#what can i fucking say like god.... “is her blood through your veins” “i thought you were different”

[hauntingblue]

WE STILL GOT ARCANEEEEE

[plutoswritingplanet]

Mortal Kombat 1 Intro Dialogues

a/n: some slightly flirty dialogues for suggested characters from Mortal Kombat 1 (and 11), reader is a blood mage, adjacent to "Unpunishable"

Warnings: Suggestive Language, Obscure References, Poor Attempts at Comedy

Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung: Liu Kang is squandering your potential.

Reader: I trust his judgement completely.

Shang Tsung: You were made for so much more.

...

Reader: You want me to make a deal with the Devil.

Shang Tsung: All I ask in return, is your soul.

Reader: It's too high a price!

...

Shang Tsung: I lay before you my eternal heart...

Reader: There is no love with you, only ownership.

Shang Tsung: I dearly love all of my possessions.

...

Reader: I must believe there's good even in the darkest corners of the world

Shang Tsung: Finding it in me might turn out to be a futile fight

Reader: I don't give up easily, Shang Tsung

...

Shang Tsung: Have you ever thought to say "stop"? "If you love me, you would stop?"

Reader: Not in a thousand years.

Shang Tsung: I see now, why we're destined for each other

...

Reader: The things you've been doing in your laboratories are vile

Shang Tsung: I've used the same magic, as the one coursing through your veins

Reader: Liar!

Liu Kang

Liu Kang: Empress Sindel has approved your application to study Outworld's medicine.

Reader: I'm honored by her trust.

Liu Kang: You'll do a splendid job as Earthrealm's ambassador.

...

Reader: I fear the pull of darkness overpowering me.

Liu Kang: I will guide you, until your mind is at peace.

Reader: What if it never ends?

...

Liu Kang: In the previous timeline, you were my close friend and adversary.

Reader: And in this timeline?

Liu Kang: I'm inclined to say the same.

...

Reader: Doesn't it get lonely, being a God?

Liu Kang: I'm devoted to protecting Earthrealm and its people.

Reader: You didn't answer my question.

...

Liu Kang: Beware Shang Tsung's honeyed words.

Reader: You've said we were destined for each other in all timelines.

Liu Kang: And your union always leads to your suffering.

...

Reader: You knew I'd reject Shang Tsung's offer? Fight him every step of the way?

Liu Kang: I had faith, you would make the right choice

Reader: Honestly, do you have music playing in your head when you say garbage like that

Johnny Cage

Johnny: Let me just say, there's no other place I would rather be, than right here with you right now.

Reader: I can change that very easily.

Johnny: Why so serious, sweet cheeks?

...

Reader: No, Johnny, I won't be playing in any of your movies, ever.

Johnny: Can I ask why?

Reader: Why I don't want the job that makes your brain explode?

...

Johnny: You might wanna reconsider your rendezvous with the Sorcerer.

Reader: Which one?

Johnny: Oh, you are a bad woman.

...

Reader: Don't be such a baby, it's just a scrap.

Johnny: And I need a hot nurse to patch it up.

Reader: Why do I even… You're impossible.

...

Johnny: You have experience with emotionally fragile men, right?

Reader: You're self-aware today.

Johnny: I was talking about Kung Lao...

...

Reader: Okay, Ninja Priest was actually kinda good.

Johnny: YES! I knew you had a thing for the clergy.

Reader: That's not what I... You're such an ass!

Kung Lao

Reader: Do you think Liu Kang has destined us to become friends?

Kung Lao: Obviously, I'd never choose this for myself.

Reader: He could've made you less of twat...

...

Kung Lao: It's way too dangerous for you to travel Outworld alone.

Reader: I don't need a babysitter, Kung Lao.

Kung Lao: Prove it, then.

...

Reader: If you buy me dinner at Madame Bo's, I'll heal your arm.

Kung Lao: I see your time with Shang Tsung is rubbing off on you.

Reader: See, now I gotta hurt ya.

...

Kung Lao: How does it feel, being in the center of the Snake's attention.

Reader: Fuck you man, I didn't ask for this.

Kung Lao: Not good then.

...

Reader: Come on, I paid for dinner last time.

Kung Lao: I'll be happy to pay... Once you beat me.

Reader: You can be an ass sometimes, you know that?

...

Kung Lao: You know I only meant it as a joke, right?

Reader: Let me show you just how funny I think you are

Kung Lao: Bring it on, Nurse.

Bi-Han

Reader: You betrayed everything your clan stood for.

Bi-Han: You have no moral high-ground here, Healer.

Reader: I don't need it.

...

Bi-Han: Join the Lin Kuei, and unleash your true power.

Reader: Not while they're under your command, traitor.

Bi-Han: Your pride will be your downfall.

...

Reader: I can feel your blood run cold through your body...

Bi-Han: It will boil while I destroy you.

Reader: You'll freeze to death, then.

...

Bi-Han: Your aversion to power is your greatest flaw.

Reader: Should I follow your lead, then, and betray all I love for a promise of greatness?

Bi-Han: Is it wrong to want more?

...

Reader: Maybe I can beat some sense into you…

Bi-Han: I will crush you, little girl.

Reader: Great, a quip about my height, so original.

...

Bi-Han: We meet again, Blood Mage.

Reader: I knew you couldn't stay away, Bi-Han.

Bi-Han: Let's see if your training has progressed.

Erron Black

(am i the only one devastated he wasn't included in mk1?)

Erron: What's a pretty lookin' thing like you doin' in a place like this?

Reader: Holy shit, you even talk like a cowboy!

Erron: …Nevermind.

...

Reader: If I win, I get to wear the hat.

Erron: You'd look mighty fine in it, I'd wager.

Reader: Don't you pull your punches on me now, Black.

...

Erron: There's quite the price on your head, sweetheart.

Reader: And you'll do everything to collect it, right?

Erron: I could be persuaded against it, with the right motivation...

...

Reader: Do you flirt with all your targets?

Erron: Only pretty little ones, like you, girlie.

Reader: Well then, let's dance, Cowboy.

...

Erron: I wouldn't mind giving you a ride around town, little lady.

Reader: I'd rather beat you where you stand.

Erron: Be still, my beating heart.

...

Reader: I know who sent you.

Erron: Someone who's eager to get their hands back on you.

Reader: You can both keep them to yourself.

[reareaotaku]

Shut Up, Stu

Summary: Y/n accidentally killed Randy in front of [Stu] Ghostface, catching him off guard and you get away. Everyone thinks it was Ghostface who did it, but you're confronted when Stu accidentally slips that he knows. Characters: Yandere! Stu Macher x Fem! Reader x Yandere! Billy Loomis Tw: Blackmail, Murder, Death, Violence, Horror, Cheating Mentioned Probably going to have to make a Part 2, because there is no way this is complete. I did this months ago... Needed it out of drafts

Your feet slide on the bitter cold tiles; The freezing wet sensation of blood covering in between your toes. You could hear the click of the killer following you, but you couldn't look back. You held a sharp, serrated knife, blood dripping from the tip. You limped your way to an island counter, before pulling yourself together.

The adrenaline was pumping through your veins, which might be why when you heard Ghostface groan your name, you started swinging the knife. You just kept stabbing and stabbing, until the blood soaked your clothes. But you weren't standing over Ghostface. Infact, it was one of your friends, Randy Meeks.

You gasp, covering your mouth and you hear laughing. You look up at the serial killer. You had never thought you could kill someone; Why, you couldn't even kill a spider, even though they scared you.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Y/n," He laughs, as if he's telling a joke.

"It was an accident." You shook your head, "I didn't mean it," You bent over to Randy, putting your hand over his wound, "It was an accident-"

"An accident? An unexpected pregnancy is an accident."

You look down at your hands, which were covered in blood. You were going to have to get rid of your shirt and your pants. Oh god, you couldn't go to prison.... You push past Ghostface, who was much more preoccupied in your [Potential] murder victim than you.

-----

You were covered in blood as you walked the streets. You heard a honk and looked behind to see a red Mustang that's headlights were bright in your face. You held your body close as the car slowly pulled up to you. It was Billy.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

Your body shook and you couldn't speak. You were still in shock from what you had done. Billy opens the door and motions for you to get in. You looked around, before realizing that maybe it would be better if you went with him instead of the sheriff.

"So?" He tilts his head, but you don't say anything.

What could you say? You had killed Randy?

"You seem shaken up." You feel his hand on your thigh, causing you to finally look at him. "Your blood?"

He stops the car, looking at you. It was dark and the only light was from inside his car.

"No, it's not. I did.... Something bad."

"You? Bad?" He laughs, "Yeah right. Little Miss Perfect Goody Toe Shoes? What'd you do? Accidentally step-"

"I killed Randy Meeks."

His eyes widen and mouth drops, before he slowly nods his head, "Okay.... Um, well- That was unexpected. Where is his body?"

"Stu's house."

"Okay," He taps the wheel, "It'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

"I can't go to jail," You fiddle with your blood-soaked blouse. "I didn't mean to. Jail would kill me. God-"

"It's fine, Y/n. You're not going to jail. Don't worry about it."

"But-"

He grabs your shoulder, "Think of it as a favor."

-----

"And she just kept stabbing him."

Billy rolls his eyes, pulling on his sleeve. "So, what did you do with the body? He wasn't there."

