Girl isn’t hanging about. Seems she sticks around you more than usual.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Felix?”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious and she’s a good friend.” Peter said. “I still cannot believe that you and those other idiots thought that we were interested in one another. As if I would actually even want to be with her.”

Okay. Ouch. And incorrect! He was the one that assumed that I was confessing my love to him the night I came out to him and said he was okay trying to have a romantic relationship with me. We agreed it wouldn’t work out between us after I told him I was gay but this was needless slander. Got to keep up appearances for the boys I suppose. Can’t let them know he actually considered me at some point. However brief it may have been.

“Not your type, huh?” Felix joked.

“No…” Peter said, “Has a lot of traits I do like. She’s straightforward, bloodthirsty, knows how to have fun, doesn’t take any of my shit, which is refreshing,”

“What are you talking about? I don’t take any of your bullshit either.” Felix said, his voice rising a tad.

“I know, Felix, that’s part of the reason I like you too.”

The camp was silent.

“You know, makes you a good friend too, a great second in command.” Peter continued after a beat.

“Good to know,” Felix sighed. “I’m going to refill my canteen.”

“Felix--”

“What?” Felix snapped at him. The harshness in his tone made even me freeze and it wasn’t even directed at me.

“Nothing…” Peter’s steps receded, “I’m going to go watch the boys run in circles.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Felix muttered before trudging off.

I waited a few more minutes before poking my head out to make sure the coast was clear. That was something. Those two have more issues than I thought. If they could get a nudge in the right direction--no! No! I am not getting myself involved in their problems.

I grabbed the sword I had come to retrieve and fled the camp. At the very least I know where the treasure is now! I ran towards the mermaid lagoon. It was deserted of Lost Boys but I could see the ripple in the water of the mermaids lurking right below the the surface, waiting and hoping I would venture closer so they could pull me down and drown me. I only made that mistake once when I was very new on the island. They were very pretty and I thought maybe they would be friendly towards a girl. I was soon proven how very wrong I was when one of them pulled me under the water and the Lost Boys had to come in and rescue me before I drowned.

Scanning the sand I found a patch that looked like it had been pretty recently disturbed. I started digging with my hands until I felt the solid weight of wood. I dug around it until the very top was uncovered. How was I supposed to get it out by myself? It was firmly stuck in the ground and getting it free by myself would be near impossible.

Maybe I could just grab something to prove that I had found it and cover it back up. I dug my hand down into the sand for the latch and pried it open. Inside laid a wealth of gold coins, gems, jewelry, and other shiny baubles. I stuffed a handful of coins and gems in my pocket and slid a pair of shining, jewel encrusted bracelets onto my wrists. That should be enough. I closed the lid and covered the chest once more. I decided to mess with the boys while waiting for it to grow later and dropped random coins and jewels around the jungle so they would think they were heading in the right direction.

By the time night fell the boys had returned to camp despondent. Some holding up the coins and jewels I had strewn about with a small amount of disdain. Peter was back to his jovial self but looked confused at the boys holding coins. Surely he hadn’t let anything fall out when he stole the chest.

That was my cue. I strolled into the middle of the camp and raised my glittering wrists to the sky. “Bow before your queen!”

“What?” Peter gaped at me. “There’s no way you found the chest!”

“Oh but I did,” I dug into my pockets and tossed the remaining coins I had onto the ground. “That chest was so big and heavy though I couldn’t take the whole thing myself but I think this is sufficient enough evidence.”

“Wait, were you the one leaving coins and jewels all over the island?” one of the boys pointed at me, accusingly.

“Duh,” I rolled my eyes, “I needed to have my own fun.”

“Never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word,” Peter gave an exaggerated bow, “Our dear Lost Girl shall be Queen for the day...or at least for the rest of the night.”

Some of the boys cheered, a lot more of the jealous boys booed. I didn’t care. I basked in the attention and laughed with the others at the silly antics the boys did to entertain their “queen” like court jesters. It was all in good fun, Peter even fashioned me a crown of sticks and leaves.

I pulled him over to dance with me. “So,” I spoke up to be heard over the pounding music, “How long till the pirates find out you stole their treasure and come to hunt us down for taking it?”

“Who knows,” Peter shrugged, “it’s sure to be fun though.”

I laughed along with him as the night grew late and my night of queendom came to an end. The game would begin again tomorrow but with the chest in a new spot. Looks as if I’ll actually have to hunt for it this time. Not a problem, I liked a good challenge.

[lilkermit14]

Jay is from the show Red Widow and unfortunately he's not really known 😅 At first I wanted to ask for Jack but I had no idea of ​​the details for the story... Maybe he had to leave reader because of his job, but he loves her too much and decides to come back and find out that she is pregnant (a baby girl) I know, it's not original but i can't imagine anything else for this charming cowboy 🥺

Whole (Jack Daniels x Fem!reader)

Notes: Idk why I struggled so hard to write this fic but here she is in all her glory........yay. Not as smutty as per usual to prove I’m not a total whore but here ya go

Summary: after your life is threatened unbeknownst to you, whiskey takes it upon himself to protect you the only way he thinks he can––by leaving you. but what his cowboy brain doesn’t for see, is that he’s doing both of you more damage than good especially after a happy little accident. 

warnings: brief description of smut and aftercare (like the La Croix of smut but still no minors), ANGSTTTTTTT, rOUGH, unplanned pregnancy, a slap, and a happy ending

Jack should have known the first time he wasn’t meant to have this kind of happiness—the kind where one could always have someone to return home to at the end of the day. No, he couldn’t have it with his late wife and he couldn’t have it with you either.

The human trafficker had somehow gotten access to personal statesmen information, because he had found out about you. Had your name. Had shown him pictures of you. Had shown that men were waiting at your doorstep if Jack didn’t back down now.

Thankfully, they were able to stop the man before it came to any of that—but it broke something in Jack. He couldn’t have another woman he loves die like his wife. He didn’t know if he could handle it. You didn’t even know about Jack’s real job, all you knew was that he was the CEO of a distillery and you never asked questions about that. Maybe it was easier keeping it like that, as Jack realized the only way to keep you safe was to leave you.

He had picked a night, picked a place to head out to after it was all over, and planned out the note. He had made love to you one last time before leaving—slowly savoring the way your skin felt pressed against him and the way it felt to have your walls drag against him when he thrusted, and finally stilled deep inside you. He made sure to take care of you before he left, clean with all sore muscles rubbed out and well hydrated—comfortable as you could be. You fell asleep so easily it somehow made Jack more guilty for what he thought was the right thing. He stayed longer than he should have after he wrote the note and got dressed, bag packed by the door, just staring at you, attempting to memorize the sound of your soft noises as you slept and the way your naked body looked covered by the sheets and pale moonlight. It was the most beautiful scene he had ever seen and wanted it to be the clearest memory he had of you. Tears sprung in his eyes, thinking that this is the only thing he will ever have of love—memories. He kissed your forehead one last time before walking out of your life forever.

*****************************

Jack hasn’t felt alive since, the toll of leaving you behind eating at him more than he ever thought it could. He’s changed in a way and everyone knows it—they see the way he moves or speaks now and know something has changed. He just goes through the motions of living with no actual life in his eyes to prove he is alive. He throws himself into his work working through cases and bad guys more efficiently than ever, but it doesn’t distract him from losing you—not when he lies awake at night crying and missing you.

Everyone around him changes too—Tequila doesn’t tease him anymore and walks around him like they’re threading through a room full of broken glass. Ginger does more medical evaluations—ones that are less to do with physical health and more to do with mental health. Most of all—champ acts different, “son—“

Jack pauses from exiting the debriefing room after giving Champ a status report and picking up another case, “I’m wondering if you should take a few days off from wo—“

“No,” Jack says curt and without a single space for bargaining. Champ is stiff when Jack looks at him, “I know you're wallowing over that girl.”

“I did what I had to do and I’m going to continue doing it.” Jack reminds him, staying steadfast in his decision. Champ shakes his head, “and it’s tearing you apart—statesmen get threats like that all the time Whiskey and they don’t go deserting their relatives or loved ones—“

“Well they're not me,” Jack states his stare is cold as he looks down at Champagne, “I can’t lose another person like that again.”

“You’ve lost her by leaving her,” his words cut through him and he knows it’s the truth, but it’s not something stubborn ol Jack is willing to withstand. Jack turns to leave again, “I’ll be off on the case.”

*****************************

You can’t help but pick up one of the sandwiches from the various food carts before they go out. It’s too tempting after standing for hours on your feet with a six month old pregnancy belly on your front—one you’re rubbing as you enjoy the taste of the mozzarella, pesto, and tomato together. The father of your child disappeared before you could even tell him—fitting considering you never grew up with a father in your house. So it has just been you and your baby girl, and well your best friend and business partner that was walking towards you now, joking “are the sandwiches up to your standards?”

“I needed something to eat after four hours of standing and being pregnant Travis,” you contest, taking another big bite. He shrugs with some sort of understanding, looking over the trays of food with you and approving them before they go off. Travis randomly starts, “I don’t think we should try to have this client again.”

You turn, finishing your sandwich with an eyebrow raise, “why? Did someone from the company say something to you—“

“Not that—although I was worried when the CEO invited his childhood priest—” he notes sending off the last tray, “I get bad vibes from the company itself.”

You think about it for a moment agreeing that something was fishy about the way a family-owned soap company was able to afford such a lavish event—something was a little off. You nod, “maybe not—I don’t want to get too close to a company that's a front. I doubt they would want us back because they’ve fired every event planner they’ve had before and the CEO’s wife already complained that the flower garnishes weren’t the correct shade of maroon.”

“We just have to finish the job then and we’ll be scott free” Travis mutters checking his watch, “just a couple hours left—what could go wrong?”

As though you were in a badly made comedy, right as Travis says that you hear clatter and gunshots come from the main event area, “......I spoke too soon didn’t I?”

*********************

Vincent Marsulio had tried to make a run for it once he realized his plans to run a million dollar drug business had gone to shit—I mean a soap company as a front? Really? Jack had dodged gunfire, tequila and the new agent rum covering him—allowing him to use his lasso to drag Vincent into Statesmen custody.

The scene was under control now—with agents and Ginger’s crime scene investigators gathering follow up information and evidence. Jack was just there to make sure the scene stayed secure and that no witnesses ran off that were revealed to be involved. Scanning the crowds of those being interviewed is when he saw you.

He should have known you were here—he should have seen your touches in the flower displays, the food selections, the drapery, and the table cloths. You were a party planner, he should have made note of that. You’re the same as the images in his mind—the memories that flash through his mind whenever he gets a flicker of your perfume or hears a laugh that sounds like yours. The only thing that's changed about you is your stomach—there's a sizable baby bump there, and he mumbles to himself “no…”

It had been seven months—seven months since he left you. It had to be his. He left you pregnant. As though you heard the gears turning in his head you turn and make eye contact with him—freezing in your place. He has to talk to you now, but you make efforts to move away, running towards a stairwell to get away from him as he shouts your name.

************

Despite being seven months pregnant you make a good chase, ducking down the stairwell and moving as fast as your swollen ankles will carry you while he shouts for you behind you. You can’t see him right now, he left, he doesn’t deserve this. Your condition must somewhat get the best of you as you end up stumbling on a landing—slowing down enough for him to catch up. You knew it was futile after all he ran faster than you even when you weren’t pregnant.

He grabs your wrist before you can go any farther, pulling you towards his body—only for you to wack a big slap to the side of his face, “how dare you—you asshole.”

“You're pregnant?” He asks quick as hell, and you frown still jabbing hits at him, “Why else am I so fucking big dickhead.”

He pulls you closer in an effort to restrain you from hitting him and from running away at any point, “is it mine?”

You had been avoiding looking at his face the entire portion of the ordeal—not wanting to see the face of the man that abandoned you. But you end up looking anyway and feel the tears spring up in your eyes. Despite the fact he left you you still feel love for him in your heart. You can’t lie to him, “it is.”

“Sugar, I’m—“ he breathes out, struck in the moment by every error he’s made in the past few months knowing he should have stayed, “I’m so sorry, please let me explain why I did what I did.”

You don’t respond just letting him speak at his own will as he settles you two down to sit on the steps of the stair. Jack tells you about his job, his wife, and the scare he had that just accumulated to him feeling like he had to leave to keep you safe. You had known about his late wife but none of the details about the affair and understood just why he was so afraid—but he still acted like an idiot. Head in hands, “why did you keep everything hidden from me Jack, I mean you lied to me about your job––no wonder I was able to find you after I found out, I was stuck looking for Jack Daniels brewery CEO instead of Jack Daniels statesmen.”

You got him there, “I should have––everyone told me I should have told you.” Silence emanates between the two of you, “I know sorry doesn’t make up for all I did––I don’t know if I can ever make up for what I did, but give me a chance because I want to be there for you and the kid–I love you sweet pea.”

Tears spring from your eyes, “I love you too Jack, we’ll figure it out I promise.”

Jack pulls you into his arms whispering what sounds like a thousand thank you’s for you and the girl in your belly, “it’s a girl you know.”

“A girl…” Jack trails off with a smile gleaming on his face and some unspoken joy in his eyes, that shifts into something of deep regret, “I was almost like him I don’t ever wanna be like him”

“You won’t.” you state firm and jack pulls away to cup your face and wipe away the errant tears still streaming down your face, “can I kiss you darling?”

“Please,” and with that the lips you have missed meld on to yours. After months, both alone and apart, both you and Jack feel a sense of security that everything will be alright––that your little family is finally whole.

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

I’m sorry that its bad....

taglist:

@poenariuniverse @harleyamidala @yespolkadotkitty @storiesofthefandomlovers @babybelou @legally-a-bastard @computeringturtle @clydesducktape @sixties-loser @buckysalefty @april-14-blog @prettylittlegoldfish @softpedropascal

[idesofrevolution]

Welp as you can guess, Biker TF won the poll. So here we go kids.

It’d been weeks since I had... become who I am today. I’m still learning how to wield the power that Miss Marie had given me- and there were a few mistakes made along the way. But at the end of the day, I’d grown into a much more competent practitioner, so I decided one drunken evening to treat myself. After a delicious evening with a hunky biker bear, I’d convinced him to let me have his spare set of wheels. Riding came naturally to me- the open road and the wind rushing against me gives such a sense of freedom. It’s hard to explain. We still ride down the backroads outside of town just about once a week, although I’m sure the cruising spot in the bayou clearing does certainly help instigate such rides.

It was one summer afternoon after one such ride and rendezvous, wafting with the stench of sweat and sex, that I came across a young hitchhiker. He was young, maybe 21 or so with gorgeous ebony skin and a lean slender frame. I pulled over, and he quickly ran over to me.

“Hey, are you going as far as town?” His voice was frail and weak. A timbre of defeat echoed from the back of his throat, he’d clearly been through a lot. 