"Hung him like a Christmas Light."

Billy chuckles, "She was walking the streets, terrified. Why didn't you stop her or something?"

"I was so shocked," Stu jumps on the bed, "I didn't think she could do something like that."

"Anyone can murder if pushed far enough."

----

You felt like all eyes were on you. Like everyone knew your dark secret. How could anyone live with such guilt? The guilt of death.

"Damn, what's got you wound up so tight, lil mama?"

You nearly jumped when the voice came out of nowhere, along with an arm swung around you. Stu pulled you in close and you can feel his breath on your neck.

"Nothing. Why would you think something's bothering me?"

"You just seem... on edge."

You turned towards the voice, seeing Sideny now walking by you. You shook your head, "It's fine. I'm fine."

Sidney didn't believe you, but she decided to not question it with everyone else around you.

----

Lunch was weird, without Randy having his arm wrapped around you, trying to flirt with you. How could you hurt him? Your mind was filled and you weren't listening to your friends. That was until you felt a hand grab you.

"Are you listening?"

Your eyes widened and you looked down at your hands, "Yeah. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Randy was killed last night. He was found hanging in Stu's house."

You looked towards Stu, who shrugged, "Imagine my surprise coming home to that," He jokes, kissing Tatum, who pushes him off.

"I was surprised he was dead, but the guy was a jerk. Actually, I thought he was the one behind Ghostface," Tatum fiddles with her purse. "He didn't deserve to die, though."

"Yeah... He didn't," You frown and you could feel Billy's eyes on you, but he wasn't the only one looking at you.

----

The end of the day came to soon. You didn't know how anyone could just go on about their day with people being killed.... And Randy. Your gut twisted and you felt the icky feeling growing in your stomach.

A hand grabs you from behind, freaking you out. Before you can scream though, you're bombarded by Stu.

"What the hell, Stu. What's wrong with you."

"Damn, sorry babe. You seem so on edge."

You huff at the nickname. He had a girlfriend and here he was calling you babe. You didn't like it. "I'm not on edge."

"How about you come to my place? Just me and you."

"Your place? Alone?" You let out a muffled chuckle, "Yeah, right. Sounds like a great idea-"

"Great, I'll pick you up at 7."

"Wait what-"

He takes off and you are forced to shove down your concerns and arguments.

---

You had thought you would be alone with Stu, but thankfully someone else was there. Unfortunately, it was Billy. You felt like they were staring at you and a part of you wondered if they knew, but they couldn't know... Could they?

[aphroditessaturn]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 || 𝐌. 𝐎.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader (is a spider-woman, tho nothing specific)

summary || you have anger issues and it’s no secret to anyone in the Spider-Society, Miguel might as well be the only who can tame you. His methods are, quite effective…

warning || smut! p in vi, oral (female [fingering] and male receiving) throat fucking, nipple play, spanking if you squint

note || I had to get him out of my system and I'm not even done, this piece is for my anger issues and I need a Miguel to fuck them out of me. please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

legend || mi luciérnaga = my firefly; abre la boca = open your mouth; buena niña = good girl; mocosa = brat; puta = whore; dios mío = my god; niña traviesa = naughty girl

BLOGS | WEBSITE | AO3 | WATTPAD | TAGLIST

“I do not have anger issues, who does he think he is?” you asked to no one in particular while walking around Miguel. He let out a sigh, pressing his fingertips against temples.

“He’s like what? 15, yeah you don’t say that to someone twice your age,” you continued, your blood pressure building up with every second you thought about the incident.

Miguel tried to be calm, but the last mission worked him up and scratched on his nerves. The mission went fairly well, except for you going ballistic and the newcomer – Miles – commenting on it. Oh, and the target almost escaping because of Miles which lead to all of this.

“Can’t fucking believe this, he was the reason the mission almost failed, and he dares to say I have anger issues!” the last part you nearly screamed. You never paused, always moving around.

You couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t calm down. Every vein beneath your skin run hot, some just waiting to explode.

Suddenly both of you heard someone coming near Miguel’s platform, said Spider turned around with a glare. He knew exactly who came and what would happen if you saw him, but now there was no preventing it.

You walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at Miles, “came to apologize?” you asked and crossed your arms over your chest.

Miles looked confused, no he wasn’t here to apologize, and he would make that clear, “you threatened me, screamed at me because I let the anomaly almost escape. You overreacted,” he stated.

Your eyes squinted together, expression hardening. “You can’t do a thing right and accuse me of having anger issues? I do not have fucking anger issues!”

Just as you were about lounge at Miles, arms wrapped around your waist, “enough,” Miguel’s deep voice rang through your ears. Normally his voice would smooth you, but you were already too gone.

Your man however ignored that and pushed you behind him.

“Miles, we will talk about this later. You made a mistake -,” “what, you’re saying she didn’t go bonkers?” Miles didn’t want to accept that what you did was right.

“If you’d let me finish, you would know that she will get her fair share of consequences,” Miguel snapped at the young boy, while it made a small part of Miles feel better it only angered you more.

“Are you serious? You let that little shit get away with saying I’m in the wrong? He lost the target and we had to-,” you couldn’t finish your sentence. “Miles, leave,” Miguel’s voice was dark and left no room for back talk, he sounded scary to be honest.

Miles immediately left, knowing it was better for now and he needed to get away from you.

“We weren’t finished yet,” you barked at Miguel who didn’t bat an eye. You stalked up to him, trying to intimidate him – unsuccessfully. “Yes, we were and it’s time you calm down, mocosa,” he whispered and grabbed your waist.

You were manhandled onto his desk, wrists held together in his right hand. With his left hand he ripped down your suit, “you asshole! Can’t you-,” “yeah mocosa, stop your whining,” Miguel rolled his eyes.

Without warning he pushed pointer and middle finger into your drenched cunt, you gasped. Realising with just a few words he had you wet and in your rage you didn’t even notice.

He curled his fingers against your walls, your head fell back. Right hand letting go of your wrists and sliding down to your neck.

Miguel moved his head into the crook of your neck, kissing along your carotid artery.

A shudder run down your spine when you felt his sharp teeth graze your skin. You adored the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin as it made you feel a kind of pleasure nothing else brought you.

Miguel had easily picked up on that all those years ago and now used it taunt you, “niña traviesa,” he commented with a small smirk.

His fingers kept a slow pace, it was torture and Miguel knew that. “Miguel,” you snapped, a plead for more however the man above you wasn’t having it. “You think you can be a mocosa and I’ll just give you what you want?”

“I wasn’t a brat! It’s not my fault your spider people can’t do their job and then-,” “dios mío,” again Miguel cut you off, picking up the pace.

Hitting that spongy spot inside you which pulled a loud moan from your lips. As his fingers worked their magic on brining you closer to your high, Miguel run his tongue along your earlobe and gently nibbled on your skin. With your hands free you threaded them through his beautiful hair

You closed your eyes, the feeling just too wonderful and for a moment you lost yourself but quickly Miguel reminded you that this was a punishment.

“Look. At. Me,” his voice deep, commanding. His hand was suddenly in your hair, gripping it tight as he pulled your head back. It was a way to underline his words.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, god you loved this side of him. Miguel would make you take whatever he gave you if you could or not – you were surprised with how much you could actually take.

“I’ve barley did anything and you’re already putty in my hands,” he teased, slowing his pace down again. You wanted to scoff at his words.

He didn’t do ‘barley anything’, he almost bit into your sensitive neck, rubbed his fingertips over you bundle of nerves and hit your g-spot with every thrust. Miguel very well knew that all those little things would send your body into overdrive.

“You know exactly what you did!” you spit at him and drew a low chuckle from him, it amused him how you kept pushing, “are you that much of a puta for me that you can’t shut up?” “Guess if you want me to shut up then you have to fuck my-,” “fine.” Miguel retrieved his fingers from your cunt pulling a whine from you.

Both hands gripped your middle, manhandling you down to your knees. He gripped your chin with his thumb and pointer finger tilting your head up to look deep into your eyes.

Then his suit slowly started to dissolve, starting by his neck, and revealing his naked, toned chest, his broad shoulders, and muscled arms. The light of the screens dipped Miguel into a dangerous red which made him look like the devil in person.

Now he was completely naked, his mushroom formed tip hitting his lower abdomen. “Abre la boca,” when you didn’t instantly comply Miguel slapped your cheek, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, “now,” he added.

His thumb moved between your lips and pressed onto your tongue to make you kept your mouth open, “you’re going to be a buena niña and suck my cock.”

You caved and let your mouth hang open, tongue already awaiting him. At first, he gently placed his tip on your tongue, giving you a chance to taste his salty precum. Then without warning he thrusted his cock full on into your mouth.

You gagged as it hit the back of your throat, Miguel looked down on you. There was still a part of him that didn’t fit inside your mouth, but it was his mission to make sure it did.

Miguel began fucking your face, abusing your throat with his harsh thrusts. You looked up at him with teary eyes, his head was tipped back in pleasure and a deep groan fell from his lips. You clenched your thighs together, you were a whore for Miguel as it was already but something that always got you were his moans.

Miguel was vocal, so fucking vocal. For one his mouth never stopped running, but then there were his moans. They were deep, hoarse, and loud.