“Sure am. Here, hop on and take the spare helmet.” I smiled at him, and he coyly avoided my glance. He awkwardly mounted the bike, nearly tipping us over. “Never ridden before? Aight, put your arms here, and keep your feet up.” I gently guided his wrists around my waist and he tightly held on, nearly knocking the wind out of me. As we took off, he clutched me even tighter. Riding down the road, I could sense he was a broken kid. The air of sadness permeated his energy, and shaded every ounce of his body language. I don’t think he ever realized just how beautiful a soul he had.

About ten minutes of riding, I noticed we were nearly running on fumes. Luckily, an exit sign harked a little good fortune with a Shell station off the road. We pulled over at the nearest gas pump, and dismounted. 

“I’m gonna fill up, take this and get yourself something to eat man, you’re skin and bones!” I handed him a $20, and he looked at me as if I had three horns and purple skin. He blushed and walked toward the convenience store, but turned back to ask if I needed anything.

I looked at him, standing there against the cinderblock building and decided that he would get the help he deserved. If from nobody else, he would get it from me. I shook my head no, and he entered the store. Filling the tank took all of five minutes before it had topped off. I slid my card in, paid my dues and started to put my gloves back on before I noticed he had not come back out. To my left was another bike, sitting vacant and alone. Alarm bells went off and I rushed into the convenience store. 

I opened the door and could immediately hear the shouting. Behind the counter some teenage dumbass was fuckin around on his phone, not thinking a thing of the brazen diatribe that was filling the room. There, behind the wall of Doritos, Pretzels, and Slim Jims was the young kid, and a big hulking stag of a man shouting with his chest all puffed up like a blowfish. The foul, revolting shit that spewed from that mans mouth was beyond anything that I’d care to repeat in any way here, but when I say it was in reference to his ancestry I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. Grabbing his shoulder like a vice grip, I was about to teach this man what’s what.

“I think it’s time for you pipe the fuck down.” The man turned to me, covered in grease and stinking from days of riding in the summer heat. You know the type, ripped up and stained wife beater with tight, patched jeans; topped off with big beat up harness boots that were clearly two sizes too big. He sneered, sizing me up to see where his chances were in this fight. 

“Ahh, so you’re gonna be this little fuck’s hero, huh? You’re gonna be his WHITE knight, huh? See, I’m just letting him know that in these parts, it’d be best if he just fucked right off.” I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I have a bit of a temper issue which can get the best of me.. In the particular instance, however, I’d say I’m proud as all hell that I held that white trash by the throat about a sold foot above the ground. Tossing him aside, he landed against the aisle shelves like a ragdoll. I smirked, and figured out just how I would help this young man.

“Come on over, kid.” I waved him over, and he sheepishly plodded over to us. The racist tried in vain to pull himself up off the ground, but my size 13 Vans against his big burly chest had him pinned like a mouse in a trap. “I think this man needs a bit of an education, don’t you?” The kid smiled, looking down. I gently held his chin up. “And you need a confidence boost.” 

“Ah, your fuckin’ queers too! I shoulda gue...” I shoved my foot into his stupid maw, silencing him for the last time. I turned to my soon to be apprentice and smiled. I pushed a bit harder, watching my shoe sink further and further into that piece of shit’s mouth, before my entire foot was engulfed by his stretched head. The kid looked in awe as our prey squirmed and fought, and I think it was at this point that the situation clicked in his mind.

“Yeah, hows my foot taste, bitch? They sure stink to high hell, they’re my favorite pair. Kinda jealous of you to be honest.” I wriggled my foot inside his head, watching the outline of my high tops slide around under his skin. I’d played around with him long enough. I turned to the kid, who I’d noticed was tenting ever so slightly and winked. “Might wanna get rid of your threads, bud, you’re not gonna need ‘em.” With a quick jerk of my knee, my foot slipped out of his mouth, his head returning to normal. 

“You stupid fucks, I’m gonna fuckin kill you!” He would never get the chance. In fact, he was about to learn first hand what it’s like to have a healthy amount of melanin. With his clothes chucked aside, and his manhood at full mast, the kid walked toward the writing man. He gingerly put a single toe into his mouth, and pushed. His foot slipped effortlessly into the man’s throat, and quickly tugging at the corners of his mouth, he slipped foot number two in. The man was wriggling like a worm, I’m sure desperately trying to spew empty threats to ward us off. The sight of the kid’s lowering ass onto his stretched face caused a little bit of a muffled shriek to escape his cords. Now, musky, sweaty hitchhiker ass would be a treat to me on even the worst of days, but evidently some just can’t appreciate it’s mouthwatering flavor and scent. With his crack nuzzled right down on the good old boy’s nose, he began to pull on the man’s legs.

I watched proudly as his feet slipped downward, distorting his muscles under the tight confines of his jeans, before a sharp pop landed them inside the destroyed boots. They fit perfectly now, and I could just begin to smell the strong funk of greasy, funky socks and feet. The kid kept sliding into his body, his midsection growing and seemingly inflating with strong muscles. The old tank began to tear and rip, before it was shredded by the sheer mass of the inked, mocha colored abs and pecs that prominently burst forward. 

The kid’s face was in full elation, as he squeezed his arms down the throat, pulling the skin above his shoulders with a loud snap. His arms slipped into place; thick biceps and forearms bubbling outward from the man’s already impressive musculature. His tatted hands flexed, the new sensation of calloused fingertips and meaty palms seemingly fascinated him as he began to rub his new body.

I removed my foot from my new friend’s chest, and helped him up. This man was a beast! Towering to a massive 6′5, he was bigger, broader, and stronger than me- and I’ll admit... it was hot seeing this hulking, musky hunk standing before me with the youthful, boyish face of an early twenty-something. I eagerly awaited the final stretch as he pawed the whimpering final mask of the former racist’s face. Grabbing it by the nose, he pulled ever so slowly, savoring every second the slimy flesh slipped over his head until it snapped loudly into place. He adjusted his new face as the dark complexion flowed up his neck and across his scalp and jaw. He opened his dark brown eyes and smiled a million dollar smile at me.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about man!” The only word that came to my mind was stunning. His exterior finally matched his interior: sexy, proud, and strong. “Oh shit...” He looked downward, and within seconds I knew exactly what the issue was. Speaking from experience, not all the adjustments are as easy, so I decided my assistance was required. Getting down onto my knees, I unzipped his jeans, pulling them down. It revealed the yellowed, reeking jockstrap beneath which nearly concealed the problem area. 

Glued down behind his skin was the outline of his cock and balls. Just as I thought. Pulling down the jockstrap, I grabbed the hollow shaft and sac, tugging it up and down. Little by little his cock slid toward the chasm before it fully slipped in with a loud schlorp! When I tell you that cock grew into a footlong dong in seconds... with two sweat-dripping golf balls hanging low to garnish... I couldn’t restrain myself. I took it in my mouth, licking up every droplet of salty sweet sweat, pumping the precum out of it like a faucet. He grabbed the back of my head, thrusting his horse cock down my throat, fucking it like a fleshlight. His smelly balls slapped against my chin, and I could feel them engorging, getting ready to blow. 

And blow they did. Rope after rope. Straight down my throat. Every cup of it was whatever sadness, whatever insecurities, whatever weights held him down; now completely purged. He pulled out and I pulled my apprentice into deep kiss. This is who he truly was, and it was a fitting circumstance for it to happen. We turned to the slackjawed cashier, who evidently witnessed everything. I tossed him a $100, and we left. Hopping on our bikes, we headed back to town. The things I was going to teach dear Antoine here were going to blow his mind, and potentially his load too.

Okay kids. So there you have it. This was a long motherfucker and I’m sure it’s the longest I’ve ever written. If you haven’t guessed by now, each installment of Sebastian’s stories will be focused on punishing hate. This is what’s brought me out of retirement, and this is what I love writing now. I’ll of course listen to the feedback that y’all have provided me- I will do one-offs still. In fact, I’ll probably do a one-off next. Let me know what y’all think in my askbox. Thank you guys so much for all the support you’ve shown me.

[wordsfromthesol]

And They Were Roommates

Author: @wordsfromthesol​ Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Warnings: Cursing, drinking, injuries, fighting…all the good stuff. Word Count: 2.9k Requested: @nadderlover1​ A/N: I feel like I’m really bad at writing jealousy…but here ya go anyways! Also it’s kinda long, sorry not sorry

“I still don’t understand why you are getting a roommate. Or why it’s not one of your fabulous brothers.” Jason chided his older brother.

“Cop salary? And I spend enough time with you guys.”

“Please, we all know you could just ask daddy –”

“No.” Dick quickly cut his brother off. “It’ll be fine. I did a background check on her and everything.”

“Her?! Oh Dickieboy, you didn’t tell me it was girl.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course! What if you fall madly in love with her? What if I do?”

“You will not be going near her, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh you take the fun out of everything.” Jason whimpered.

“You poor child. Now get out before she gets here.” Dick started pushing his brother out of the apartment.

“If she’s hot I call dibs!” Jason called over his shoulder as he resisted the force on his shoulders, before finally giving in and scrambling out the door.

**

Another hour passed before Dick heard rapping at his door. He swung open the door and saw you standing, suitcase in hand.

 “Y/N, uh welcome…” Dick gestured you inside.

“Thanks. I uhm, have a few more things in my car…” You mumbled as you set the suitcase just inside the door. As you turned to head back downstairs, you noticed Dick step out of the front door. You looked back, slightly shocked, “So have long have you been in Bludhaven?”

“Traveled a bit when I was younger, then was in Gotham until a few years ago.”

“Gotham? I didn’t realize sane people actually lived in the city. My parents thought I was crazy enough for coming to Bludhaven.”

“Well, I lived just outside the city, technically.”

“So you ever see the clown? Or maybe that scarecrow guy?”

Dick held back his laughter, “Oh yeah. I’ve seen them all.”

“Wait seriously?” You stopped short and turned towards him, eyes wide. “And you’re still alive?”

“Luck of the draw I suppose.”

“Geez, someone is looking out for you.”

“Heh, yeah. Usually there’s a few.”

**

Over the next few months the two of you grew closer, roommates to friends. Movie nights and dinner dates weren’t out of the ordinary.

“Wait, so you’re father is Bruce Wayne.” You fell back into the couch with laughter.

“Well, adopted father. But yeah.”

“And you decided to be a cop.”

“Yeah…”

“Oh come on!” You slapped his shoulder, “Trust fund baby is such a better occupation!”

“Hey!” Dick’s hand flew up to his chest, pretending to be offended by your commentary. “Besides, if I was, then you wouldn’t have met me.” He elbowed you as a smile grew on his lips.

“Oh,” your voice exaggerated and raspy, “and how would I have lived without knowledge of THE DICK GRAYSON.”

Dick folded his arms, ignoring the obvious sarcasm dripping from your words. “Exactly.” He huffed out just as a notification came across his phone. He glanced at it and you noticed his expression sour. “I’m sorry,” Dick looked up at you, “I know it’s movie night but I have to go.”

“Oh yeah, it’s fine…” You tried to brush off the obvious hurt in your voice. His phone rang again, you glanced at the screen seeing the name “Barbara” flash. “Uhm, well don’t get shot. I do hate apartment hunting.”

“I’ll try my hardest.” Dick smirked as he hurried out the door.

You sighed as you pressed play on the movie. I wonder who that is…her name pops up on his phone an awful lot. Are they dating? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, who cares if they are dating. He’s your roommate. Your friend and your roommate. You repeated the last line like a mantra until your mind became invested in the movie in front of you.

**

Another few months went by and it seemed you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. You had become friends with his brothers and Dick…Dick had become your best friend. Even though he was obviously keeping a secret from you.

“So pizza tonight?” You called out as you threw open the front door. Today had been awful and you just wanted a relaxing night with Dick at your side.

“Oh Y/N/N, I was actually just leaving.” Dick’s phone buzzed. You tensed as you saw “Barbara” flash across the screen. “I uhm, have a family thing. Don’t wait up.”

Your jealousy got the better of you and you pulled out your phone, dialing Jason.

“Well, if it isn’t my brother’s beautiful roommate. Finally realize I’m the hotter one?”

“Ha ha Jay. We’re just roommates.”

“Yeah okay, and my name’s actually Sam.”

You let out a loud sigh, “I need a drink and your brother just left.”

“Ooh is this like the ‘I’m home alone’ text?”

“No, this is like the I don’t want to drink alone, so I’m asking an annoying friend to come over.”

“Alright alright, I’ll leave in 10.”

You had already emptied half a bottle of wine when Jason arrived. A smile graced your face as you swung open the front door and lunged at Jason.

“Jay, you’re here!” you cried out as you enveloped him in a hug.

“And I see I need to catch up.” Jason smirked as he lifted you slightly off the ground and carried you inside.

“I’m fine, really. Just…” You let go of him and picked up your fresh glass of wine. “Just a bad day.”

“Hm, been there.” Jason poured himself a glass of whiskey and joined you on the couch. “What happened?”

“I just don’t understand why people are intentionally bitchy. Like for no reason. It makes everyone around them miserable. And it makes them miserable. So why do it?”

“They just want everyone to be as miserable as them.”

“But they make it worse that way! If you surround yourself with happy people you are more likely to be happy. So if your sole purpose is to make everyone miserable, then you’re solidifying your own miserable life.”

“Maybe they think they deserve to be miserable.” Jason solemnly looked down at his glass.

“I hope, Jason Peter Todd, you are not talking about yourself. Don’t make me fight you.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m working on it. You sure that’s the only thing bothering you.”

Your eyes darted around, avoiding contact with Jason’s. “Of course. What else would it be?”

“Something to do with my brother perhaps?”

“Wha –” your eyes narrowed as you grabbed the bottle of wine beside you, emptying the rest into your glass. You proceeded to take a long drink in order to avoid further questioning.

“We both know I can out drink you. So we can do this the easy way. Or the way that gives you a hangover in the morning.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You looked up at him as a smirk formed on his lips. He knew he had won. “I just know he’s keeping something from me. But what am I supposed to say? Plus, I’m just –”

“Don’t even finish that sentence Y/N  Y/M/N. You are way more to him than just a roommate. Everyone can see that, even if you two can’t.”

Another bottle of wine later and Dick opened the front door, garnished with a new black eye. “Jason…?” He questioned as he saw the two of you sitting on the couch.

“And that’s my queue to leave.” Jason got up and whispered to his brother as he passed, “You should really just tell her. Though I’d do it in the morning, she’s two bottles in.”

Dick’s face grimaced with confusion as he walked over to you, slumped over on the couch.

“Richard John Grayson. Is that a black eye?” Your words were slurred and drawn out.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the important thing here. Why are you hammered?”

“I’m fine.” You attempted to stand, thankfully Dick was there to catch you before you hit the ground. You pushed out of his arms, “Really. I’m fine.” You blinked intently at the ground, trying to get rid of the blurriness. You took one deliberate step after the other, determined to make it to your bedroom. Dick followed at your side, arms ready to catch you.

“Y/N, will you just –”

“No! You can go on with your secrets I’ll be going to sleep now.”

“I –” Dick was left dumbfounded standing at your bedroom door, until a crashing sound shook him. He looked over to see you on the floor, blood beginning to seep from your head. “Shit.” He ran over to you, “Y/N. Y/N, I need you to look at me.” You pushed his hands away.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re bleeding. And I don’t give a shit if you’re mad at me right now. I’m going to help you get to bed and then you can hate me later.”

You let out a stubborn huff, but quickly realized you did not have the energy or the sobriety to argue with him. Dick picked you up, bringing you into his own bathroom and set you on the counter. He opened a cabinet full of way too many medical supplies for the average person and pulled out some bandages and glue.

“This is probably going to hurt, but it’s pretty deep. I’m going to have to glue it.”

“You can’t glue my face!”

Dick couldn’t help himself, as he let out a laugh. “Y/N/N, I promise it’s safe. I’ve used it a million times.” Your lower lip puffed out as you stared into his impossibly blue eyes. Your little pout broke his heart, “You’ll still be as breathtaking as ever.” His hand cradled your face in an attempt to console you. Once you were patched up, he brought you over to his bed. “Now my drunken little Y/N, I’m going to bring you some water. Wait here.”

You kind of followed his instructions, only you fell backwards and promptly fell asleep. Dick walked back in, carrying the biggest water bottle he could find. He stopped in the doorway when he saw you already asleep. Dick contemplated if he should carry you to your own room or leave you in his. He, somewhat selfishly, chose the latter. He tucked you under the blankets and got ready for bed, crawling in next to you.

Dick woke several hours later, with you on his chest. He dared not move, after logging this into his memory, he attempted to fall back asleep. You began to stir a few moments later, forcing your eyes open you glanced around in confusion. Your mind raced as you felt someone’s chest beneath your head. Slowly, you rose, letting out a sigh of relief once you noticed it was Dick. Quietly you tip-toed to your own room, grabbing the bottle of water and aleve Dick left for you on the dresser. You crawled into your own bed and fell back asleep, tomorrow was going to be hell.

Unshockingly, the two of you completely ignored the past nights events and fell back into routine.

**

You were looking forward to movie night, Dick had missed the last three and you really needed some best friend time. As soon as Dick walked through the door you rushed to his side.

“So, decided on a movie?” You looped your arm into his.

“Actu –” His response was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

You threw your hands up in the air. “Of course you can’t. You haven’t been here all month, why start now.”

“Y/N/N…” He glanced down at his phone, Barbara was calling again. He sighed before continuing, “I have to go.”

“Girlfriend calling again, I get it. Have fun.” You turned to leave, as Dick grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

“That’s not – I’ll explain everything when I get back. I promise.” You were left speechless and confused as he walked out of the front door. The slam of the front door shook you free from the trance. You walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine. Before you could open you heard a knock on the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you went to open it.

“Forget your –” you stopped once you realized it was not Dick, and the two men were both armed. You attempted to slam the door, but the first man shoved in. Slamming the unopened bottle of wine against his head, it shattered as he fell to the floor.

“You bitch!” The second man screamed as he grabbed you, wrapping his hands around your neck. You repeatedly punched him in the side, but to no avail and soon everything went black. When you woke, you were gagged and tied to a chair. Thankfully, you recognized the surroundings, they hadn’t moved you from the apartment.

“Oh the birdie is awake. Don’t worry, we just want your little Detective friend.”

You looked around and noticed the first man was awake, holding a bag of frozen vegetables to his head.

“Yeah, so when the fuck is he coming back? If it ain’t soon, I may need to start paying you back for this.” The man pointed to his injured head, which was still bleeding. “Can’t we just call him from the bitch’s phone?” He pleaded to his partner.

“No. He can’t know something is wrong. The boss wants him alive. Teach him a lesson about poking around where he shouldn’t.”

You made the mistake of rolling your eyes at the comment. The action was quickly met with a swift punch to the jaw. Honestly, you had no idea how long you were sequestered to the chair. All you know is the two idiots couldn’t stop arguing about what to do. Finally, you heard footsteps in the hall. They stopped at your front door, but it seemed as if they would never open it. At last you heard the key in the lock just before light from the hall began to flood the room.

“Y/N?” Dick’s voice sounded worried. Did he know something was wrong?

You attempted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the fabric in your mouth. Somehow, it was enough. Dick rushed to your side, but you shook your head furiously in an attempt to warn him. He didn’t seem to need it. Your eyes went wide as a man came up behind him. Dick sunk to the floor, sweeping the assailant’s feet from under him. The next man came out of the shadows and charged at him with a knife. Dick swept his body to the side as he jabbed underneath the man’s shoulder, forcing the knife to crash to the ground. The man clutched his arm, as you watched Dick’s fist collide with the man’s jaw.  

Dick walked over to you, pulling the gag from your mouth just in time for you to scream out, “Behind you!” Once again, it seemed as if he didn’t even need your warning. Dick’s arm came up just in time to block the attempted blow to his face. He stretched the arm out and slammed it against the man’s neck. Before you could blink Dick’s foot collided with the man’s chest, sending him flying into the wall. You watched as the man sunk to the ground.

“So obviously I’m –” Dick’s eyes darted towards the man attempting to sneak out. “Well you’re not going anywhere.” He raced over, grabbing the man’s forearm, Dick swung him into the wall. Dick flipped on the light and his eyes went wide as he saw the bruises forming on your neck and jaw. He raced up to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “What did they do to you?” His hands cradled your face.

“I’m okay Dick. Really, just…”

“What?” His expression filled with fear as his eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I’m still tied to a chair.”

Dick’s hand went up to cover his face, stifling a laugh. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and cut your hands and feet loose. Before you could move from the chair, he was kneeling in front you again. “You’re okay though?” He asked worriedly, as his hand lightly grazed your bruised jaw.

“I’m okay.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief as he hung his head. “Alright, I’m going to call the station.” When Dick got off the phone he walked over and sat next to you on the couch. “They are going to come take pictures, get your statement…I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“Dick, it’s not your fault. You were doing your job.”

“I was…I was only looking into them for my other job though. I should’ve known better.”

“Your other job?”

“This is, uhm, this is what I wanted to explain. I’m Nightwing. And and I get so many calls from Barbara, she’s like uh the woman in the chair? Behind the scenes…gathering intel.” He looked over at you, eyes hopeful for your approval. He was not expecting you to burst out in laughter. Which is exactly what you did. “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry Dick. I just…it makes so much sense!” You took in a deep breath to compose yourself.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad? Of course not.”

“Good. Because there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“What’s a bigger secret than –” Your words were cut off by his lips moving against yours. He pulled back, leaving his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you.”

[meetmeinthematinee]

Anything But Red: Serve and Service Part 2  John Wick x Fem!Reader

A/N: A ridiculously long time ago I got a request from @cynic-spirit​ for a pt 2 to Serve and Service. I hope that you enjoy this long, long, long awaited story even though I did change things a teeny bit from your request. 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, a guy too forward on hitting on someone, mild swears? Do I need to warn for fluff? It’s just fluff mostly. 

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“Shit.” You muttered as you leaned forward and pressed your fingers into your forehead.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what again, John?”

“Your super worried but suffer in silence thing.” John said as he gently pulled you back against the chair and worked his fingers into the tense muscles of your shoulders. You relaxed into his touch and let out a sigh.

“I thought that was YOUR thing.”

“Suppose so. It’s your thing too.” John said pointedly.

His hands stilled their soothing motions and you finally relented. 

“The barback just quit. Without notice.”

“Steve?” 

“Mmhmm. I don’t even know what we’re going to do. It's Saturday for fucks sake. I mean--I…”

“You mean you wish you had a really strong guy that takes direction well and can work tonight?” John said as he resumed working each and every knot out of your shoulders. 

“Exactly. Wait. What?”

“I’m saying I’m happy to help out in the restaurant tonight.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. 

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

John wiped the bar down. The cloth slid along the polished wood surface in his large hand. It was hard to not get caught up in watching him move. The way his rolled up shirt sleeves allowed you to see his forearms flexing as he lifted the trays of clean glasses. The way his shirt drew tight across his muscled back as he slid the wine glasses into the rack above the bar. The bulge of his biceps as he heaved the beer kegs into place. Your attention was always split twenty different ways when you were in the restaurant but your eyes were always drawn back to him tonight.

In the turnover between the 2nd and 3rd seatings of the night you had time to check in with him out in the alley where he’d asked you out all those years ago. “I think you might be the best barback we’ve ever had.” 

“It’s because I want to impress the boss.”

“Oh--she’s impressed. And grateful. Very grateful.” You said as you worked your hands into his back pockets. 

He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. John never knew what to do with your compliments but that never stopped you from giving them freely. 

He leaned down and kissed you. Capturing your lower lip softly between his teeth and humming lowly before letting you go again.

“Alright. We better get back in there.”

“Yes, chef!” He answered as he held the door open for you.

You made your way through the buzzing dining room, stopping at a few tables to say hello to some familiar faces before you checked in with your front of house staff. This time of the evening was your favourite. The worst of the rush was behind you and on a good night the kitchen had settled into a comfortable rhythm. After the host ran over the state of the bookings with you you migrated over to the bar. 

“How’s working the bar with John?” You asked Janice. You always could trust her judgement -- she’d been less than thrilled with the work ethic of your last barback and had said as much -- but before you even had a chance to let him go he’d quit on you.

“I’m not just saying this because you’re married to him -- I’d be overjoyed if you could find someone who works like he does.” She said with a wide smile. 

“That’s a tall order.” You replied. “But I found you--so I think it’s doable. I’m hoping he’s ok with filling in until I find someone.”

You both looked down to the other end of the bar where John was busily prepping lemons and limes for garnish. 

“Looks like he might be ok with that.” Janice said before she got back to work making the next round of orders for a table. 

You were making your way back to the kitchen when someone got your attention. 

“‘Scuse me -- you’re the chef here right?” A blond middle aged man said, grabbing you by the wrist as you made your way past him at the bar. You steeled yourself for what you knew was coming and smiled politely at him while gently attempting to pull out of his grasp. “Yes, this is my restaurant.” 

“You should let go of her buddy.” John said without looking up from where he was slicing citrus across from the man.

“Oh, yeah sorry.” He said as he dropped his hand from your wrist. 

“He’s a bit rude, hmm? Anyway.” You semi-tuned out the man in front of you and your eyes kept drifting over to John. 

“I wouldn’t say he’s rude. He’s new. A great hire I think.”

“A woman like you doesn’t need to have someone speak on your behalf.”

You smiled cooly. “I don’t think that was his intent.”

“Anyways, I was going to say a gorgeous woman like you should have a night off once in a while. I’d like to help you unwind sometime.”

You inwardly cringed. Thinking and there it is to yourself. This happened every once in a while and you always hated it.

“Usually I save my time off for my husband.”

“I don’t see a ring.” The man answered, his ruddy face showing exactly how many glasses of wine he’d had. 

You glanced again at John and his mouth was drawn into a tight line, one palm planted firmly on the burnished wood of the bar. 

“I’m a chef. I don’t wear it when I’m working. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Aside from you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, aside from me.”

“Maybe another glass of red.”

“One red.” You called to Janice and she grimaced when she saw who you were pointing at. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night. I have to go.” You said as you walked away.

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

“Hey, mouthy.”

“Excuse me?” John said.

“Is she really married? I feel like that’s a line. She seemed really into me.”

“You think so?” 

“Definitely.” The man said before he took a big swig of his wine. 

“Then you should go for it. I mean, I’m new here--I don’t know much about her personal life. Give it a shot.” John said as he ignored the laugh coming from behind him. 

“Why’s she laughing?” The blond asked about Janice who was pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Trying and failing to suppress her laughter.

“Beats me. Women, you know?” John said with a shrug.

“Fair enough.” 

“Do you want me to ask her to come back? Any man would be lucky to be with her. Happy to help a guy out.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

John headed back toward the kitchen. A wicked grin on his face as soon as his back was turned to the semi-drunk louse.

He came back with a folded napkin and set it down on the bar in front of the man. 

“What’s it say?”

“I don’t read things not meant for me.”

“Huh. You know, you’re not a bad guy. Sorry I called you rude earlier.”

“Don’t mention it.” John said as he went back to putting away glasses. 

“Looks like I was right! See ya later!” 

“Later.” 

Janice never brought up what happened to the man for the rest of the night. They were hit by a sudden rush of customers and everyone was too busy to wonder about where that awful man had gone to. 

You came out for one last round of checking in on customers and stopped at the bar when you saw the creepy man from before was gone. “Uh, thank god that guy’s gone. He was way too handsy and way too creepy.” You said to Janice--who suddenly broke into laughter.

Your host came through on their way to leave for the night. 

“Are you talking about that weird blond man?” They asked.

“Yeah -- he was hitting on Chef here right in front of John.”

“Oh. OH! That makes so much sense now. That dude came back and tried to get in again and he was ranting and raving about being tricked and falling into the alleyway. He just seemed really drunk so I refused him entry.”

All eyes turned to John who was quietly wiping down the bar. 

“John?” You asked cautiously.

“Hmm?”

“Did you toss that man into the alley?”

“No. But I did write a note that suggested you’d be waiting for him through the door by the washroom....”

Janice slapped John on the arm. “YOU DIDN’T! I wouldn’t have pegged you as the jealous type.” 

“Listen, I’m not going to let some creep stay here and bother everyone, let alone my wife. I heard the way he was bothering you all night and then he escalated things to getting handsy. I didn’t want there to be a big scene. I just…...helped him out the door a little.”

“Well, next time maybe just let me know when you’re going to help someone out the back door again so I don’t bear the brunt of that messiness, John.” The host said with an exasperated but amused sigh. 

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

Soon it was just you and John. He was straightening up the bar, making sure everything was clean and ready to go for tomorrow. You fished around in your pocket, frantically as always, before your fingers closed on the familiar smooth, cool metal. You carefully slid the ring back onto your finger. 

“Do you want a drink before we head upstairs?” John asked with a gentle grin. His eyes scanned down and caught the way the light glinted off your wedding band. He never tired of seeing that on you. The sign that you were a matched set. 

You shook your head. “Nah, I’d rather head upstairs and unwind with something on the couch with you.”

“What do you want to drink?” He asked as he guided you to the exit with his hand on your lower back.

“I think….anything but red.”

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Thanks for reading!

Next up I have a Bill & Ted fic on the burner and I have another long, long, long ago request I’m chipping away at. My requests are closed so even though it’s incredibly flattering to be asked to write something I’m not able to take on any right now. 

I’m also forgoing the whole taglist thing now -- not because I don’t love you my ever generous and kind readers--but because they don’t even work half the time. 