However, your throat couldn’t keep up with his pace any longer, though you loved the feeling of getting used by him too much. Salvia dripped from the corner of your mouth, his cock twitched in your mouth which was his cue to pull away.

You whimpered pathetically, of course Miguel catched up on that and wiped your mouth with his thumb. “Such a cock slut already, just for me,” he stroked over your hair before kneeling down your level and hosting up into his arms. Your back hit his desk, legs dangling over the edge.

“What hermosa? No, smart comment?” Miguel teased with a smirk, you couldn’t say a word. Your throat hurt, no tone would come from your lips.

Miguel dipped his head down, teeth closing around your nipple while his right hand grabbed your breast. Massaging it as his tongue lapped on your nipple, causing you to whimper again. In response your man slapped your breast making you moan, “fuck,” your voice barely audible, throaty thanks to Miguel.

Switching sides he sucked on your right nipple, your hand coming up to grab his hair and pulling on his roots. “Ay, dios mío,” Miguel moaned, loudly.

He pinched your neglected nipple causing you to arch your back and a line of goosebumps to adorn your skin.

Suddenly you felt his tip stroke over your drenched entrance, distracted by his work on your breasts you hadn’t noticed immediately.

“Miguel,” you whispered and in the next moment he had plunged his huge cock into your cunt. A pained yet pleasurable moan left your body, loud and hoarse.

His cock was big, and thick, god even after all this years you needed time to adjust to his size. You could feel those veins, how he stretched you out. “Don’t fret mi luciérnaga, I’m not fully inside you yet,” Miguel whispered against your lips before kissing you.

You loved his kisses, they were full of fire and passion. Miguel kissed you like he owned you – he did, and it was one of your favourite things. His lips were so soft and warm, sliding over yours before his teeth bit into your bottom lip.

“After all those years and you’re still so tight,” he gushed and slowly pushed deeper inside you, lifting his head to look at you with a smirk.

“Feel that mi luciérnaga? Feel me deep inside your belly,” Miguel pressed his hand onto your stomach, feeling his tip bulge out, “am I too big for you?” he taunted.

You didn’t know what possesed you, but something did, “you wish,” you snapped. Miguel looked dumbfounded for a second before his expression turned into a glare, “guess my mocosa is back.”

He pulled out all the way before harshly pushing back in with his full length, cunt pulsing around him as he pounded into you without mercy. You couldn’t catch a break, he constantly hit your sensitive spot, “you like it, huh, like me fucking you like the puta you are,” aside from his cock pushing you into an abyss of pleasure, Miguel’s voice made you shiver.

It also didn’t help that he groaned uncontrollably, growling when you tightened around him. You were close, so fucking close and he knew it.

Miguel wrapped your legs tight around his waist to keep you close. His thrusts became harsher, and his thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves, drawing hard circles.

His pace was animalistic, “look at you, mi luciérnaga already cock drunk. That’s what you need, someone to fuck all the anger out of you, fuck you dumb.” You couldn’t say anything, only unidentified words came past your lips.

Your high was near, it came and washed over you like a fresh shower, “mhm, come for me, buena niña,” Miguel only strengthened it.

“I’m not finished yet,” he stated and manhandled you, so your back was turned to him.

All the while still having his cock in your needy cunt and fucking you through your orgasm. His hands gripped your ass as he rutted into you, “Miguel,” you whined, holding onto his desk, “come on where’s your fire mi luciérnaga?” he slapped your ass.

You had nothing in you anymore, your head was completely empty. As much as would’ve wanted, you couldn’t. You just laid there, enjoying the pleasure, and taking everything Miguel gave you.

“Maldito infierno,” he cursed as he reached his orgasm, for a moment he stilled inside you and painted your velvet walls with his cum. Filling you up to the brim, not pulling out.

He slid his hand around you and pulled you against his broad chest, right hand wrapping around your throat like a necklace.

“How you feeling mi luciérnaga,” he whispered, softly stroking your sides while you closed your eyes.

“’m fine, Miggy,” you mused laying your head on his shoulders. Everything felt at peace, you were calm and had no issues with anything.

You could just lean against Miguel and he would take of you. He scooped you up and slowly pulled out to make sure he didn't hurt you, his cum leaking out of your cunt. A sight Miguel could never forget – one he didn't want to forget.

Miguel went to your universe, laying you into your bed and cleaning you up. Meanwhile you dazed around, until he joined you in bed.

"I don't have anger issues," you muttered into him as you cuddled up against him.

He covered you two with the blanket, "no, you don't," he agreed and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. You were fast asleep, tired and spend while Miguel admired your beauty.

You have anger issues, always will but Miguel knew an affective method to control them. Add to that he loved your fire, needed it.

And Miles did fuck up.

please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

BLOGS | WEBSITE | AO3 | WATTPAD | TAGLIST

[loveswrites]

Is love enough? Poly Joe x Love x reader

Poly! Joe Goldberg x reader x Love Quinn

Time it took me: 5 hours spread out a few days

Word count: 1058

I asked you guys on a poll if you guys would like a poly xreader with Joe and love and you guys definitely did! So Let me know how you guys like it! The closer I got to the end I was thinking about making this one into a mini series! As I could do a lot more with this one! Tell me if you'd like a part two!

When you finish reading tell me. Do you think love is enough?

Love <3

"Depression makes you do crazy shit Joe!"

"That doesn't make sense, Love! just accept the fact that you killed her for no reason but the fact that you can't control yourself!" Joe yelled at love with wide eyes. 

"I can't control myself? I can't control myself?! You were the one obsessing over yet another woman! What did you expect me to do?! We have a family!" Love yelled back at Joe with tears in her eyes. But they weren't tears of sadness.

"Babes? What's with all the yelling what's going-... on.." You questioned coming down the stairs but paused seeing exactly what the yelling was all about.

"What happened?.." You whispered. On the ground all you saw was blood and the body of some blonde. 

"What are you doing here!?" Love and Joe yelled in unison.

"You told me to come pick up Henry so you could finish on some things- What happened!" You yelled, snapping out of your explanation of your presence.

"I- I she fell-" Love attempted to say but you quickly cut her off.

"Into an Ax!?" You yelled.

"It was an accident!" Love tried defending herself.

"What the fuck! What the actual fuck? I- Where is Henry?!" You yelled out looking around the dark basement for the child you came to pick up.

"He's over there he is fine!" Love gestured to Henry who was literally a baby in a corner.

You watched as Joe paced the floors as you could only assume he was thinking about what to do about this.. situation that lies in front of you three.. and a half. 

You Joe and Love were in a relationship together. It was a loving happy relationship you felt secure in some aspects of it. Besides that fact that you never knew if the police would show up at your front door and arrest you was all. It was one of the things that made the loving happy relationship feel a little less secure. Also with love's impulsive behavior and Joe's constant need to have a new fixation every other month put a damper on the relationship at times. But none of that stopped you from loving them both. And them loving you. 

"You said no more. No more killing. No more death. A fresh start and a New beginning. And Joe you no more.. obsession plus the killing also." You whispered shifting your eyes between you two lovers. 

"How can neither of you keep your promise?" 

"I haven't killed anybody!" Joe yelled.

"But you stalk! And you creep! And you lie and cheat on both me and Love! Why?! Why are we not enough for you? I keep your secrets, I'm there when you're scared! When you're scared that you might do another bad thing! And you Love I'm there for you every sleepless night when Joe is gone! We were all supposed to be happy here! But since we're all killing and lying, I'm going to tell the truth I hate it here! I hate the suburbs I'm a fucking city girl I don't belong here yet I am trying to adapt for you for you both because I love you! You both ripped me apart from a city that I loved so much to lie in a house with two people that I thought loved me more than I loved that city just to feel like some neglected piece of trash! I hope to God Henry never feels like this- Oh wait he probably already does since he's facing a corner chilling in a room with a dead body!" You screamed with so much pent up aggression you snatched up the baby carrier that held Henry.

"Pleas-" Joe started but you cut him off without turning to face them.

"Don't call me, don't text me. Fix your mess then maybe me and Henry will come back." You said causing panic to rush through both of their veins.

"Maybe?!" Love yelled her eyes widening. 

"What do you mean maybe?! I love you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do to make you stay!" Joe yelled.

"Shut up." You said, shaking your head as you walked up the stairs leaving the bakery. 

When you've been in a relationship with basically two insane people you learn when their threats mean you harm or not. In that case Joe threatened you out of fear. Not anger. He was never angry at you much. He got mad at Love more than he would you. Him and Love fought more than you, him and love ever did combined. Which you couldn’t lie was understandable because seeing that their habits could land us all in jail. You’ve never killed anybody but that still doesn’t make you a good person. 

You’ve lied for them. Threaten people for them. Even though Joe and Love do their best to keep their dirty habits away from home, it’s inevitable that one of those habits will come knocking on your front door. You’ve helped with the..bodies. So no matter how sick it makes you or how bad you feel about it you are and will forever be an accomplice to their crimes for no other reason than the fact love makes you do crazy things. 

When you got to your car you went to buckle Henry into his car seat. He was crying. You almost missed that.. How could you miss a screaming baby? As you tried to zone yourself out of your deep thoughts about your two loves you tried calming the only love that mattered right now. You found it hard to do this as tears rolled down your own face. Who was going to calm you down with their love? As you shhh henry to calm down rocking him in your arms on the side corner of the bakery you started to think what if this was all?

What if this was it? 

What if all your life now consisted of was lying, hiding, running, crying, screaming, fighting, shovels, dirt and muddy midnights. But at least you had your two lovers by your side, That’s all that matters right? Could the love between three people be enough to grow into a happy family?

Getting into the driver's seat you started the car. And as you drove away from the bakery you couldn’t help but think, is love enough?

[unknownperson246]

could you do a vampire!Nikki x reader smut where Nikki is just fucking the daylights out of her and won't stop commenting on her heart rate (superhearing, duh) like the smug bastard he is - vikkisixxpixx

hiii I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Vampire Bastard

Words: 678

warnings: *smut* *p in v* *cussing* *vampire nikki* *blood*

You were shrieking Nikki's name while you were lying down on the bed while he was fucking the daylight out of you. 

“Oh, Nikki Fuck” You cry while he shoves himself in you.

The dark-haired man kept going at your neck. His sharp fangs keep touching your soft porcelain skin. He was trying so hard not to bite into your veins.

“Nikki you bastard” You moan while your hands go up and down his back.

“I can hear your heart go up and down. It makes me want to bite into your neck even more” He snarls.

“You want my blood?” You tease him.

“So bad baby so so bad,” He groans while fucking you.

His nose is stuck against the side of your neck. He keeps sniffing the blood. He wants your sweet blood that is coursing through your veins.

“Maybe after this, we can arrange something” You moan.

“But for right now be a good boy and fuck me hard you fucking vampire bastard” You cry out while digging your nails in his pale back.

“Don't worry ill fuck you good” Nikki smirks.

“God damn your heart is throbbing. Is it for me? Are you fucking excited?” He smirks

“You have good hearing for a vampire.” You say before you kiss his shoulder.

“I just want to bite into your chest and drink all the blood flowing through there” Nikki smirks

“You would love that wouldn't you?” You chuckle.

Nikki's hips keep on slamming onto yours. His hands have a hard grasp on your hips and waist. His eyes are turning heavy with lust again. His cock keeps hitting your g spot over and over again. His cock thrusting deep inside of your tight hole.

“Nikki im about to come” You shriek 

“Come for me baby” He moans.

Nikki's head goes back while he is on top of you. Your pussy clenches around his dick. You could still feel his hard dick thrust inside of you over and over again.

“You're so tight baby” He groans.

He dumps his wet load into you. After he comes you come on his cock. You can feel his cock going soft. He finally pulls out of you.

“Is the offer on the blood still valid?” He asks you excitedly.

“Baby come here,” You say while moving your hair away from your neck.

“Here have at it,” You say before pulling away from him.

“Your teasing me,” Nikki says as his eyes turn red.

“Fuck yeah, I am. You thought it was going to be this easy?” You chuckle.

You start to run around the room teasing him again and again.

“Fuck your heart is racing. Just give me one small bite baby girl” He says in a whimper.

“You have to try harder than that Nikki,” You say out of breath.

Nikki eventually grabs you. His grasp on your waist is tight. He pulls you down on the bed.

“You must want my blood very badly” You giggle.

“So bad,” Nikki says. 

His voice and body language are so desperate.

“Your heart is beating so fast. Faster than before. Are you nervous?” Nikki chuckles now that he finally has you in his hands.

“Maybe” Your voice is shaky.

“May I?” Nikki asks before he moves your hair away from your neck.

“Yes,” You say, finally giving up.

“I'm going to make this easy. It's not going to be painful” Nikki hisses.

His fangs hit your neck as his tongue plays with the puncture marks he left on your neck. He starts to drink your blood while holding down your shoulders. To your surprise, you barely felt anything. It wasn't painful. He was very gentle with you. He didn't drink too much of your blood. 

“You taste so good” He snarls like an animal while he is on top of you.

Your blood was all over his mouth. He gets up after what feels like an eternity. 

“You did so good for me” He smiles.

You and Nikki lay on the bed that was covered with your blood for hours.

[adorekento]

Favor — Scaramouche

NSFW ; you asked your friend to drive for you but since he won't agree, you gave him 'motivations' that you thought was enough to persuade him.

warnings ; fem reader, strong language/cursing, vulgar language, and sexual content (teasing, suggestive content, degrading, etc.)

"scara come on! you literally have nothing to do this weekend, you said so yourself!" y/n cried out as Scaramouche groaned slightly,

"exactly, but that doesn't indicate that I'll drive two fuckin' hours for your 'blind date', seriously? that's like the lamest way to ask someone out ever" he retorted back.

"ugh— please! this is my opportunity to finally go out and meet someone! perhaps even be able to commence a relationship with them and I'm not going to throw it away because of how you feel about driving an hour away from where we live, and unlike you i wanna have a life! just put up with me!" she begged, her bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout, her puppy dog eyes making his eyes twitch slightly.

scaramouche let out an irritated huff of air, "Shut the fuck up! Why don't you just grab another ride, you bitch?"

she shook her head quickly, "Because I don't wanna pay Uber, plus if I did then they'd never get me there on time and that would stink ass and I can't deal with that." she peeked up at him, trying to keep her expression open and pleading but failed miserably and had resorted back to looking downcast. "Bullshit! get lost!"

pressing your lips together, you begin again, "I'll offer you something in return...!" you suggested as he looked at you quizzically, raising his eyebrows in question.

"I don't really want anything at the moment," he replied, not wanting to give in and approve of this whole thing only because his roommate had asked him to.

groaning, you dump your head back, scrubbing a hand down your face, a foolish concept forming in the back of your mind and when you look at him again, you're no longer grinning.

the idea you thought of is a bit risky, but who tends to care now? you were gonna attempt to do something anyway, this was an excellent chance! he'll settle if you make reasonable enough persuading points.

you sat up from the floor as he kept an eye on you seating on his mattress, "how about this... I'll let you feel my... boobs? you can even suck or squeeze on 'em..." you said bashfully, your heart hammering against your chest and blood running through your veins, oh god, please don't let this work.

you didn't hear any comeback from him so you went on, "that wasn't enough to convince you, yet? how about my pussy...?" you suggested as his gaze snapped over to yours once again,

Got it.

"It's no big of a deal, scara~ we can even do it now." you offered hopefully as you began spreading your legs,

his gaze fell between your thighs, his jaws is slightly agape.

"y/n..." he trailed off, his voice low and gruff. you sat there awkwardly, unsure if he'd say yes. you took that hesitation to press your hands against your clothed breasts and slowly slid down your body until it caught up with your core.

slowly you brought your fingers to cup your clit as you caressed your thumb across its hard nub and began gently massaging it, "Scara... make up your mind already." you prompted with a grin.

a tremble went down his spine, his mouth falling open and he felt his cock twitch beneath his pants, he hadn't realized that he'd been so preoccupied with your body and now that it was there, it seemed unbelievable to quit staring at how divine it was.

"You're just a slut, aren't you?" he uttered making you freeze for a moment, "do you do this every single time? opening your legs whenever you ask for a favor? dumb bitch, what kind of pathetic whore are you?" He spat,

"huh?! n-no! it's not like th—" before you could finalize what you were saying, it was interrupted by the sound of Scaramouche letting out a skeptical laugh,

He went towards you, stopping when he was right in front of you, and grabbed both of your legs further to remove your clothes with a grimace.

he positioned his hands on your knees and leaned in close as he ran his tongue over your exposed pussy, licking and sucking at your entrance, leaving a trail of saliva behind.

when you felt his tongue slide in between your folds you threw your head back, gasping and bucking your hips slightly against him.

"no? then you just want to be my filthy whore." he spoke, placing both of his hands over one of your thighs and squeezing it roughly which caused you to flinch slightly.

"S-Scara, i— ah..." you stuttered, unable to communicate appropriately and unable to move. his tongue made sharp work of your pussy which left you panting and clenching down onto his tongue desperately as he moved it back and forth.

"letting me lick your pussy like this won't be enough to convince me, I think you would have to let me fuck your hot tight little cunt until you cum as well."

© [ adorekento ] do not steal, repost, or translate my work.

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- lululawrence -

[1]

Louis turned back to his food, getting his meal ready, and Harry meant to focus on Louis’ notes, he did. But he couldn’t help furtively watching Louis out of the corner of his eye as he hummed to himself, swaying and dancing a little in the kitchen as he finished pulling his lunch together.

He knew he couldn’t have it forever, so Harry did his best to memorize every detail he could. Maybe then, when this arrangement ended and Louis wasn’t around as much, Harry could imagine he still was and he wouldn’t feel lonely.

He suspected that no amount of imagining could ever come close to replacing Louis, though.

[2]

Whoever his soulmate was, Louis hoped they weren’t as bored as he was in that moment. Seriously, if he had to sit through another lecture on how much Mary loved Hamlet he was going to stab himself in the eye just to avoid class next time. He did remember as he watched another blossom slowly come to life that he was supposed to pick up Lottie and take her to dance class, though. He quickly scribbled, “Lotts dance 4,” on his hand so he wouldn’t forget. He wondered what his soulmate thought of that. Louis smiled a bit to himself and then continued to daydream as the vines on his arms grew in size and beauty.