Hope that you’re all holding up as ok as you can be during this incredibly bonkers time. 

xoxo

[prettyboy-jimin]

Boys (1/4)

AU Summary: 

Jimin’s got insatiable tendencies that could easily drive anybody up the wall. If a boyfriend can't keep up with Jimin, he just keeps on going or he's going to find someone who can keep up. But then again, who says he only has one boyfriend?

(Or that poly AU where Jimin’s a proud slut with 3 boyfriends that know exactly how he likes to be fucked 6 ways to Sunday)

“I need that bad boy to do me right on a Friday and I need that good one to wake me up on a Sunday. That one from work can come over on Monday night. I want them all.” "Boys" - Charli XCX

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Park Jimin x Jeon Jungkook x Jung Hoseok 

Chapter 1: Bad Boy Friday

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Park Jimin

Genre: Smut, Plot? What Plot?/ Porn Without Plot

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: BDSM themes, Rough S*x, mild choking

Summary: You can’t just pick up anyone from the club.

Jimin loves a good night out, loves the feel of everyone’s eyes on him as he walks into the club while the bass reverberates off the walls.

The bouncer greets him like an old friend, everyone else either ogling his nicely dressed ass or glaring at him for being treated as more important than them. He saunters over to the bar, tight ripped jeans working hard to keep themselves from ripping any further despite Jimin not minding in the slightest; his white shirt that was only half-way buttoned glowed underneath the warm lights of the bar, an old friend sliding over to greet him.

“What’ll it be for tonight, gorgeous?

 Jimin giggled, the light blush on his face darkening just a little bit. “Jinnie-hyung, you’re too sweet to me”

 Jin winked, teasing Jimin about how he loved it anyway. The dancer shoos him away with a request for his usual drink, swivelling around in his seat to scan the dance floor; roughly about a hundred sweaty bodies grinding against each other with the fair few that occupy the booths and tables towards the sides, drinking.

 Jimin loves this, the loud music, the vulnerability among strangers so everyone can have a good time. He finds himself here more often than any of his friends, not always getting drunk but always dancing his stress and frustrations away; years of dedicated movement had given him a love for physical escape.

 He doesn’t notice Jin turn up behind him with his drink; he catches the dancer’s attention with a coo as he garnishes his drink with a large strawberry.

 “Oh, hyung” Jimin preens, accepting the drink gratefully, “you spoil me!”

 Jin winks at him, “Only the best for my favourite”

 Jimin blushes as he takes a sip, Jin moving away once more to cater to the other customers. He turns in his seat once more, people-watching.

 And despite Jimin’s frequent visits to the club, a trip is never complete without strangers trying to flirt with him; tonight was no exception.

 “Hey cutie” a low voice says, the person it belongs to sliding up to Jimin much closer than what he would be comfortable with. He forces a smile at the stranger, not bothering to spare him a glance as he continues to sip from his drink and people watch, “You here alone?”

 It’s questions like that that irk him, they freak him out because he knew this wouldn’t be safe if he entertained this guy without any intentions of leaving with him, so Jimin did what he always did; face the stranger, give him a sweet smile before motioning for Jin to come over without breaking eye contact.

 “This guy bothering you, Jimin?” Jin asks, ready to either reach for a weapon or call security.

 The stranger backs away from Jimin’s space, nervous and slightly irritated from what everyone else can see he shakes his head and tells Jin that he was just leaving. Jimin waves him goodbye, thanking Jin as soon as he’s gone.

 “I swear, they get more and more insistent every time I’m out” he comments, finishing his drink and taking a bite of the strawberry.

 Jin laughs, wiping the countertop “Maybe you should hang around your boyfriends so no one else tries to hit on you”

 Jimin scoffs fondly, “As if they would want to come out as frequently as I do.”

 Jin agrees with a laugh as he’s whisked away to care for other customers. Jimin finishes his drink before standing, making his way to the dance floor himself.

 He feels eyes on him as he sways and dances his way to the middle of the group of bodies, several hands trying to cop a feel as he passes by but Jimin only revels in the attention he’s gathering.  A sultry smile makes its way to his face as a pair of hands pulls him against a warm body.

 Jimin came out tonight with a need that that only excitement can satiate.

 Jimin was greedy, everyone knew that, but he was greedy in a sense that everybody had to feel good. If who he was with didn’t feel good, how could he? It almost sounds conflicting, but it’s not.

 Jimin only wanted them to feel good because then they would feel the need to make him feel even better.

 Everyone knew Jimin’s reputation, that’s why too many eyes made their way to him. How could you ignore a star that shone as bright as he did when it was mere feet from you? You couldn’t.

 Like a moth to a flame, everyone in Jimin’s vicinity wanted him regardless if they’d hurt or not.

But Jimin was taken, everyone knew that... right?

 “Took you long enough to find me.” Jimin said softly, leaning onto the person’s shoulder and speaking into their ear so they could hear him “thought someone else was going to call dibs.”

 “As if they’d dare to fucking try” the person said, voice deep and roughed up. Jimin could smell the smoke from his breath, working hard to control himself ‘less he mash their lips together.

 Jimin always loved the taste of nicotine off someone’s tongue.

 “You never know” Jimin giggled, pressing his ass against a crotch he was beginning to drool over

“Someone asked if I came alone, if I said yes I think we’d be dancing here and you had to watch”

 “Pretty little thing like you wouldn’t settle for less” they said, Jimin couldn’t help but blush.

 Jimin swayed and danced against his dance partner, feeling them move with him as their hands gripped at his hips tightly. A hand travelled upwards, feeling over Jimin’s taut stomach and stopping at a nipple, circling it over the fabric of Jimin’s top. He let out a soft sigh, holding his head down as he tried not to be overwhelmed by it.

 He giggled mischievously, bring his head back up before he turned around, making his dance partner’s hands travel up to rest at his waist as his arms made it around their neck.

 “You always love to tease, don’t you Hyungie?” Jimin asked, his lips just a breath away.

 Yoongi chuckled, nipping at Jimin’s plump lower lip “You’re always into it”

 Jimin lunges forward, kissing Yoongi hungrily as his fingers bury themselves in Yoongi’s hair, one of the elder’s hands making its way to Jimin’s ass to squeeze and feel around for as much as he wanted. Jimin was practically lifted off his feet as Yoongi pulled him closer, trying to eliminate as much space between them as possible.

 Yoongi’s kisses are eager and greedy, but controlled and timed at the same time. Jimin loves how Yoongi always takes charge of him, loves how Yoongi takes care of Jimin no matter what their doing.

 The elder licks into Jimin’s mouth as the younger grinds against him and he lets Yoongi in with a smile, sucking on his tongue before the elder is kissing down his jaw, neck and biting at the juncture before Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin tries not to whine at Yoongi’s attention, regardless if the people around them could hear or not. It’s a club, it’s not like this kind of behaviour wasn’t expected.

 Jimin could feel Yoongi’s lips creep back up to his jaw, ghosting kisses all the while before he asks “Where’s your muscle pig boyfriend, anyway?”

 Jimin laughs at that, pulling at Yoongi’s hair with one hand while scratching down the length of his arm with the other in pure need. He looks at the elder and, for the first time that night, takes in what he’s wearing.  

 Yoongi’s sporting ripped skinny jeans that look a little like Jimin’s, albeit a lot less ripped. A black shirt and leather jacket to boot, Jimin’s favourite one, the one he always tries nick. He eyes Yoongi over once more before looking straight at him, seeing the elder smirk with pride. “He doesn’t matter right now” Jimin says, ghosting a kiss on Yoongi’s lips that has the elder pathetically chasing after for more.

 Jimin giggles again. “You’re hard”

 “You’re sexy” Yoongi says, slapping Jimin’s ass and making the younger jump in his arms with a moan “My place or yours?”

 “They’re one and the same”

 “Fuck you”

 “Yes please” Jimin hums, kissing Yoongi once more before feeling Yoongi up underneath his shirt. He was warm, almost hot underneath Jimin’s cold hands “And do it hard”

Jimin’s pushed back against his apartment door roughly as Yoongi’s mouth assaults his neck, the younger wrapping an arm around Yoongi’s neck as he tries to press his dick closer to his, needy and desperate.

 He moans shamelessly as he feels Yoongi bite and pull at his earlobe, grinding against the elder’s leg. “Yoongi, I-inside” he stutters, barely able to keep his voice level

 Yoongi feels for the keys in Jimin’s back pocket, glancing at the lock quickly before mouthing at the younger’s neck once more.

 By the time their inside, Jimin is gasping for breath as he toes his shoes off. Yoongi pauses from marking Jimin’s neck to try to get the button up off; Jimin goes to help him when Yoongi huffs in frustration.

 “I don’t understand why you wear this shit” He growls, ridding himself of his leather jacket and clothes “You know what you want by the end of the night yet you put shit on and make it hard get off”

 Jimin giggled at Yoongi’s complaints, knowing all too well that Yoongi loved how Jimin looks. “Do I look fuckable though?” He smirked, playfully winking at Yoongi as he kept his top on but shimmied out of his tight jeans

 Yoongi’s shirtless and only got his jeans left when Jimin is done, moving the opening of his top to the side to expose his collarbones and shoulder to the elder, doe eyes and jutted pout making him want to rearrange the young dancer’s guts.

 “Shut up” he growls, making Jimin giggle as Yoongi backs him all the way into the couch’s arm rest, their teeth clacking together slightly as Jimin’s back hits the cushion.

 Jimin’s hands reach for Yoongi’s zipper, undoing the fasten of his jeans before pulling it down just enough before he’s able to cup the large hard-on and moan into Yoongi’s mouth.

 “Just fuck me here” he breathes, biting and pulling Yoongi’s lip

 “Are you sure?”

 “Did I fucking stutter?”

 “I’m about to make you”

 Jimin knows being bratty is going to get him hurt, the glint in Yoongi’s eyes more than a telltale.

 Yoongi makes his way back to Jimin’s neck, his favourite place on Jimin’s body to leave scratches and bruises aside from the plush of his ass as he blindly but expertly pulls down Jimin’s boy-shorts. They’re the black silk ones that Jimin knows Yoongi loves but it seems the elder is too preoccupied to appreciate the fashion choice at the moment.

 “I fucking hate this shirt” Jimin hears him murmur, seeing that Yoongi’s tossed the silk underwear somewhere towards the TV.

 He smiles and giggles lightly, “I know you think I’m pretty in it, Hyung”

 Yoongi doesn’t answer him, Jimin knows it’s because anything he’ll say will still feed into Jimin’s teasing but Jimin doesn’t really care, all he can think about is how Yoongi is biting and sucking at the skin of his chest. It hurts so good and Jimin can already tell that it’ll last several days.

 Looks like he’s wearing turtle necks to work for the next week.

 “Lube” Yoongi groans, the rough pads of his fingers and the skin of his palms going over Jimin’s ass in circles. “Jimin I’m not spitting on your ass, as hot as it is, it’s not enough to open you up”

 Jimin chuckles, reaching underneath the couch as he comments on how well Yoongi takes care of him.

 “You know my name?” Yoongi whispers, kissing Jimin full on before breaking away to lean on the back of his heels.

 The young dancer smiles at Yoongi playfully as he watches the elder warm the bottle of lube between his hands. He arches his back off the cushion of the couch to pull the button up over his head, discarding it in the direction Yoongi threw his underwear towards.

 “Of course” he preens, teasingly.

 He watches Yoongi bite his lip, his eyes turning dark as he gets a reasonable amount of liquid onto his fingers and Jimin’s hole, a soft gasps escapes him; the feeling a new and welcomed one.

 Yoongi leans down as his fingers circle Jimin’s entrance, settling his weight onto his elbow beside Jimin’s head; the younger mouths at Yoongi’s mouth, teasing him for a kiss with his breath shallow and uneven.

 Just as Jimin’s lips are enveloped once more in Yoongi’s, he feels a familiar pressure break through his rim and is unable to control his gasp, moaning into Yoongi’s mouth. He feels the older man smile against his open mouth, taking this opportunity to slip his tongue into Jimin’s and search for his tongue.

 Jimin moans shamelessly into Yoongi, lifting his hips off the couch to grind into him, asking for more. He feels Yoongi thrusting his finger in and out slowly, getting Jimin used to the intrusion before adding another finger.

 “Yoongi—“ Jimin sighs, a hand in Yoongi’s hair once more and his face tucked into the crook of the elder’s neck “Please, I can take it. Give it to me”

 Yoongi ignored him, Jimin can tell. He pretends not to hear the younger’s pleas for more because he knows that too much too fast will hurt, regardless if Jimin likes it or not.

 “Y-Yoongi” he tries once more, voice as shaky and weak as ever “Y-Yoongi, you’re being, oohh shit, you’re being a p-prick”

 “Shut up” Jimin feels more than hears against his neck, Yoongi nipping at the skin sharply and making him yelp.

 When he feels that Jimin’s stretched enough with two fingers, he adds another, making him groan loudly and grind into Yoongi’s hard-on.

 “Fuck yes” Jimin pulls Yoongi from his neck, slitting their lips together as he moans at the familiar sensation. “Yoongi, I want you, please”

 “Have to make sure you’re stretched properly”

 “Fuck that, you know I love it when it hurts” he whines, his tongue licking into Yoongi’s as his hand cups Yoongi through his jeans “Just fucking do it”

 Yoongi curls his fingers up and presses, making Jimin yelp and shudder against him. “Why are you always so impatient, you fucking slut”

 Jimin smiles deliciously, Yoongi biting the bend of his jaw. “Why do you still not understand how good your dick is?”

 “Fine” Yoongi says and all of a sudden Jimin is lifted into a sitting position, the elder’s hand tightening on his throat making him smile “You wanna get fucked so badly?”

 Jimin grins at him and the next thing he knows, Yoongi’s lifted and bent him over the back of the couch, ass in the air and back arched as Yoongi pushed him down. Jimin feels Yoongi’s torso press against him, lips brushing the shell of his ear as he whispers.

 “I’d eat you out but you’re too greedy for your own good.”

 It takes a lot for Jimin not to whine, feeling Yoongi’s fingers make their way inside him once more to make sure he’s ready.

 “Give it to me”

 “Condoms”

 Jimin rolls his eyes in frustration, “Yoongi we’ve been sleeping together long enough for you to know I don’t give a shit about condoms” he says, hanging his head low impatiently “I’m clean and I know you are too so just fuck me for god s—Oh!”

 Jimin feels so full, his head is swimming. Yoongi had thrust his entire length into Jimin’s sweltering heat, stretching him a little more than he already had. Tears prick the edge of Jimin’s eyes and Yoongi places a soft kiss in the middle of his back, hips unmoving as he give the younger time to adjust. “You really need to shut the fuck up sometimes” he mumbles.

 Jimin groans as he throws his head back, his mouth hanging open as he feels Yoongi’s member pulsate inside of him. Profanities fall from his pretty lips, drool building in his mouth as Yoongi mouths at the small of his back.