[3]

Harry’s face shifted to something Louis couldn’t read.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but I know you deserve to be treated with kindness just like anyone.” Louis cracked a smile. “Besides. I wanted to punch Niall earlier. You were kind to him even when he was being a total ass.”

Harry laughed heartily, and Louis felt butterflies erupt in his chest. It was the first time he’d seen more than a tiny smile out of Harry. He had dimples. They were deep and uneven and beautiful, just like his laugh was a little overloud. It was so distinctly Harry. Louis could tell that even after having known him for just a few hours.

[4]

He walked out, taking a little more note of what surrounded him this time around, but the only thing he recognized was his shirt laying on a chair in the kitchenette. Louis scrubbed his hands through his gross hair before he remembered getting soaked with champagne during the show the night before. That mixed with his sweat and the inordinate amounts of alcohol he was sure he consumed was enough to make Louis seriously crave a shower.

First, though, he had to figure out who he’d woken up in bed with and what the hell was going on with the ring on his finger.

Louis heard a voice that sounded familiar coming from the bedroom. The voice was quiet enough that Louis couldn’t hear what he was saying, but oh God some of the pieces were coming together.

- answers below -

1. Caught In Your Gravity

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

2. Drawn to You

It had started with Louis getting in trouble for coloring on himself when he hadn’t touched a felt tip pen the entire day. Through the years, the random drawings had evolved and changed. There was a period in sixth form when his soulmate must have gotten shy or something, because the drawings only happened after school hours and in places that others wouldn’t be as likely to see. The inside of his bicep, his thigh. A couple times he even had drawings appear on his ribcage. While he didn’t mind those few years, he did seem somewhat soothed when they began to appear on his left arm again. He’d missed them.

Or that completely self indulgent soulmates au that plays out in not always romantic ways.

3. The World Will Open Its Arms

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him.

Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it.

Unbonded pregnant omega.

4. Will Love Be There

Louis didn’t care who he had to pay or how much, but he was pretty sure he would give his entire life’s savings and a year’s salary if it meant that whatever was causing someone’s fucking phone to ring would stop.

The person calling must have gone to voicemail, because it stopped ringing and vibrating, but it started up again almost immediately.

“Make it stop,” Louis whined. He lifted his head enough to pull the pillow out from beneath it and smothered his head to dull the sound. “Oh shit, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Just be sure to get out of bed first, please,” a deep, gravelly voice said from right beside Louis.

“Holy fucking shit!” Louis cried in surprise as he shot up in bed.

Or the one where Louis attends a Steve Aoki concert and accidentally ends up with a husband.

[girldreaming]

Lemon Color, Honey Glow

hiiii she’s so… honey… I couldn't stop listening to Lemon Glow by Beach House hence the title <3

pairing: service top!abby x afab!reader

summary: abby hangs out with her ex owen a little too long and reader gets insecure! (she will never escape him)

warnings: angsty, reader cries, established relationship, spit stuff, reader receives penetration via fingers and also receives oral, abby mouth fucks reader with her fingers? pet names used - sweetheart, doll, baby, (mama, slut, and champ are used once), alcohol mention, comfort and validation af

wc: 4.3k

minors do not interact fank yew

She’d been gone all damn day and you tried, really tried to distract yourself and relish in the alone time you’d thought would be used to self-reflect, pick up a new hobby, something! Anything productive actually.

But it just wasn't happening.

It’d been a slow morning filled with picking up the tiny apartment - if you could even call it that. You’d done all the laundry at least, gone to the cafeteria twice, and tried to read a book but still, you couldn’t stop spiraling.

Abby’s with Owen, Abby’s with her first love, Abby chose him to spend her day off patrol with, not you.

It was ringing in your ears like a gunshot every time you’d forgotten how alone you were. Like clockwork, whenever you'd found the perfect distraction, the conviction would just come barreling back. The feeling was no doubt due to the fact that Abby was your first love, almost your first everything and there was an unconscious possessiveness that came along with that. Which, of course, made it much fouler to think about, that there was a time in which she’d felt this for someone else and the fact that she would never feel it again, and certainly not for you.

Ergo, here you are, the moon barely grazing the skyline, getting ready for bed when you hear the unlocking of the front door, a flutter buzzing in your stomach. The heavy sound of it closing and the locks clicking back, however, makes your heart drop to the tile of the bathroom floor, the anticipation you’d been building all day coming to a grating boil. It would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the fact that you'd been thinking about this moment for hours. Fucking hours. Now that she was here it only filled you with panic, the blood leaving your head, hands freezing in motion kind of panic. What were you even gonna say to her? What if she smells different? What if she saw him again the same way she did when she was a teenager? Everything about it just made you sick.

All of the insecure shit you thought you’d gotten rid of was baring its ugly teeth. The jealous, nasty parts of you want to push her away so terribly that she has no choice but to go back, simply so you don’t have to look at her and act like you haven’t been pacing all day, imagining killing him in every way you could possibly think of.

Even though you know deep down nothing happened, the humiliating weight of the possibility was enough for you to beat her to the punch.

So, naturally, you leave your place in the bathroom, following the sound of Abby’s booted feet to the kitchen. I can do this, I was normal today, you hype yourself up, or try to.

“Hi, baby.” She coos, pulling you into a hug. You don’t want to punish her but you also can’t help the way your body tenses as she squeezes you, hands around your waist.

You pull away first and she moves back in for a kiss, your lips connecting for a mere moment before she’s stepping back. She smells the same, tastes like something slightly familiar - alcohol?

“What was that?” She laughs nervously, making a face. God, you were so transparent with her it wasn’t fucking fair, couldn’t hide anything.

“Nothing.” You shrug, the panic building back up in your chest, this time though, it felt like you did something wrong, the shame coursing through your veins. Your fingers instinctively fidget with each other, quickly moving behind your back to hide them from Abby, who would clock your nerves pretty damn quick.

“You sure?” She doubles down, bending over to unlace her boots, kicking them off into the middle of the room. It takes everything in you not to bitch at her, ask her to put them away, ask her don't you know better?

You hum a response, not giving her enough time to question you before you ask, “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, Owen’s still Owen.” She smiles at you, leaning back against the countertop. The dagger of delusion you stabbed into your own heart twists, and you’d like to fall to your knees and scream but you must keep up the illusion you’ve so poorly curated for her.

“Yeah? Y’all have fun?” You distract yourself, picking her boots up from where she left them in the middle of the kitchen and returning them to where the rest of the shoes live.

“We snuck out.”

A deep breath leaves you, body tensing. You shake your head, “Abigail, what the fuck is wrong with you.” and she just laughs.

The entire time she was gone today, the aspect of her safety not once crossed your mind, and that made you feel. so. much. fucking. worse. The all too familiar knot builds at the back of your throat, threatening to take all of your words and swallow them whole.

“You know I’m smart about it, baby, I’m fine. I’m here, aren’t I?” Abby grins.

“I trust you, I do. I just would’ve liked to have known.” You seethe, a frown adorning your face as you stare at her across the room. You huff as you walk back to the bathroom, needing a second to gather your thoughts.

Unfortunately, the only thoughts that come are images of them running around, giggling together as they sneak past the gates. You can already hear her socked feet following yours, causing you to hurry in and splash water on your face, it's fine. everything is fine.

“Don’t you wanna hear about my adventure? I found you somethin' doll, you’re gonna fucking love it.” She gushes - a rare and adorable occurrence - while leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom as you turn off the faucet.

“M’ really tired, Abs, can you tell me in the morning?” You sigh.

“I’ve got patrol tomorrow.”

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

“All day?” The dagger twists again, you'll be bleeding out soon, you think.

“Won’t get back until Friday morning, maybe Thursday night.” Abby shrugs, not too sure what the plan is.

It’s Tuesday. Yes. Definitely bleeding out now.

You try your hardest to look up, to stop the tears from forming but it’s not possible, the presence of her only making it more difficult to push down. Your signature lip quiver was the straw that broke the camel's back, Abby’s face instantly falling as she takes the two steps to be directly in front of you, grabbing your cheeks. It should feel comforting but you couldn't help but feel humiliated. You were trying so hard to regulate yourself and your emotions, but it was so difficult when you knew she was there to console you, regulate for you.

“Hey.” She breathes, your eyes squeezing shut, the tears falling with them and wetting her hands.

“What’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?”

But you can’t speak, your throat feels like it was ripped out of your neck and you know no sound would come out even if you tried. So, you shake your head, and she hugs you again, the second time tonight you’re tense in her arms.

But she won’t let you go, so you relax, melting into her, your snot sticking to her shoulder where you bury your head.

She’s shushing your hiccups with a palm smoothing over the back of your head, holding you to her. You try to think about what you’re supposed to say next, if you should back down and go to sleep or have the conversation you’ve been rehearsing in your head for the past twelve hours.

“Are you drunk?” You sniffle into her shoulder, choosing neither. It’s quiet for a moment, a confirmation. She was too embarrassed to say, yes! My ex boyfriend and I drank too much of his homemade moonshine together, hope we don’t get botulism!

“Why are you so mad at me?” She whispers, her voice so fucking small. She sounds like a child who’s gotten into something they weren’t supposed to, meek.

It didn’t feel right, any of it. You can’t help the sob that falls out of you, shaking your head.

“I'm not.” you blubber, not very convincing.

“Do you want to be with him?” You utter, the delusions winning. They managed to take enough of your brain over to ask such a stupid, silly question that you already knew the answer to.

It was embarrassing, really, the way she pulled back, still holding you by your shoulders, a confused look on her face.

“What?” She blurts, her eyes moving around your features. You immediately look away, down at the ground, at the wall. Anywhere except her, the guilt eating you up and spitting you back out.

“You’re serious?” Abby snickers, covering her mouth, trying to control herself.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You croak, the tears slowing but your nose still running as you wipe it with your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, I jus-“ She starts, hands leaving your shoulders, going to her temple. Turning around, then turning back around, she looks at you. Long and hard.

“Is that why you’re upset? You think I cheated on you with Owen? Fucking Owen?”

“S’not funny.” You practically wail, your hands shooting up to your face, hiding yourself from her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She’s still laughing.

“Fuck you.” You spit, on a mission to get out of this small room with her. It wasn't because you’re that upset over her laughing at you, but the anger you feel at yourself has to go somewhere and you know you'll end up taking it out on her, which just wasn't fair.

“Hey, no, come here.” Abby's serious now, walking behind you as you sit on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m sorry I was gone all day, really, that wasn’t my intention.” She mumbles as she squats down in front of you, her elbows resting on her knees, hands hanging between them.

“Well, it’s what happened.” You look down at her, blue eyes wide, apologetic.

“Do-do you want me to leave?” She stammers, mouth sitting open.

“No, I don’t want you to leave, Abby.” You grimace, rolling your eyes. You were still being mean and didn't know why.

“Don't like it when you roll your eyes at me."

"Abby, please." You sniffle, tears threatening to spill once again, you didn't want that part of her right now, just needed the nice part that was obsessed with you, and just you.

Your stuttered breaths interrupt the silence in the room, Abby’s temple resting on your knee in response, snuggling into you. She was obviously finding it difficult to let you ride out your mood on her, but knew she didn't have much of a choice.

“Today was so fucking hard.” You squeak.

“M’ sorry, pretty. I kept thinking it was over and then Manny showed up with Leah an-“ She starts, head detaching from your leg to look back up at you.

“It’s fine, seriously, just haven’t felt insecure like that in so long. I feel so crazy.” You interrupt, hoping the more you let it out of your body the more it’ll actually leave.

“Sweet girl.” She sighs, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your knee.

“I would’ve come home.”

“It’s so embarrassing.” You whine as you look up again, the ball in your throat reappearing, threatening. She’s still squatted before you, her hands beginning to rub the smooth of your thighs, shushes leaving her mouth as she tries to calm you down. You feel relief for the first time today, knowing she was here, choosing to be here.

"Shh, eyes on me." She directs, you tilt your head down to her, blue eyes studying yours. Her lips push out to a pout considering your state, puffy eyes, and red nose. She moves her head closer to your stomach, butterflies swarming.

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby.” A peck to your inner thigh, which her palm is pushing apart.

“I’ve done worse without you.” She nods, breathing onto your exposed midriff, the hot air tickling, your own breath hitching. The memory of that instance comes flooding back. Your first and last four-day patrol without her.

She'd followed you around like a puppy as you were prepping, making sure you'd gotten first pick at the gun range. Not before having a long sit-down chat with those who you were being sent off with about you and your safety, the consequences that would follow had you not come back up in one piece. She'd followed you all the way to the car, a not-so-quick kiss and a soft "Be safe mama," farewell.

After you'd gotten back - with nothing more than a few scratches - you were told Abby hadn't slept the last two days of the trip and that she'd been an absolute menace to Isaac and anyone who had their hands on a radio. She'd gotten kicked out of the gym for hogging the equipment on top of the situation which supposedly had sent her into even more of a nosedive.

No one really likes to bring it up though, her face erupting in a tomato-red flush whenever you did.

"I know, my love." You sigh, hand reaching up to rest on her head, following her braid down to the band, pulling it out and placing the elastic on the bedside table.

"We should go to bed." You whisper. And you really wanted to, to end the evening as you did any other night, wanted to feel the same you did then. Wanted to feel like yourself again. It was obvious how tired Abby was, her eyelids falling after every word you spoke, her own body weighing her down.

"M' not done." She drawls onto your skin, nipping at the fat of your thighs, her hands planted on your hips, fingers kneading. The thought of asking her to take care of you had crossed your mind, but you shook it off in fear of demanding too much of her.

"Abs, you'll be exhausted tomorrow." Your hand still rests on her head, twisting the strands you set free around your fingers, pulling them until they untwine.

"Need to make it up to you, please." She groans, looking up at you, she was wide awake now, that's for sure.

"You don't owe me anything." You croon.

It's so hard, trying to shut down such an immovable force, and the fact she knows you need her just as badly doesn't help. Your legs are essentially spread for her, her palms pushing you apart, pinching at the skin of your inner thigh. Yet, it’s still surprising when you feel her fingers graze over your clothed core, the small wet spot causing her to groan into your skin, your face felt like it was glowing. When the fuck did that happen.

“You always get drenched when you cry, sweetheart?” She laughs as her eyes find yours.

“Only when it’s cause of you, Abby.” You practically purr, taking your hands out of her scalp and leaning on them behind you. The familiar coil begins to thaw inside your stomach, her body heat radiating, passing onto you.

"You are depraved." Leaves her with a chuckle, thinking for a moment, reading your face.

"Take your shirt off." She scoffs, climbing up onto your lap, straddling you as your hands reach the hem of your top, swiping it off. Her hands go straight to your face, holding your cheeks together, lips smushing with the wet, sloppy kisses she’s pressing onto them.

Your hands instinctively go to the back pockets of her cargo pants, pulling her impossibly closer, her ass taut in the tight fabric. She leans forward, the force of it putting you onto your back with an oof, teeth clacking together, kissing Abby through her smile.

Her covered knee slots between your thighs, the curve of her pressing against your thinly veiled clit. The cave of her mouth vibrates with your moans as she rolls you onto her thigh, hands rough, but steady. Your fingertips underneath her shirt, running along her abs seems to ignite the same fire that's living inside of you, her breath hitching when you reach the small swell of her breasts, palming and grasping at her, wishing it was feasible to tear her open and create a cavity the size of you.

“Got - fuck - gotta get these off, kay?” She rambles, eyes scanning your boxers, hers, she's just shy of drooling, or combusting.

You whimper at the loss of contact, hips instinctively lifting up as her hands wrap around the waistband of the shorts, tugging them off and tossing them to the ground. It was never balanced with her, you lying on the mattress bare while she hadn't taken off a damn sock.

She’s still straddling you, farther down over your knees. Her pants are somehow unbuttoned and her shirt messily skewed to the side. You just really couldn't get over her hair, god, it's frizzy and crimped from her braid yet framing her face so perfectly, draping over the expanse of her shoulders, golden threads cascading down her back.

"Can yo-" You start, hands fumbling with the bottom of her top but before you can finish she's already pulling it over her shoulders, bra following. Abby's mouth is immediately back on yours, palms pressing into the mattress at the sides of your head.

You whine when she leaves you again, weight on her knees as her fingers go to the roots of your hair, grabbing your scalp and craning your head up off of the bed. Her other hand sits at your chin, palm up as she looks down at you. Can't help but notice the look in her eye, the look she does when Abby knows she's broken down any bit of modesty you would've scurried away with and kept for yourself if it weren't for her sitting on top of you.

"Spit.”

Obeying, drool and saliva drip down out of your mouth, onto your chin, and then to her hand. Strings of your spit link the two of you until she breaks the cord, her palm connecting with your mound, barely moving, just enough to saturate you with your own saliva. Finally, she shifts, her middle finger sliding up and down your folds, circling slowly around your clit. She wants you to watch, you realize, her hand still in your hair, still holding you up. So you do, as two fingers sink into your aching slit, disappearing with a moan from you, and something of the sort from her.

Her other hand leaves your head, causing it to hit the mattress and your eyes to squeeze shut from the impact. She's already curled her fingers, squelching them in and out of you, hitting the spot that you could never reach, that you didn’t really know existed before Abby.

"That feel good? Feel full?"

mhm a little too good, you think.

"Little slower, Abs." You whimper, knowing how prone she was to getting ahead of herself and how easily you were gonna come like this. Wanted to take your time with her, make her work for it for a change. She crawls in between your knees, spreading your legs over her hard thighs.

"Shit - sorry you're fuckin' soaked." She pants, her pace slowing.

With her middle and ring finger still hooked inside of you, her other hand rolls under your back, shifting you farther up the mattress. She sets a new tempo, slowly surging.

"Better?" She asks, thumb dipping inside of your cunt, drawing out the wet and smearing it over your clit.

"Yes, f-uck," You moan, back arching, hips bucking up dying to feel her deeper and deeper. Her free hand scoops your leg up and rests behind your knee as she pushes onto you, now hovering over your limp frame. Her hand leaves your leg as it lazily hangs near her waist, her arm now inches away from your face as she supports herself. You can't look at her, you really can't, so you throw your head to the side and breathe into her forearm, your own wrapping around it, hand gently squeezing her flexed bicep.

"Did so good today, m' so proud of you." She mewls, adding a third finger. It's definitely a tight squeeze, your walls clenching around her, rejecting the speed she desires. "Gotta relax, sweetheart, it's just me."