 Yoongi begins to move slowly, pulling out completely before bottoming out again and again, Jimin’s moans low and faltering.

 “You love my cock” Yoongi says, panting slightly.

 Jimin giggles, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he grinds backwards to meet Yoongi’s thrusts eagerly. “You really gonna make me say it twice?”

 Yoongi’s pulled out all of his length except the head, lingering right at the edge of Jimin’s rim before weaving his fingers into Jimin’s blonde waves and tugging him close, moving into him at a torturously slow pace. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream it so the neighbours know.”

 Jimin moans at the sound of Yoongi’s voice; possessive and greedy; his body practically vibrating with excitement as he feels the elder fill him.

 Yoongi straightens his back away from Jimin, nudging the dancer’s knees further apart with his own before he starts thrusting into the younger mercilessly.

 Jimin yelps, surprised, digging his nails into the material of the couch and seeing stars everywhere. Yoongi doesn’t wait for Jimin’s hole to adjust for him any longer, the sound of wet skin clashing being the only thing that Jimin hears.

 With every thrust Jimin so desperately tries to meet halfway, he becomes more and more pliant; almost like putty if Yoongi wasn’t holding him up by his hair. Yoongi bites his lip, focusing on his consistency as the sounds of Jimin’s whines and begging encourage him further and further.

 Jimin can feel the large, callous hand on his hip dig their fingernails into his skin as Yoongi’s thrusts gradually become more and more calculated and rough. He can barely speak, saliva making its way just past his lips and down his chin. If this wasn’t a good fucking then Jimin didn’t know what could ever count as a good fucking.

 He almost feels kind of drunk, feels Yoongi starting to grind into him at an angle and choking as he hits that one sweet spot that drives Jimin crazy, cum leaking out of his hanging length underneath them both.

 “Yoongi, oh fu—Oh! Fuck.” He stutters, closing his eyes and pulling against Yoongi’s grip in his hair “Fuck, right there, right there, Yoongi, fuck me right there”

 The elder smirks and releases his grip Jimin’s hair, making the younger go completely boneless and curve over the back of the couch. With both hands on the young one’s hips, Yoongi’s thrusts become even rougher and harsher than before, making Jimin whine loudly.

 “What’s my name?” He grunts, a sweat breaking out down his temple.

 It takes Jimin a few seconds to process that he’s being asked a question, let alone a kind of question that he was expected to answer.

 “You’re... oh fuck me, yes” he slurs, trying to get a grip on the back rest and keep himself upright “You’re r-really... asking... m-me that... r-right n-now?”

 Yoongi tries not to laugh at how pathetic Jimin sounds, but the younger can feel the effect of his voice on Yoongi—laughter be damned.

 “Did you just...” he turns to look at Yoongi, eyes wide and unbelieving “Did you just get b-bigger?”

“I said” Yoongi smirked, thrusts hips paused, length completely enveloped in Jimin’s heat “What’s my fucking name?”

 He grinds into Jimin’s ass with every word, making the younger’s eyes roll back into his head once more. “Fuck...” he breathes “Yoongi, please”

 “Nope” Yoongi pulls out of Jimin completely, eliciting a whine before he expertly manoeuvres Jimin onto his back once more, Yoongi kneeling between his spread thighs as one hand works to get Jimin’s leg over his shoulder while the other founds its place on his neck, squeezing lightly. “What’s my fucking name?”

 Jimin can feel Yoongi’s length rub against his sore entrance, his body craving for the pain of the stretch and the foreign resident inside him.

 His eyes meet Yoongi’s, the soft brown darkening, almost black as Jimin smirks playfully. “Please” he whispers, struggling to breathe as Yoongi squeezes his throat “Daddy”

 At that, Yoongi surges forward, pressing Jimin’s knee to his chest as their mouths slot together. The hand previously holding the younger’s leg then lining Yoongi length to Jimin’s hole, making him moan into Yoongi’s mouth greedily.

 “That’s right” he says, lips just a breath away before he pushes them apart, hand still on Jimin’s throat as he begins to pound into him relentlessly.

 Yoongi loves listening to Jimin, he’s told the younger time and time again that he thinks he makes the prettiest sounds when he’s being fucked senseless. It’s why Jimin rarely ever holds back.

 Yoongi’s harsh pace sends him over the edge repeatedly, not caring at all about how loud he’s being, noise complaint be damned. Jimin’s at the point where he needs to breathe through his mouth like a dog because of how good everything feels, his tongue lolling out slightly as he tilts his head to the side to give Yoongi free reign of the bruised expansion of his neck.

 “Daddy” he chokes, struggling to speak with Yoongi’s hand on his throat “Daddy, g-gonna... oh! Gonna commeee”

 “Yeah? You gonna come all pretty for me?” Yoongi asks, panting slightly and his pace becoming sloppy as he himself nears the edge of bliss “Come for me, gorgeous”

 Jimin has half a mind to reach for Yoongi with shaky hands, pull him closer for a kiss before he’s shuddering out of control, strings of warm cum shooting onto his stomach and clinging to Yoongi’s skin where his meets Jimin’s.

 “So good, Daddy” he whimpers into Yoongi’s mouth, the elder’s thrusts becoming sloppier by the minute. “Are you close?”

 Jimin’s voice breaks as he speaks, the throws of ecstasy sending his body places he’d never figure he’d come to, his eyes rolling back into his head for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Yoongi feels like magic.

 “Almost, pretty” Yoongi pants, pushing himself up onto his knees as he continues to thrust into Jimin.

 Jimin scratches at his sides, looking for any kind of sensation that could distract him from the growing sensitivity that Yoongi is building into him.

 All of a sudden Yoongi pulls out, Jimin whines at the sudden repeat of emptiness despite his ass desperately needing a break from the rough treatment. He moves up Jimin’s body, straddling his chest as he cups his chin in one hand.

 “Open up those pretty lips for Daddy”

 Jimin obeys quietly, his eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and red. Yoongi lines his length up and rests it on the younger’s tongue, doe eyes looking up at him almost sleepily.

 “My pretty little fucktoy” Yoongi says gently before pushing in.

 Jimin works to relax his jaw and throat, his gag reflex no longer as sensitive as before. He watches Yoongi throw his head back as he thrusts into Jimin’s warm mouth, revelling in the softness of Jimin’s cheeks. Softened swears fall from the elder’s mouth, making Jimin hum in pride at how much of a mess he can make the latter.

 “Pretty, I’m close” Yoongi says, looking back down at Jimin “You gonna take my load like a good boy?”

 As an answer, Jimin swallows around the head of Yoongi’s head pressing up against the back of his throat, making him hiss.

 Jimin closes his eyes as Yoongi’s hands lace themselves into Jimin’s hair once more; tugging harshly as he begins to fuck the younger’s mouth. He struggles to hold his breath, resisting the urge to breathe in every time Yoongi hits his uvula.

 His hands raise to knead at Yoongi’s clothed thighs before he feels the elder’s grip tighten in his hair, warm liquid shooting down his throat. Jimin swallows obediently and quietly, listening to Yoongi’s shameless groan as he does.

 Jimin is finally able to breathe as Yoongi pulls out his slightly softened length, panting. He falls limp as Yoongi stands from his position, shucking off his jeans before making his way to what Jimin could only assume was the bathroom.

 He falls limp on the couch, body heat and sweat be damned. Jimin’s just about to fall asleep until he hears Yoongi re-enter the room, cracking his eyes open to watch him move.

 The elder was in nothing more than a pair of black boxers, wet cloth in hand as he makes his way to sit by Jimin’s side.

 Jimin preens at the attention he receives as Yoongi kisses him, the latter then moving to set one of Jimin’s legs on his lap as he presses the warm cloth against the puffed up entrance. The texture is rough against Jimin’s skin but the temperature is a welcomed sensation.

 “I want cuddles” he pouts, making baby hands at Yoongi as he finishes cleaning Jimin’s ass and torso free of cum. “Daddyy”

 He hears Yoongi scoff, the cloth discarded somewhere with the rest of their clothes before he’s told to move and make space, Yoongi tucking him into his side.

 “So needy”

 “So good” Jimin giggles “Probably our best one by far”

 He perches his chin on Yoongi’s chest, the elder raising an eyebrow at him “Better than the park?”

 “Okay, maybe a close second”

 Yoongi chuckles and Jimin absolutely loves the sound of it. He smiles at the man as he watches him reach for a cigarette off the little box on the coffee table, lying back down and making himself comfortable.

 He drifts in and out of consciousness to the steady rhythm of Yoongi’s breathing, not noticing the blanket that the older man tugs to cover them. When did he bring that in?

Jimin falls asleep like that, to the faint smell of nicotine and Yoongi kissing the top of his head as he whispers a small goodnight.

The sunlight filters through the curtains gently, the cold air of the night time still lingering around the apartment as Jimin slowly drifts into consciousness again. Soft bouts of pressure pressing into his skin in various places.

 Jimin hums appreciatively, Yoongi’s kisses making their way up his neck as he feels skin meet teeth.

 “Are you awake?” He hears Yoongi ask, voice deep and rough from just waking up as well. Jimin feels him lick a stripe up the side of his neck, sighing before taking a breath to ask the man what he thought he was doing so early in the morning. “Hard to sleep with such a tempting vixen lying on me, figured I’d make sure my signature lasts long.”

 It took Jimin a second to register what Yoongi meant by his signature and he soon realises that every spot he was sucking on Jimin’s neck and chest had existing marks from last night; Yoongi was re-darkening them.

 “If you keep this up, you’re going to have to deal with the repercussions” Jimin preens, teasing Yoongi.

 “Repercussions?” the latter chuckled, halting his ministrations as he took Jimin’s chin between his fingers, making the younger face him “Pretty, whatever happens is hardly going to be a repercussion”

 Jimin smiles, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

***

A/N

Hii, been a hot minute, hasn’t it? Thank you so much for sticking by me, for staying and waiting for me. This community really makes me feel like I belong and I promise I’ll make it up to you. I have so many projects lined up and I can’t wait for you to visit all these AUs I have planned.

If you like my work, please consider buying me a kofi

As of now our goal is to be able to afford a new laptop since the one I have now is really run down from when it was passed on to me.

I know it's really trying times for all of us at the moment, so it's okay if you can't donate! Reblogging and leaving notes are still great ways to show your support!

Thank you all so much for your unending love and support, you really do keep me going. <3

Love, YJ

***

Chapter Index

i - Bad Boy Friday

i - Good One Sunday

iii - That One From Work

iv - I Want Them All

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Wicked Game (Part 2)

Word Count: 20K+ total Team Long Winded Bitch strikes again, this will be posted in multiple parts over the next couple of days. The first part is about 5K, part 2 is 7K

Rating: 18+ Slash fic Strong language, alcohol and drug use, and a misogynistic and racist comment. Sexual scenes including masturbation, toys, voyeurism, oral, and anal sex.

Summary: Ashton is ready to move on with his life after his painful divorce from Luke and the demise of the restaurant they’d built together. With the help of his protegee and sous chef Hima Singh, Ashton is ready to take on opening weekend of his new restaurant Anne-Marie’s. Calum is a reporter filling in on an assignment and is surprised when his past comes back to haunt him. Hima arranges an interview that takes an unexpected turn between the two men.

Ashton grabbed his bag and shut off the lights in the bar. Hima was waiting impatiently by the door, keys in hand. Following the disaster of an afternoon, they'd been packed until closing. He'd been too busy cooking to think about it, something he loved about his job. The rush and the heat combined with the complete focus on his work. You had to keep your eyes on your fingers or you got hurt. The satisfaction of plating an order and sending it out until the next order came in, starting the process over again. 

"Will you come on?" Hima tapped her foot, making her keys jangle. "My brother is waiting for us."  Her twin brother had passed the bar exam a month ago, but everything had been so crazy with the opening they hadn't properly celebrated yet. 

The bouncer recognized Hima and let them in immediately. Tirana was a sleek, neon-lit bar favoring overpriced cocktails, elaborately garnished and meant to be as much of a showpiece as a beverage. Ashton eyed the crowd full of men sporting off the rack Italian suits with egos as inflated as their dates' chests. Kabir was waiting in VIP with his friends and waved them up. Ashton congratulated him and ordered a spiked seltzer, passing on the bottle service Kabir offered. Hima was taking shots with the guys and he joined them in a toast. As he was taking a drink he spotted Calum Hood leaning against the wall, looking bored and maybe a little drunk. Hima must've seen his expression because she whipped around just as Calum looked up and noticed them. Ashton tried to look away and act as if he hadn't noticed the other man. Hima had other ideas and made a beeline for the reporter. 

"Hey Calum, fancy meeting you here," she said relieved when he seemed happy to see her. "Come have a drink with us, or am I interrupting something?"

"If you're buying," Calum replied. "A friend brought me here and then fucked off on a phone call." He laughed, but it died out when he saw Ashton.

"Listen," Hima cut him off before he could speak. "I know this afternoon didn't go well, but what you don't know is just before you came in, my boss had to sit through an interview with Kevin Mackie. It did not go well " 

"Oh God, that insufferable bastard," Calum snorted.

"Exactly, and you know Mackie brought up all that old shit from Lune Rouge," Hima told him "That's in addition to insulting every woman who works there, of course." 

Calum cringed, and his eyes flickered back towards Ashton talking to Kabir and his lawyer friends. He couldn't help but notice the contrast between the intense scowling man he'd encountered this afternoon and the smiling bubbly ray of sunshine he was looking at now. Was that an actual giggle? Calum blamed the tequila for agreeing to join Hima for a quick drink since his date still hadn't come back. He'd allowed his editor, Shamara, to set him up twice now, but there wouldn't be a third time. 

Ashton wiped his sweaty palms on his black jeans as he watched Calum following Hima over towards them. He'd found the reporter attractive this afternoon, but he'd been wearing a long sleeve button up for the interview. Tonight Calum was in all black, and the tank top he wore under the leather jacket showed the ink etched into his skin above his collarbones. Ashton gripped the drink in his hands a bit tighter, trying to keep his nerves steady. He slowly edged his way over to where they were talking just as Calum launched into a story about his magazine sending him on a tour of small mom and pop restaurants up the California coast. 

"The owner's husband was sick that day, so she was doing most of the work herself," Calum was saying as Ashton listened in on the conversation. "Beulah was amazing, but they were getting slammed. I asked if she needed any help, and I spent the next three hours manning a fryer. I cooked the chicken, and she'd toss it in the hot oil and spices before slapping it on a bun with the sauce. You'd get the sandwich, pickle, and fries in a little brown sack. We sold hundreds of them, but I knew why when it slowed down enough that I finally got to eat. It's the best chicken sandwich you'll ever have! Tossing it in that spicy oil gives it a flavor that punches you in the mouth. She taught me most of her secrets over the two days I ended up staying until her husband got over the flu.." 