You nod, trying to release the built-up stress you've been carrying all day, remembering that she was here, she was yours. Remembering what she taught you, deep breaths into your nose and out through your mouth. Even though it ached, you didn't want her to stop.

You feel her fingers leave you, your lips parting on instinct. As you anticipated, her fingertips run along the tip of your tongue, following the muscle back, farther and farther.

"That's it, just like that. You're so good." She purrs, eyes on your mouth, your lips closing around her. Can feel her fingers fucking your face, her other hand playing with your clit in incomplete, sloppy circles. She gives a final jolt, and you can’t believe you don't gag, but you’ll pat yourself on the back later. They’re back within you without missing a beat, the lubrication your spit provides allowing her to have her way, her speed.

"So fuckin' pretty takin' me, wish you could see yourself, champ."

"I believe you." You beam, grabbing her face to plant a fat kiss on her lips, trailing past her mouth to her cheek. A quiet "Jesus, fuck," spills from your throat without a second thought after her thumb bumps your clit just right.

“Whose fingers are these, huh?” She groans at the sight of you, wrapped around her, inside of you. Gotta make it better she thinks, gotta make it go away.

“Mine.” You breathe, clenching around her. You believe it too, at this point, they were fucking yours. But how couldn't you? The fingers you'd trace as you fell asleep, just to then have dreams of. The same ones that'd roamed every inch of you, threatening to kiss your organs if she went any fucking deeper, god.

“That’s fuckin’ right. There’s my girl.” She praises, the sweet sound dripping all over you like a syrup, coating, sticking to every cell. Her lips practically live on your jawline, your head back to being tilted, giving her full access. She's moaning like she feels it too, and maybe she can with the way your bodies are just about conjoined. Your hand shoots down to her wrist, holding onto it as she pummels you. A shiver tickles its way down your spine.

“Right there, please, s’so fucking deep, oh my god,”

“You think I’d fuck anyone else like this?” Is whispered into your neck, a moan of your own echoing off the walls. Your puffy eyes fill with tears again, though this time it’s from sheer satisfaction, pure comfort.

You shake your head no, "Just me, Abs."

It feels so nice to reassure yourself, so right, the validation from her beaming through you and the molten coil in your core threatening to burn.

"Only you, pretty." She smiles, punctuated by the lick of your nipple, the popping of it in and out of her mouth, and of course, teeth sinking into the flesh. She had quite the obsession with your chest, grabbing them often just to have something warm to hold.

“Ow,” You blush, your legs relaxing, spreading and making space for her as she scoots down.

“Fucking slut, you love it when I bite you, can feel it.” Another chomp, this time on your stomach. A nibble on your thigh. It was mortifying how much of you she recognized. So much of yourself you never thought would be shared with anyone else that Abby did next to nothing to get out of you.

All you can do is moan, clench around her, repeat.

Your eyes are closed when her tongue meets your core, moans being replaced with groans, her hand that was used to support herself now supporting you, wrapping around your thigh that's threatening to squish her head like a melon.

“Keep ‘em open, doll, you got it.” She breathes onto you, her arm realistically doing all the work.

“Abby, m’gonnacome,” You’re nodding, slowly, building up the courage to look at her, meeting her eyes as you do to find she’d been looking at you the whole time. "Please?" She mumbles into your cunt, sucking your clit inside of her mouth.

“God, please yes, fuck yes,” The rubber band finally snaps, your hands going to her scalp, to your thighs, grabbing, pulling. One of them settles on her hand on your thigh, which she grabs, holding you through your orgasm.

Your hips are grinding against her face and you use your leverage on her head to pull her off of you, quickly getting overstimulated. Abby’s got her pussy-drunk smile, eyes turning to slits from happiness being paired with exhaustion. She kisses the inside of your thigh, one last peck on your swollen bud before her fingers reappear, glimmering with you.

"Mmm, you gotta pee, sweetheart." Is all she says before she collapses onto her side on the mattress, a small huff following. You're still catching your breath, feeling your rapid heartbeat slug to its typical pace. She definitely wasn't asleep, but she sure as shit wasn't conscious.

"Baby, your pants." You heave.

Abby grumbles, fingers fumbling with her zipper.

"I'm gonna get you some water, don't move." You insist, feeling your body snap back together as you stand up, only slightly seeing stars. In the kitchen, you wet a rag for her and clean yourself up with one while you're there, before grabbing a couple of cups.

"Gonna show me what you got?" You speak up to reach the room, two glasses of water in hand as your bare feet shuffle along the hardwood floor. At the lack of response, you pick up your strides toward the bedroom. It was so quiet at this point in the night - or early morning. Hard to tell. So peaceful.

"Abs?"

As you peek your head into the doorway you're met with her, sprawled out on her stomach, naked, and softly snoring.

[artinvain]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱 (pt. 1)

sevika x reader modern au (fluff & weed smoking… mdni)

characters: sevika x reader, silco & vander .

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓₓ˚. ୭

when sevika joins one of the biggest financial firms in her district, it’s not a big deal to her. it’s not her passion, but she makes money, work is stupidly easy for her, she lives way over comfortably and if she wants she can choose her own hours. of course — she keeps to a basically military routine, she likes it, it helps her stop thinking. about her dad, where her mom could be, the last person she loved.

she’s waiting to meet up with the same old college buddies she always does. they meet at a dispensary cafe maybe once or twice a week. but sevika goes almost everyday — because it also helps her not think.

when she walks in vander and silco are making a noise in their usual nook, greeting her with hugs and a cig to start. when they were all together like this they became idiots. usually intellectual conversations about philosophy or politics, the latest in news, the latest in their lives and careers. but here it was babble filled laughter and no thoughts at all.

“do you guys want coffee or some of the stuff on the munchies menu?”

your voice is new, vander and silco quieten down in her ears as she looks up at you, the sun shining like a halo bouncing around your locs. she wants to say something, tell you you’re pretty. It’s what she usually does when she sees a girl she likes. flirts like crazy but now sevika can’t say a goddamm thing.

it’s the way you’re looking at her and only her. your lip bitten and a small smile poking through as you notice she’s staring. and you can’t help but look on with some strange affection, her soft dark skin, muscles underneath it flexing. her grey eyes — so unusual, smoky and cool. your manager had told you she was a regular so if you wanted a tip you needed to be nice. to sevika you are lovely — she can’t really describe it but you make her blush.

when you walk away with their orders, the boys are immediately hounding her. “would you have preferred vander and i left the both when you did all that?”

“I - did you - are you fucking blushing?” silco laughs so hard he’s coughing and slapping vander’s arm when she rolls her eyes. “my hearts, my stars, my god — you are! I haven’t seen you look like this in years,” he gasps.

“weed makes you overly dramatic, silco,” she retorts gulps gratefully at a bottle of water while vander continues

“seriously though, you’re looking at her like you have something other than ice in your veins” vander howls at himself

silco lights up his cigarette and leans back, “come now vander, sevika’s just afraid of her feelings, if anything — her blood burns too hot-“

“shut up.” sevika mumbles. it’s not untrue, she’d bounced around from girlfriend to girlfriend, but no one ever stuck and she never seemed to mind. the sex was good — sometimes okay. they never could quite match her though. “it’s not my fault I don’t get along with them,”

“oh yes it’s always something - no banter, not intellectual enough — but I think -“

“yes, what do you think vander?” sevika spits with a snarl

“I think you’re sabotaging yourself.” he says more seriously than intended. she has nothing to say. no remark - she can’t explain away a truth they’d been skirting around whenever it came to sevika’s love life. they’d been badgering her about settling down for once, let herself be known outside of their little trio.

“drop it, vander,” she glares and he only rolls his eyes leaning forward to snatch a lighter in her hand for his joint.

it just has to be then that you walk back to their table, startled by the sudden silence as you hand out their snacks. “is everything okay?” you ask and Sevika’s smile is small but fleeting.

“do you have a strain that can lift the mood?” ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

sevika greets you by name every time she comes in now, over tips you, pulls you into conversation when she knows you should be working but she knows your boss and he’ll let it slide for her.

“so, how’s the wolf of wall street?” you whistle handing sev a clear vile with her joint in it. “you have to stop calling me that,” sevika laughs, loosening the deep blue, tie, embroidered with silver stars around her neck. “but you are! you told me yourself you’re up at 6am every day to make your matcha latte before gym, and you look at your stocks, in your giant loft —“

sevika laughs albeit a little nervously at your teasing “I did not say I had a loft,” and you smile at her coyly scratching her neck. “but am I wrong?” you ask and she ducks her head, her shoulder moving with her laughter.

“ah fuck,” she groans with a smile “leave me alone,” sev says jokingly, and you roll your eyes “okay, if you really want me to.”

but you don’t move, and sevika doesn’t say anything. she’s just looking at you, taking you in — grateful your job doesn’t have a uniform so she can see you in your wide leg pants, dark green flowers springing forth and your tight top — purple, strappy and your breasts, pressed up against them. she looks away from a moment and you chuckle having seen where her eyes ended they’re tour of you.

“you look pretty today,” sev mumbles, taking a sip of water.

“thank you sev, you look pretty put together yourself — meeting with investors ?”