I could listen to this man talk all day, Ashton thought watching Calum's expressions and hands as he told the story. The way his chest rumbled when he laughed, which was often throughout the tale. He seemed like a genuinely warm person, and Hima seemed to like him. Maybe I was wrong, five years is a long time

"That's so sweet," Hima smiled up at Calum as he finished..  She was smitten despite hearing rumors he played for the other team. 

"Ended up extending my trip for an extra five days which caused all sorts of headaches when I got back. My boss was pissed I'd gone over my expense account," Calum said, shaking his head at the memory, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol now loosening his tongue. He was relieved his date was still MIA. Ashton was standing close enough for Calum to smell his cologne, and it was proving distracting. 

"Is that the same magazine you work for now?" Hima asked.

"Yeah, but I was damn near fired. I paid back the money by throwing cash onto my boss's desk when I turned in my story, and he was not amused. The editor-in-chief, who also owns the publisher,  loved my story, and after that, I was sent on more in-depth character profiles. I wanna get to know the people behind the food." Calum looked directly at Ashton, meeting his eyes as he spoke. His breath caught in his throat at the intensity in Ashton's hazel eyes as he listened. How is he this handsome? Calum thought. This man has no right to be this good looking. That chest hair peeking out from under that pink shirt is teasing me. Wonder what's underneath? Wait, no I don’t. Stop thinking about that or you're gonna get hard.

"So what exactly were you sent to find?" Ashton asked, his tone still guarded but more friendly than before. 

Calum took a deep breath and thought quickly. After the interview bombed this afternoon, he came up with a backup plan if Ashton didn't come through. He made a decision to float both his ideas.

"Look, I know a lot of people are bugging you for gossip about your personal life, but that's not what I'm here for. You opened your first restaurant at 25, and the food at Lune Rouge was fantastic. I know I didn't give you a good review then, but I was trying to be edgy and cool," Calum admitted.

Ashton exhaled and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry about this afternoon. Mackie brought up Luke, and when you mentioned Finn I snapped. I'd like to try again, but I know Hima is more interesting. So what did you have in mind?" Ashton smiled and Calum had butterflies in his stomach. 

"I'd like to watch you cook, and see how you are in the kitchen. Tell me how your philosophy on cooking has evolved and what stayed the same," Calum replied. I hope that didn't sound as cringe to him as it did to me. Turning to Hima, he continued talking, "I'd like to do an extra little feature on you if that's ok. It'll give the article a nice balance I think, what do you say?" 

Ashton saw Hima's face light up and knew he'd have to say yes. He had to admit, the pitch sounded great, even if the idea of Calum watching him work made him nervous. They turned towards him to see what he thought, and Ashton's gaze landed on Calum's mouth just as he licked his lips. Please don't do that, he thought to himself. Don't make me think about how you taste, and how those lips would feel against mine.

"I definitely think Hima deserves her own feature. I'll go along with whatever you want," Ashton told them. 

"You know Calum," Hima turned on the charm. "I'm off tomorrow. I could take you to the best Indian restaurant you've never heard of for lunch." Her eyes got huge and she grabbed Calum's arm. "I'm a genius you guys, listen, the restaurant is hella busy, and the boss man," she nodded towards Ashton, "won't be much fun to interview if there are customers waiting. He just redid the kitchen in his condo, so why don't you do the interview there? That way he's not around us idiots at the restaurant." 

Both men stared at her, and Hima panicked thinking she'd overstepped somehow until Ashton nodded. "Sounds like it could work, what do you think?" He asked looking at Calum who nodded, his smile getting broader. 

“Sure, um, that sounds great. Really just um, great," he fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it before handing it over. "Go ahead and put your number in, and I'll text you tomorrow." 

"Is that your little sister?" Hima asked, spotting the picture on his lock screen. 

"That's my daughter, Vanessa Joy. Absolute light of my life," Calum beamed, pulling up another pic.

"Daughter?" Hima and Ashton exchanged shocked looks before quickly regaining their composure.

"We were kids. I hadn't figured things out yet," Calum gave his standard explanation. 

He started to say more, but he spotted his now-forgotten date headed back towards them.  Hima saw his grimace and followed his gaze to the approaching man. She guessed he must be a lawyer who wanted everyone to know it, wearing a double-breasted British tailored suit and gold Submariner watch.

"Sorry about that Cal, that was a client who's a real pain in the ass," the newcomer joined their little group, peering at Ashton with suspicion. "I'm Nick Callahan, a junior partner at Fish, Filbeck, and Greene " Hima almost laughed out loud at this skinny little dude in a fancy suit trying to puff out his chest and put some bass in his voice as he went to shake her boss's hand. Ashton looked amused but Calum not so much. 

"Calum, if you don't mind, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Nick waved at a group who'd just come in. He tried to pull Calum away, but he shook Nick's hand off his arm.

"Give me a second, and I'll be over," Calum said, nodding at someone he recognized in the group. "Tell Teddy to order a round of drinks, I'm buying." When Nick still didn't budge, Calum turned his body towards his date and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I'm interviewing this young lady tomorrow, and I want to get it set up before I get drunk, ok?" 

Nick swallowed at the warning in Calum's voice and scurried off to meet his friends. 

"Sorry about that," Calum turned back, smiling again. He had them each put their number in and saved the info with a smile.  "I'm so glad I ran into y'all. Hima, I will text you in the morning, and Ashton just let me know when and where." He gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek which made her blush furiously. He shook Ashton's hand and everything seemed to pause as they locked eyes, exchanging smiles. The handshake lingered a beat too long before they both pulled back completely flustered. 

"See you guys then," Calum made a hasty retreat towards Nick and his friends. 

"What did you do?" Ashton hissed, feeling dizzy, excited, terrified, and nauseous all at once. 

"We'll just have to see, won't we? You two are obviously into each other," Hima tossed her hair over her shoulder, giving Ashton a pointed look. 

"I'm not trying to start anything, you know that. Since the divorce it's been too hard and-" Ashton stopped when she put her finger to his lips.

"It's an interview. With a very attractive reporter. You'll be in your element, you can hide behind your food and your knives, but you can get through this. I want my feature." She glared at him and stood on her tiptoes trying to go eye to eye with him.

He had to laugh. Hima was impossible to stay cross with. As he glanced back over towards Calum, he couldn't deny he was intrigued. Don't get your hopes up, Irwin. 

Kabir came over to drag them back to his friends. Ashton spent the next hour dancing with Kabir's girlfriend and watching his friends try to hit on Hima without getting caught. Hima's family was overprotective, and her mother was constantly pressuring Kabir to find his sister a good match. As a result, she kept her private life closely guarded, even Ashton didn't know much, although he suspected she had a thing going with one of the servers at Anne-Marie's. 

As the song ended, he realized he had to pee. Ashton excused himself and followed the neon arrows to a dimly lit hallway decorated with glow in the dark graffiti. He made his way past the line for the women's room and around two people noisily making out next to the emergency exit. He reached the men's room door just as it swung open towards him. He stumbled back to avoid being hit and collided with the couple behind him. An arm shot out from the tangled bodies, shoving him forward chest first into the man who'd just come out of the bathroom. Ashton put his hands up to steady himself, inhaling the scent of leather and whiskey with a faint whiff of stale tobacco as he looked at Calum's face inches from his own.

"Sorry, uh, I was pushed," Ashton apologized, unable to stop staring at the other man's lips.

"It's ok," Calum's heart was pounding, and he was sure Ashton could feel it through his jacket. He was tempted to make a move and go in for a kiss. He paused long enough to remember the interview, and not wanting to have another misstep, he let the moment pass. "It's all yours," he said squeezing over so Ashton could pass.

Ashton paused, confused, but remembered he was headed to the bathroom. "Thanks, uh, see ya," he replied trying not to stammer. Yeah, that was smooth, he thought. Before he closed the door, he looked back and caught Calum looking back at him.hey both smiled before the crowd closed in and he lost eye contact. He had to stand and splash cold water on his face to get his pulse back to normal. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that his face was still very pink and he was grinning like a fool. I didn't just imagine that did I? What am I doing? What am I going to cook for him? 

*********

Ashton jumped at the sound of the buzzer even though he was expecting her. He quickly let her up, and within seconds Hima was at his door. 

"How did it go?" He hadn't even fully opened the door before the question was past his lips.

"Eager much? Why don't you get me a drink, and I'll decide what I want to tell you," she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it up. 

"You impertinent bitch," Ashton cracked up and headed to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

"You sound like my mother," Hima settled at the bar facing him.

Ashton had expanded his kitchen so he could install a six top gas range and a convection oven while giving himself extra counter space with a small sink directly across and a small island in between. Instead of a dining room, he had an L-shaped bar where he could serve guests directly from the kitchen. He pulled a pitcher of cold brew out of the fridge and poured himself a glass with a splash of cashew milk adding a splash to her cup of hot chai. 

"It's such a shame you're gay. We'd have such a great marriage," she joked blowing on her tea.

"I love you too much to marry you, darling," Ashton replied as always. 

"Good thing I like my new stepdaddy," she told him, and he choked on his coffee. 

"So what did you guys talk about?" He asked when he'd recovered. 

"Mostly me, but also you. What do you want first, the details about him or what he asked about you?" Hima smirked at him, almost laughing when he glared at her. 

"I'll let you decide, how about that?" Ashton rummaged through the refrigerator before pulling out a loaf of bread. 

"Ooh snack time. When did you go to the market? I thought you opened for Rafi today. What are you gonna make for him?" She fired off, trying to crane her neck to see what he bought.

"Nope, you're gonna talk or you're not getting fed. I went before I went in at ten and I stayed till eight. I've barely got home, and I don't need your attitude, young lady. Now spill it," he told her as he pulled out a couple of onions and some gruyere cheese. 

"I love it when you're pissy. It looks so good on you. So I took him to Parvati's and ordered chana masala on roasted sweet potatoes. It was so good, I wish you liked Indian food more. We talked about my family, and how they're mostly engineers and lawyers but food was my passion. Confessed that when we first met, I had the biggest crush on you because you were so handsome." She giggled and made a show of fluttering her eyelashes at him. Ashton blushed and threw a caper at her. Hima swatted it back at him and kept talking. "Calum agreed you were handsome by the way. So I told him how you'd mentored me, and when you left the Hilton to open Anne-Marie's, you brought me with you. It was very heartwarming, and I promise I made you look good. He asked a few questions about you, but it was mostly professional stuff. What was it like working for you? What kind of collaborative effort went into the menu? Stuff like that," she shrugged watching Ashton heat up some soup as the sandwiches cooked. 

"Well, that's a lot of nothing. I thought you were better than that," Ashton said, pouting his lips at her. 

"I know he asked if you were single, but he was hella smooth about it. He asked what kind of gift he should bring tomorrow, whether it should be a bottle of wine or something you could share if you had a roommate. Don't worry, I let him know you were single, but I was cool about it," Hima grinned at her boss's discomfort. He cut the sandwich in half and poured a cup of soup to go with it. He cut some fresh chives to top off the soup along with some crème Fraiche and fresh cracked pepper. 

She stopped talking to enjoy the food. Ashton introduced her to cream of celery soup and it quickly became a favorite. The sandwich was beyond good yet incredibly simple: sauteed onions on a grilled cheese sandwich made with Ashton's homemade compound shallot-butter. 

"I'm disappointed, I thought you were better than that," Ashton raised his eyebrows at her.

"I'm not done, I'm just enjoying the food. My compliments to the chef." Hima ripped a piece of crust off her sandwich and dipped it in her soup. "I found out some things about Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome," she told him before running her tongue along the edge of the bread and then taking a bite. 

Ashton laughed and flipped her off. He had pastry cream cooking in a double boiler, so he was continuously stirring between bites. 

Watching him work, she never knew if she was completely in awe of him or a little in love with him, but probably both if she was honest with herself. She'd told Calum as much, off the record of course. It always amazed her how his large hands could be so nimble and quick with a knife, yet so delicate and careful when he was garnishing and plating. She'd told Calum how grateful she was that Ashton had given her such a huge opportunity without being patronizing or expecting her to touch his cock. 

People might think cooking would be a natural fit for a woman but professional kitchens were very much a man's world. You had to be physically and mentally tough. She was lucky that she'd gotten out the hotels before she'd been subjected to sexual harassment, but she'd seen enough. Ashton didn't tolerate any kind of physical or verbal harassment, but every cook could curse a blue streak and work through an injury. Most cooks wore their scars like battle wounds. Hima had a jagged thin white line trailing down her left forearm from a staple on a lettuce box that ripped her flesh open while putting away a truck. Ashton had a couple of red welts from the panini grill decorating his arms and a gnarly pink, puckered scar on his left wrist from an accident with molten sugar years ago.

"Ok so, he's a year and a half younger than you, turns 28 in January actually. Aquarius, so that should be fun. Never married, but he's got the kid," Hima informed him.

"That really came out of nowhere the other night. I never would've guessed that," Ashton said over his shoulder, turning his back on her to keep stirring. 

"It happened when he was in high school. His first girlfriend, their senior year of high school. They'd already been broken up for two months when they got the news, just when he'd started to figure out his sexuality. They tried to get back together for the sake of their daughter but quickly realized it wouldn't work in a traditional way. Now they're best friends and co-parents to Vanessa Joy. In fact, when Nicole married her boyfriend, Michael, two years ago Calum walked her down the aisle," Hima told him.

Ashton's jaw dropped. "What the hell, Hima? You guys had lunch one time and you know his life story." 

"My mother's interrogation skills rubbed off I guess. His daughter also happened to call while he was with me. It was so cute; she made the honor roll and he was so proud. He apologized for taking the call during lunch but said he always has to answer if it's his daughter or his mom." 

Ashton turned towards Hima, smiling and blushing, "I can respect that." 

"I'm sure you can, Mama's boy," she replied. "Honestly the two of you are adorable. A pair of smitten kittens. He kept asking questions about what it's like to work with you. What are you like as a boss? And every question he got this funny little smile and couldn't look at me. I really hate that you get the best looking guys. It's bad enough you look like that," Hima gestured at him as she looked him up and down. "First Luke, and now Calum, I'm so jealous. That being said I really hope you hook up with him. You could stand to get laid." 

"Watch it," he cautioned, not wanting to kill the mood.

"Sorry, but the other night y'all had some serious chemistry. You should go for it. Speaking of, I gotta go. Kabir is having a date night so I actually don't have to go home," she checked her phone, and Ashton didn't recognize the gaudy pink glitter case. 

She caught his puzzled expression and laughed, "My mom checks my location, so my iPhone and my car stay at Maisie's. Everything gets forwarded here, and I don't have to answer a million questions." 

"You're 24, how are you still dealing with this? When is your mother going to treat you like an adult?" Ashton shook his head, he never understood how she dealt with her family.

She sighed, "It's impossible to explain unless you have Asian parents. My mom grew up here, but my grandparents were still very much rooted in India. If you think my mom is difficult, you should've met grandma." A text came in, and she wrinkled her nose in annoyance reading it. "Why am I the only person who's punctual?" She muttered to herself before looking back at Ashton. "So what are you making tomorrow for the big date, I mean, interview? Mind if I smoke?" 

He shook his head and followed her onto the balcony. "Stop saying that, I'm nervous enough as it is. I'm starting with a wilted chard salad with figs and goat cheese, and maybe a soup. I haven't decided, but for the main, I'm making mushroom Wellington with my specialty Mac and cheese and whatever vegetables I pick up at the market tomorrow morning. I'm making a sorbet for dessert. I was going to make a pavlova, but I don't have the patience for merengue right now." 

"Calum doesn't stand a chance, he'll be thoroughly seduced. Then I'll get my magazine story and be a star. People will start asking me for photos on the street, they'll learn how to pronounce my name, and I'm only going by Hima. I think I can get away with just one name, like Madonna, Beyonce, and Cher. Don't you? I promise the fame won't go to my head. I'll still be Hima from the block." 

Ashton cracked up. "Ok there, Roxy Hart," he teased. "You are so extra, it's too much for an old gay like myself." 

"You're not even thirty," she protested. Another text came in and her eyes lit up. She stubbed her cigarette out on the bottom of her shoe before wiping it clean with a napkin and stuffed both in her purse to throw away outside. "You've just gotta get back on the horse, and Calum seems like the type who'd be into chaps and spurs." 

"Don't you have places to go, people to do?" He asked, walking her to the door.

"Sure do, good luck tomorrow," she kissed his cheek and was gone.

*********

Calum finished the dishes and popped another antacid in his mouth. Spicy food didn't used to give him heartburn. Getting old I guess. His dog, Brutus, danced around his feet begging for a treat. 

"Not gonna happen, old man," he bent down to scratch the pooch behind his ears, but Brutus immediately flipped over for a belly rub. "Greedy bastard," Calum chuckled but obliged with a ton down and chin scratches. He found a chew stick on the couch and tossed it over by the dog's bed, and soon Brutus was curled up contentedly gnawing himself to sleep. 

Calum watched his little guy for a bit before heading to his desk to type out a rough draft. Hima was a firecracker, full of energy and ideas, and hard to keep up with. She talked a mile a minute, often switching topics mid-thought as she spoke. He'd had his voice recorder on, but he liked to write his first draft from memory. He admired her passion for her work, and her determination to follow her own path. She was fiercely loyal to Ashton and grateful for the opportunity he'd given her. Calum would've suspected she was a bit smitten with her boss, but she openly admitted her crush. She was quick to insist Ashton had never encouraged or entertained the idea, but she didn't need to tell him that. 

Calum knew all about Ashton's history, the cheating, the fights, the messy breakup that brought the restaurant down. He exhaled, nervous about having that conversation. He shut his laptop, now too distracted to write. It's just an interview, calm down. He tried to be rational, but his thoughts kept drifting back to bumping into Ashton at the bar. The pink shirt, the star tattoo begging to be traced with his tongue, those hazel eyes that made his heart jump into his stomach. He tried to focus on his laptop. This article wasn't going to write itself. 

****

Ashton laid on his back, concentrating on his breathing as he pressed his knees to the floor in reclining bound angle pose. He'd had too much coffee, and although his body was tired, his mind was racing. His phone was vibrating on the dresser, but Ashton ignored it, moving into a butterfly pose and touching his forehead to the floor. He exhaled, trying to clear his mind. But all he could think about was Calum Hood. He had a brand new restaurant to run. Now was not a good time to become infatuated with a handsome reporter. So why haven't you stopped smiling all day?  

He breathed deeply, in, out, in, out. But he couldn't concentrate, couldn't calm down. He pushed himself off the floor and grabbed his water off the table. He opened his phone and was surprised to see a notification from the restaurant security system. 

Alarm deactivated at 12:02 AM 

Alarm Panel 2

Code: 4452

Ashton realized Hima was at the restaurant. He knew she usually went there after her accounting class but that definitely wasn't the case tonight. Probably popped in for a bottle of wine, which doesn't sound like a bad idea. 

The kitchen tiles were chilly beneath his bare feet as he headed towards the small wine fridge on his counter. Craving something sweet, he found a Shiraz he'd been saving and poured a small glass. He scrolled through Spotify, picking a playlist at random, and Robyn's  "Dancing on my Own" came over the speakers following him through the apartment back into his bedroom. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused. 

He pulled his shirt off and turned around examining the freshly-healed Phoenix tattoo decorating his left side from his hip to the top of his ribs,  covering up the tattoo of Luke's name, birth date, and their wedding date. He trusted his tattoo artist and let him have creative freedom on the brightly-colored feathers and flames. It turned out beautifully. He turned sideways, rubbing his stomach and flexing in the mirror. He was in the best shape he'd been in since he was a teenager. Yoga kept him toned and lean so he was muscled without being bulky.

I'm giving it my all

But I'm not the girl you're taking home

He let the Swedish synth-pop beat take over, his hips swaying as he listened to lyrics about loneliness and feeling left out.

I keep dancing on my own

The irony wasn't lost on him as he kept dancing, moving away from the mirror. The next song was too slow so he quickly scrolled looking for something better. He clicked on Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know," and began to sing along. He saw that Hima hadn't left the restaurant and opened up the security camera feed on his phone to make sure she was ok. 

****

The more Calum stared at the screen the more his concentration drifted. He wondered if Ashton had a type. Cal knew he was decent looking, but he wasn't Luke Hemmings. He snorted at the thought of that simpering pretty boy. Luke was a spoiled child, soft and weak, thinking only of himself. I bet he's selfish in bed, probably a bossy bottom  He was surprised at the surge of jealousy he felt. Don't bring Finn into this. He rubbed his temples at the memory of finding out his then-boyfriend was cheating with Luke.

Finn was always looking for an opportunity, whatever would take him to the next level. His relationship of almost a year with Calum failed to get him noticed in the food press. Finn felt Ashton didn't give him enough credit at Lune Rouge and whined constantly about it. Cal was having his own career struggles at the time and personally thought Finn was acting like a spoiled brat instead of being grateful for the opportunity. They began to spend less time together after Calum's snarky review caused a huge blow up. So when Ashton and Luke's relationship began to fray, Finn had time to lend a sympathetic ear. Calum suspected Finn was cheating, but he bought into the “golden couple” bullshit so Luke never crossed his mind. Calum was shocked and gutted when he walked in on the two of them one afternoon. Finn was supposed to be out of town, and Calum popped by to check on his dogs. The sound of sex greeted him when he opened the door and he should have left right then. His curiosity got the better of him, and he walked towards the bedroom. Their moans masked the sound of his boots as someone had a very loud orgasm. Calum opened the door as they were falling away from each other. He walked in to find them panting for breath, sweaty and beautiful with the afterglow. Luke panicked and tried to hide himself, but Finn didn't flinch. 

"Well, I guess you know now," he said, smirking as his green eyes met Calum's. "If you're down for it, we've been talking about trying a third. You can top us both if you want." He shrugged and Calum physically felt the spell break. Looking back, he knew Finn broke his ego more than his heart. He'd been humiliated when it all came out, but he knew the affair had been worse for Ashton. He could tell Ashton was still damaged but definitely not broken. Wouldn't mind letting him break me, Calum thought, his mind wandering back to that unbuttoned pink shirt, Ashton's chest and neck begging to be marked up. I bet he likes it rough. 

Calum caught himself daydreaming again and blinked the half-filled word document back into focus. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a crush on someone, and he felt ridiculous. How am I gonna get through this interview?  It didn't help that Hima kept teasing him about it being a date. Calum's last date, with Nick the lawyer, had been a disaster. He'd ended up leaving after Nick disappeared on another phone call.

The truth was, he was excited about this interview and wished it really was a date. He'd scheduled a quick haircut and shave in the morning and carefully picked out an outfit. He figured his short-sleeve, red button-up paired with a black tank underneath would show off his arms while helping to hide his tummy pudge. He rubbed his stomach, still poking out from the leftover Indian food he'd finished off an hour ago, before letting his hand wander down and brushing his fingers across his cock and feeling it twitch in his basketball shorts. He wondered what Ashton would be wearing tomorrow. He pictured Ashton at the club, the ripped black jeans and the pink shirt unbuttoned enough to tease him. His dick twitched in his hand, waking up and demanding attention. 

****

Ashton gasped and almost dropped his phone at the sight of Hima standing in the break room in nothing but her bra and panties. He hadn't recovered from that shock when a male figure crawled into the frame. It took Ashton several seconds to realize the man was nude and covered in tattoos. The tattoos rang a bell, and he realized he was looking at Dakota, model/actor, Maisie's nephew, and a server at Anne Marie's. Dakota was a dark, brooding pretty boy with a perfect pink pout and tousled dark curls that he was always brushing out of his eyes. He was great at his job, but other than that he'd made no impression on Ashton, until now. Ashton watched the younger man on his knees in front of Hima as he sucked on her bright pink cock. What the fuck is happening?

Ashton blinked at his screen, still processing everything when Dakota stood up and bent over the table. Hima lined up behind him and thrust her hips against his ass. Ashton gulped for air and felt beads of sweat break out on his upper lip. He watched for a minute, hypnotized by Dakota writhing in pleasure, his black curls bouncing with every stroke, shoulders hunching over as he gripped the table. Ashton's mind flashed to Calum and what it would look like to have him bent over like that. He realized his dick was getting hard and quickly closed the app, feeling embarrassed for invading her privacy. He fumbled getting his phone into his pocket and accidentally skipped to the next song. "Anytime, Any Place," by Janet Jackson filled the room.  He laughed to himself at the sexy song and took another sip of wine. 

****

Calum squeezed himself through his clothes. He vaguely remembered Finn telling him Ashton was rumored to have a massive cock. He groaned at the thought of Ashton's hazel eyes looking down at him while he was on his knees. He imagined Ashton's cock brushing against his lips, teasing both of them. Calum groaned and gave up any pretense of trying to work. He stood up too quickly and knocked his chair over causing Brutus to wake from a dead sleep and start barking his head off. 

"It's ok, boy," Calum assured him, making sure he laid back down before going into his bedroom and shutting the door. Moments later he was stripped down to his boxers and shirt digging through his top dresser drawer until he found the small bag hiding under his socks. He pulled a bottle of lube and a small silicone sleeve out of the bag and walked back to the bed. He peeled off his shirt, kicked off his underwear and laid on his back on the bed. His cock was flat against his stomach, and as Calum reached for it he wondered what Ashton was doing right now.

****

Ashton felt the plug slip into his ass and shivered at the chill of the stainless steel. He wiped his hands off on a towel and walked out of the bathroom into his bedroom. The music was still playing. Janet's silky smooth voice gave way to Beyonce’s sultry vocals

Baby put your arms around me

Tell me I'm a problem

He walked back into his bedroom, feeling delicious shivers from the pressure on his prostate as he moved. The city lights illuminated the room from the open blinds on the balcony. 

Stop acting so scared, just do what I tell

First go through my legs, go back on your head

And whatever you want, yeah baby I'll bet it comes true

He reached down and squeezed his dick, rubbing his thumb over the tip down to the sensitive underside of the ridge. Pulling the shaft down and away from his body, pushing almost to the point of pain before easing up and giving it a nice slow stroke. He repeated the motion, each time pulling a little harder, edging a little closer to making it hurt, each time when he pulled back the relief was more intense. His fantasies were new visions: dark eyes and black curls still coming into focus in his mind's eye. He squeezed his muscles around the plug as he tapped the remote on the table next to him. The plug began to vibrate on the lowest speed and Ashton hissed at the sensation. He wondered if he'd let Calum fuck him.  Ashton didn't bottom very often. Luke didn't like to do the work, rarely agreed to switch up and whined whenever he did.  Calum looked like he could give as well as he got. 

***

Calum grunted as he pushed his cock, slick and shiny with lube, into the sleeve. His hips jerked upwards into the air as the countless smooth nubby fingers lining the inside of the toy closed around his swollen shaft, gripping and massaging the taut skin with every stroke. He screwed his eyes shut picturing Ashton on his back with his knees pulled up to his chest as he begged for him. Calum bit his lip to stifle a moan, slowing down his speed, not wanting to cum too fast. Hima told him Ashton called himself a “bendy boy” and had a strict yoga routine which just sent Calum's mind spinning, picturing trying different positions until Ashton was screaming for him. Calum moved his hand away, leaving the toy. The scenario in his mind began to switch up. The only thing Calum could think of hotter than fucking Ashton was getting railed by his massive cock. 

****

The combed cotton, high-thread-count pillowcase felt velvety soft and air-conditioned chilled when he bunched the pillow in his fists as he thrust his hips, burying his shaft in the soft folds. It felt amazing but was cold comfort when he was craving Calum's body heat. He turned the remote up a notch and adjusted the settings; a pulse pattern began throbbing against his core. He squeezed down on his dick even harder. He could feel the delicate feathers snapping under his fingers, but he didn't care. Ashton ached for release, longing to have Calum in his bed tonight. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive as his orgasm began to build. His hips pumped faster trying to match the pulsing rhythm inside him. He wanted Calum, with a craving he’d never felt before. Something in those dark eyes challenged Ashton. There was something about this mysterious reporter that he needed to discover. He was getting closer with every stroke, the fantasy switching to pounding Calum into the mattress, seeing how well he could throw it back. The image was too much and he shuddered, cursing out loud as his climax hit. His hips stuttered and his legs wobbled, forcing him to his knees. The vibrator extended his orgasm, milking him drop by drop as he whimpered and fumbled for the remote. When he finally turned it off, he rolled onto his back and tried to catch his breath, thankful he'd bought a nice fluffy rug to put next to his bed. .  

****

Calum flipped over onto his stomach, grinding down with his hips, the sleeve moving with the friction. He wondered if Ashton was vanilla or if he could get into Calum's slight pain kink. He'd looked for Ashton on FetLife to no avail, but he was fairly sure he'd found Hima so that was a surprise. Calum reached up and tugged his nipple hard as his hips rocked slowly. There was a power to Ashton. He had a dominant side which Calum had clearly seen in his dynamic with Luke, despite Ashton being smaller in size. Calum wanted to see how he'd take charge because he wasn't soft like Luke, but he had no doubt Ashton could handle him. Calum raised himself up on his forearms, pumping his hips furiously. He thought about those arms wrapped around his neck, his teeth grazing Ashton's blood moon tattoos as he bent Cal over and took him hard and fast. He whimpered, biting the pillow, his rhythm starting to stutter as he thought about Ashton looking up at him, eyes wide with Calum's hand at his throat as they reached their high together. Calum was just at the edge when he quickly rolled over, removing the toy and ruining his orgasm. He gasped, his whole body shaking as his release spilled onto his belly. After a moment he reached down, using the sleeve to tease the tip through the aftershocks until it became too sensitive to touch. He was hungry again, so he grabbed a Kleenex and wiped himself off as best he could before walking, still naked, back through his house to turn on the oven. Pizza was always a good snack after sex, and he had an article to work on.

@sublimehood​​ @tea4sykes​​ @be-ready-when-i-say-go​ @scribblesos​​ @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995​​ @wildmichaelflower​​ @castaway-cashton​​ @damselindistressanu​​ @notinthesameguey​​ @cashtonasfuck​ @irwinkitten​ @mermaidcashton​​ @malumsmermaid​​

[sourbat]

I’m apparently trapped in Magnus/Pickles hell, so them with M? :)

M: Marriage of Convenience

I…actually want to do this. A lot. In fact, here is a rough summary:

Pickles  discovers his insurance is no longer covering his testosterone. Thanks to a legal loophole, Pickles learns he can marry and get covered under better insurance, and his pal Magnus is willing to take one for the team. So, no problem, right?

“Pickles!” his mother’s voice screeched through the line. “When were you going to tell me you got married, hmm?”

Wrong.

Basically, Magnus tries to do a solid. Pickles learns his family is aware of the situation, is immediately suspicious and/or guilt trips Pickles into coming over, and offers a financial reward for the newlyweds. They need to make a good enough attempt at being a passable couple so that Pickles’ family gets off their back and doesn’t rat them out for fraud, and what better way to do that then spend the next few days learning about one another as they slowly make their way to the state? 

Potential Rating: T/M

And underneath is a rough draft for the first scene.  Let me know what you think?? 

Worst part about visiting the hospital was the location. The city he lived in had at least a dozen hospitals, but the only one that accepted his insurance was a thirty-minute drive one way, and off the corner of a busy street not nearly enough traffic signs. Nathan was always willing to make the hour-long drive just for the hell of it. Pickles figured it was mainly due in part to Nathan's abundant fascination with music, and the sheer joy he got just listening and talking about it, but the man was a saint nonetheless. Pickles had no problem taking in the demographic history of early Scandinavian death metal bands if it made the process of picking up his gel easier. Bad enough the insurers only handed him two pumps a pop. The crappy location and last year’s seven-dollar increase were just the whip cream and cherry to his otherwise bullshit sundae. Still, there were worse options. 

“Your total comes to $133,” the pharmacist announced.

Pickles’ attention swayed from the decadent row of cough drops, rising and sparkling into a flare of curiosity at the number.

“S’cuse me?” he asked, bearing a slightly disappointed smile that was directed more at himself for not paying attention, and less at the annoyed pharmacist just trying to do her job. “Can you, uhh, repeat that one more time?”

“Your prescription,” she repeated. “The amount due is $133 exactly. Will you be using cash, card or check?”

Oh? Pickles’ dropped his stare to the register. There it was: $133.00, clear as day. A vast difference from the thirty-seven Pickles was used to paying. The amount made his stomach turn and twist into an ugly, gut wrenching knot. He rolled two twenties held between his index and middle finger, feeling their inadequacy drag between the clammy appendages. 

Surely there must be a mistake.

“Can you check again?” Pickles rested his arms on top of the counter. It’s a mistake, but there’s a distinct contrast between the cool plastic countertop versus his hot reddening flesh. The sensation was an unsettling reminder of how quick he was to second-guess, but he persisted through that gathering storm of fear and figured it had to be a problem with his card. “My card,” he said, sensing some relief when he heard the words fly out his mouth. “Yeah, maybe the barcode is wrong?”

The pharmacist said nothing as she cancelled the order, then typed in the rows of numbers on his insurance card. Pickles pressed his tongue out just enough for the tip to poke through his lips, then licking the top nervously as he patiently waited for new results. He’d have to order a new card. His mind rolled around the idea, used it as a garnish to cover that steaming pile of “something’s wrong” that was building in his stomach, and when the order went through and Pickles saw the dreaded number return, his empty stomach began to fill with acid.

“Same amount,” she said, and this time turned her computer screen towards Pickles so that any chance of this being a mistake on her part was cast aside. A manicured finger jabbed the name on the screen. “This is your name, correct?”

Pickles frowned at the name. “Yeah,” he answered, then grimaced when his eyes reflexively settled on the “S” label lying just beneath the name, reflecting and taunting him with the horrid truth of the manner, and predicament he’d somehow placed upon himself. “Uhmm…”

“Do you need me to cancel your order?”

“What? No!” Pickles snapped at the question. Thankfully, the nurse barely reacted, and merely took a step to the side, creating a small bit of distance between herself and Pickles.

Eyes returning to the price, Pickles sweaty hands curled inward into vibrating fists. The weight of his legs doubled, and chest racked with panic as he anxiously performed mental somersaults trying to recall the exact amount of money he currently had in his account, and whether he’d be about to financially handle such a burden. It wasn’t like he had spent money on anything major, aside from food. Surely had enough for a… wait, didn’t he recently loan Murderface a twenty? And he spent another thirty a week ago with Magnus at that one bar. Shit. 

Pickles swallowed. His head filled with heat and cotton as he stared hopelessly at the amount, and knew he wouldn’t be able to afford the two pumps, much less a second dose midway through the month. 

“Well?” The nurse asked, growing impatient.

What to do? His nails dug into his palms as he tried to think of a solution. If it wasn’t the card, then it had to be the insurance. Something happened with his insurance… something very recent. He only paid thirty-seven two weeks ago. He needed to call his insurance and figure out what they messed up.

But first he needed his prescription.

“One sec,” Pickles said, then reached across the counter and picked up his card. It nearly slipped out from his shaking hands as he jammed it into his pocket, then hurried down the centermost hallway, head turning between each aisle until he reached the second to the last. At the far end, standing in front of the magazine selection, stood Nathan.

He was absentmindedly flipping through the pages of last week’s tabloids, when Pickles raced up to him, slapping both his hands across the man’s back. 

“Nate, dood!” Pickles said, voice giving way to panic. Heat burst out his lanky shoulders, covering the top half of his arm in a red blush.

Unaffected by the impact, Nathan slowly lifted his eyes from the article he’d been perusing. “Oh, hey Pickles,” he grumbled.

Pickles chewed his inner lip. “Nathan, I need yer help,” he said, wincing at the burn starting to build at the ends of his eyes. Shame riddled his face and darkened each freckle as Nathan picked up on Pickles’ panicked state, and started to lower the magazine.

“Uh… what’s up?” 

“I, uhh.” Pickles ran his hand through his thinning hair, feeling the drag left by his sweating hands. His gut folded again, sloshing the collected acid from before to rise and burn the bottom of his already dry throat. Pickles sighed miserably, releasing a gust of soured, heavy air. “Can you loan me some money, dood?”

[caranfindel]

Fic: Flies in the Vaseline

gen, preseries | about 1700 words | PG-13 for language | characters: dean winchester, john winchester, sam winchester | warnings: gratuitous use of second person

Synopsis: The best hunters don't smoke. Inspired by a Tumblr post (waves to @road-rhythm​)

. . . . . . .

The first time your father caught you smoking, you braced for impact, literally and figuratively. You half expected him to smack the cigarette out of your lips. You definitely expected an angry lecture. But he just looked at you, so calm it was almost scary.

"That's not your first one," he finally said. "How often are you doing that?"

Emboldened, you finished the cigarette in one long, last draw, tossing it onto the asphalt and grinding it out with the tip of your boot. "Not a lot. Not every day. Just… sometimes."

"Mmm hmmm." He was still unnaturally calm. "You think that's a good idea?"

You swallowed a laugh at the possibility that smoking might be what got you in the end, rather than a claw or a fang. "I'm not letting it get out of hand," you said.

"Oh, so you think you've got a handle on it." Ah, there it was. That patented John Winchester attitude, disappointment garnished with a dollop of sarcasm. And it pissed you off.

"Yessir, I think I do. I don't think one cigarette to help me relax every once in a while is going to hurt me." Not any more than the constant infusion of Jack Daniels is hurting you, you wanted to point out, but you were not stupid enough to say that out loud.

He stared at you a little bit longer. Maybe thinking you're old enough to make your own decisions, but more likely thinking you dumbass, I don't even know what to do with you. Finally he said "All right, if you think you've got this situation under control, let's see how that works out for you. But don't let Sam see you doing it. You know how the kid looks up to you."

You replayed every word in your mind, looking for the command. It wasn't there. "So you're not telling me to stop?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

That felt like a trap, and you didn't answer.

He didn't mention it again, and didn't see you smoking again, until a couple of months later. You'd successfully cleaned out a pack of ghouls with some friends of his (no, not friends, associates; John Winchester didn't really make friends), and when Ripley pulled out a Marlboro and then waved his pack at you, you took one. Your father watched and scowled and didn't say a word.

But later, when you were in the car for the long drive back to the motel, something clicked. Or snapped. Because you were almost eighteen years old, you'd been hunting monsters since you were barely old enough to jack off, you were younger than all the guys you'd hunted with tonight and still better than most of them, and you'd just killed your first ghoul. And he didn't say good job, Dean or I'm proud of you or anything. He just bitchfaced about your smoking. And you'd had enough. You drank like a man and fucked like a man and hunted like a man and you weren't going to hide cigarettes from your Daddy like a little boy any more.

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the half-empty pack that had been stashed in there for a couple of weeks. And this time you didn't expect it at all, so you jumped when your father slapped the cigarette out of your hand.

"Not in my car," he snapped.

"Jesus, Dad," you said, embarrassed. "Chill out. All you gotta do is ask."

"No, I don't have to ask," he growled. "I'm telling you. Not in my car."

A couple of miles went by before he spoke again. "Dean," he said, "I know you're going to do what you want to do, when I'm not around. I just want to make sure you're making an informed decision. You know what smoking is going to do to you, right?"

"What," you said, "give me lung cancer? Like I'm gonna live long enough to worry about that?"

He sighed. "Yes, I do hope you live long enough to worry about that. But I'm not talking about lung cancer. I'm not talking about long term. I'm talking about right now. The way it affects your lungs. Do you think shortness of breath is an advantage for a hunter?"

"Didn't seem to hurt Ripley."

"Oh, Ripley." His lip curled. "So that's your goal, then? To be as good a hunter as Ripley?"

You wanted to scream that it was so fucking unfair, that you'd done every goddamn thing the man ever wanted. That you were already better than Ripley and most other hunters and the world wasn't going to end if he loosened the reins just the tiniest bit. You wanted to ask him if he was ever going to be satisfied, if you were ever going to be enough.

You didn't. You tucked the half-empty pack back into your pocket and rode silently back to the motel.

. . .

And now it's the next morning. There's no post-hunt day off, no downtime, as usual. Your father barks a reveille at o'dark thirty, and by the time the sun comes up you're shivering on an empty high school football practice field. Sam peers up at you through messy bangs, silently questioning. You shrug.

"Sam?" Dad asks. "How fast can a black dog run?"

Sam looks pleased that today's training includes a mental component, since that's the only way he ever comes out on top. "They've been clocked at twenty miles an hour," he says. "Maybe up to twenty-five. For short bursts, anyway. Not long distance."

"So let's say twenty miles an hour. Convert that to yards per second."

Sam gives him a puzzled look, then closes his eyes and furiously calculates in his head. "Um… ten. Almost ten yards per second."

"Good job." Sam practically glows in the wake of Dad's faint praise. "Okay, Dean, your turn. Couple laps around the field. Fast."

Fine. You sprint down the field, legs and arms pumping, watching Dad and Sam out of the corner of your eye. They're still standing at the edge of the field, talking. Well, Dad's talking. Sam is listening. Your brother reaches out to high-five you as you pass. The little shit's in a good mood after getting to show off his mathlete skills.

You circle the field again, fast, because you're not going to give the old man a reason to bitch at you, to give you the disappointed turned-down mouth and the narrowed you've failed me eyes. At the end of your second lap you pull up, sweaty and out of breath, ignoring the stitch in your side.

Your father gives you an enigmatic smile. "You doing okay, son?"

"Yessir."

"All right. Stay here for a sec." He puts his hand on Sam's back and steers him down the field. "Here's the scenario," he calls, when they stop. "Your brother's 30 yards away from you. His leg is broken, so he can't run. And there's a black dog 40 yards away from him, about to pounce. You're out of ammo, so you have to take it down with a knife. So you've got to get to Sam before the black dog does."

Forty yards. Four seconds. Motherfucker.

He looks at his watch and barks "go!" and for a moment you think you might be able to do it. Maybe if you'd already been in motion, you would have had a chance. But you can't sprint forty yards in four seconds from a standstill. You just can't. Even if you hadn't been out of breath to start with, it would have been difficult. You're still almost ten yards away when your father grabs Sam from behind. Sam shrieks with laughter (it's a happy noise, you tell your panicky lizard brain, a happy noise, goddammit) and his skinny legs go flying as Dad spins him away from you, out of reach.

You pull up and lean over with your hands braced on your knees, acting like you're stretching, because you don't want to look up into your father's smug smile.

"Okay, Sam," he says, "your turn. Two laps. Go."

When your brother is out of hearing range, you straighten up and try to force yourself to breathe normally. When you can speak, it comes out in short bursts.

"You know that's… a bunch of crap… right?"

"What's that, son?" he says mildly, his eyes following Sam down the field.

"The smoking's got nothing to do with… with me being out of breath right now… I hardly smoke at all… it takes me the better part of a month to finish a pack… and that's gonna bring me down like, one percent, tops… and me reducing my lung capacity by one percent isn't gonna affect anything… I couldn't have got to him in time… smoking or not."

"That's true," he says, turning to you. "Sometimes even a hundred percent isn't enough. And most days, it won’t matter. Most days, ninety-nine percent is going to do the job. But one day you're going to need a hundred percent. And you never know when that day's gonna come, Dean. So, is tomorrow gonna be a ninety-nine percent day? Are you ready to bet your life on it? My life?" He turns to look at Sam, loping back up the field toward you. "His life? Something happens to him, it's gonna be bad enough knowing you couldn't have stopped it. How's it gonna feel knowing you could have?"

You don't have an answer for that, but your father's not waiting for one. "Sam!" he yells. "Kick it into gear the rest of the way! You're in a sprint, not a marathon!" Sam ducks his head and runs, slender arms and legs frantically churning as if something dark is snarling at his heels.

. . .

(Tonight, in your nightmares, you'll be unable to breathe, running slow and sluggish like you're pushing through chest-deep water, like you’re drowning in Vaseline. You'll watch helplessly as Sam falls, screaming, taken down by something dark, something snarling, something hungry with fangs and claws. You'll wake with a pained gasp and flush the last of the cigarettes down the toilet. You’ll spend half an hour silently watching your little brother sleep, still hearing him scream your name. And you'll know you're a failure, you let everyone down; you can never, will never be enough. )

(And the next day, you’ll go out and try anyway.)

~ ~ ~ ~

The title is from Vasoline by Stone Temple Pilots, but the actual product is spelled Vaseline and therefore I insist on spelling it that way.