“yeah,” she grunts, “something like that — I don’t know, first time I’ve felt off my game. the company’s just very white and male. I don’t know if I got the deal.” she stretches her neck, “and I hate failing,” she lets slip. furrows her eyebrows at herself because why would she tell you that?

“hey, you’re good at your job, or you wouldn’t be up for a promotion,” she shrugs at your response “plus,” you sit down next to her, “if anything you can depend on the diversity token,” you smirk and nudge her with your elbow, smoke billows out of her mouth as she laughs. coughing slightly before sitting up straight.

“I know it must be annoying, always having to shape yourself up into this heterosexual role,” you sigh, sev offers you some of her joint and you take it without question, knowing it was just you and andy your co-worker today,

“and your jobs are always with all these white, men determining whether you look good enough or if you’re well spoken enough, it’s bullshit,” you sigh and sevika nods

“it’s like I’m never doing well enough I’m tired of it,” she responds.

“you should be tired of it, but you are,” you say firmly, “good enough — don’t let them define you sev, your work shows that you’re good for it.”

“thanks,” she smiles, she’d heard it before but it felt different coming from you, because you understand her. you’re not just trying to make her feel better. it is bullshit and you let her know that it’s okay to feel that way.

“vander and silco don’t really understand it. i mean don’t get me wrong they try. but they’ll never really know.” sevika sighs and takes the j back from you when you offer it with a smile.

“I get that,” you nod and tie your locs up out of your face. “hey, I have to go check on that table,” you spot a couple with their coffee cups empty. “but I’ll be back,”

she turns the words over in her head. she didn’t ask you to, but you were coming back to her — like you always did. the first to check in on her when she came in and rarely did you leave her without at least some conversation, even when the cafe was busy. you grab sev’s hand and give it a tight squeeze and it jolts sevika’s body feeling your soft hand in hers, so warm and you trace a circle on the back of her hand that she can feel long after you’ve pulled away.

sevika should be at home by now, instead she’s following you around, watching you clean counter tops and pack away snacks for the night shift to open later.

“so, I told andy like I can’t take her every table just because she doesn’t feel like serving — do I have something on my face?” you stop rubbing at a sticky spot on the table where someone spilled something, staring at her quizzically as she looks down at you.

“no,” she smiles and then her eyes dart nervously around the room, “sorry, I was just… looking at you.” you don’t say anything for a moment, “I think you’re really pretty,” she says nervously. she hadn’t complimented someone so gently in a while. it’d all been heated praises while her hands were guided to someone’s neck. so sev chuckles uncomfortably and turns her head to stare at a painting when you say forger.

“I could have painted that. like better probably,” she says and when she looks back at you, your standing so close to her she can feel your breath on her neck.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you say, and sevika chokes on her words. she’d always been “sexy” or “hot” or “super attractive” but no one had called her beautiful. cupping her cheek so softly and with no intent.

“I just was never sure how you felt, so I didn’t say anything,” you said, and sevika holds her hand over yours, looking down at you and smiling sheepishly as you lean up and kiss the side of her mouth. “I like you,” you grin at her blush and the way she tumbles over her words.

“of course yeah, i um - do you want to come back to my place?” she rushes out and a pit forms in her stomach when you blink slowly and swallow.

“I’m sorry, did I just ruin everything?” sevika asks bluntly and you shake your head, she holds your hand to her cheek, hoping you don’t pull away.

“no it’s fine. I want to, I do. but, I’ve done that a lot recently, I mean finishing my masters it was really bad. I kind of want something real,” you say shyly, trying and failing to pull away from sevika,

“we can take it slow,” what the fuck is she thinking. she’s never taken it slow. her longest relationship was three months and she fucked it up because she always priorities work. but, you’re beautiful and kind and smart and funny and she doesn’t know if she can just let you go. at least not that easily.

“let me take you home,” sevika offers as you lock up, the sun’s not down yet but she doesn’t want you to go. you agree and whistle when you jump into her jeep.

“wolf of Wall Street— this is impressive,” sevika rolls her eyes with a smile and turns her car on.

“just fucking give me the directions,” she answers and you laugh, getting your maps out “it’s not far from here,” you say.

“if you’re not busy, maybe you can come inside, talk and have some tea or — I don’t know, maybe not-“

“no yes. I would love to,” she replies eagerly, making her way down to your place, following the maps stoic directions.

“so you said you could paint something better than what’s in the shop?” you turn to her and she blushes — she shouldn’t have said that.

“I used to paint, and sketch,” she admits, used to as if she didn’t pick up her charcoal for the first time in months to sketch every detail of your soft face.

you nod, looking around her clean car, it didn’t look like one of an artist “you should show me sometime,” you mumble and flick the boulder of the sisyphus bobble head stuck to her dash. “this is a really fucking specific bobble head,”

sevika laughs and agrees, “I got it in greece at some really overpriced tourist shop. I don’t know, vander and silco got something too, all philosophy shit because we’re—“

“really pretentious,” you laugh and she nods along “yeah yeah. we all met in our first year greek mythology course and then again in philosophy and we kind of just stuck together. and I never buy myself anything so I figured.”

“why this though? why the reminder of eternal punishment on your dashboard, every day?”

“other than the fact that it reminds me of my oldest friends?”

it’s not like you didn’t understand. you have an embroidered quilt of plath’s fig tree poem hanging in your kitchen.

“yeah, other than that,” you dig, you know there’s something more there.

“I don’t know, I felt like I was sisyphus for a long time,” she admits. something about your aura was so damn relaxing, like she could say anything around you and you wouldn’t care. “I had accepted that I had to suffer.” she drums her thumbs on the steering wheel, “that being who I am was some cosmic punishment, but then. I don’t know I figured if my boulder was who I am, I’d have to keep pushing it, even if people failed to see how light it is to me,”

you nod, finally satisfied with her answer and look over at her. she doesn’t feel like she has anything more to say. and for once she isn’t scrambling for charmed words or flirtation, she just lets herself listen to you breathe.

“paradoxical but that’s what it is to be brown and queer in this world huh,” you say and sevika nods falling into a comfortable silence until you reach your flat.

a small victorian brick building, that’s much bigger when you’re inside. stairs leading up to what you explain are two other apartments. the tenants quiet but very nice and hardly home. you walk her down the passage to your apartment door.

she’s greeted by warmth and the smell of fading incense. you turn on orange lamps and a sunset one in the living room,

“you can put your jacket on the stand there,” you say, looking at her from over the kitchen island. “and take your shoes off, please,”

sevika complies and feels a tight knot it her stomach. nerves. why is she nervous when she knows you two won’t be doing anything. the way you’d seen through her in the car, you wanted to know her, not just her body and that scared the shit out of her. should she just leave? she’s ready to put her shoes back on when you walk past her into the living room with a tray, a teapot and two cups and some honey. it’s so sweet she decides against herself to sit down on your couch beside you.

she looks around while you pour her tea, the couch is plush, you’re venitian carpeting soft under her socks. you have a feature wall painted dark green and covered in abstract paintings and one family portrait.

“that you?” sevika asks, making out our plump cheeks and toothy grin, as you lean over who she assumes in your father. she thanks you for the tea and takes a sip of the warmth,

“yeah,” you smile, “my brother is late, but my sister lives like two streets down,”

“I’m so sorry,” she offers and gently lays a hand on your shoulder. you take it and kiss the back of her hand.

“shit, sorry,” you apologise and let go off her, but she wants you to do it again, can feel the outline of your lips tingling on her hand. “s’okay,” she nods and keeps her hand on your shoulder.

“viktor was my adopted brother, he was really sick.” you stop there and turn to her with a watery smile. “I loved him a lot,”

she can tell. nods solemnly and lets you have a moment, and then your laughing a little embarrassed and wiping your eyes.

“It was a long time ago, sorry,”

“don’t be,” sev says, “I wanna know you,” she smiles and you smirk back at her, your cheeky attitude back in play, “then ask me a question,” you say, she doesn’t know where to start because she has a million.

“how’d you know you were… I don’t know sapphic?” she asks tentatively. “well, I’ve known I was a lesbian since I was like twelve. there was this girl I alway hung out with —“ you’re smiling fondly and sevika lays over your words.

“yeah?” sevika answers getting ready for your story.

she leaves way too late, all you two did was talk and laugh and she hadn’t checked her stocks or taken any calls and she can’t remember the last time she wasn’t always working, even partially, even in her free time. when she gets home she’s on her laptop until midnight, taking an international meeting and all the while, all she can think about is sitting and watching the rest of the stupid magician show she’d started with you before she saw the time.

when she clambers into bed, for the first time she notices how cool the spot beside her is. she bundles herself up in pillows and falls asleep with you on her mind.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

”I wanna take you on a date,” sevika smiles leaning on the counter where you’ve just finish letting a group of friends pay.

“you do?” you ask, “you doing it because you think I’ll give you discounts ?”

“I know you’ll give me discounts,” she laughs “I got something for you,” she pulls out a novel from her work satchel. “I know you wanted a physical to have, but you said you were too distracted to get one so”

the picture of dorian gray. inside the first page were names of people who had had the book before you, dating back to ‘97. you’d wanted a hard cover since you’d read it a year ago. but she’d gone above and beyond getting you a thrifted version, you liked the idea of a hand me down of something so many others like you had enjoyed and now you had one and she knew that. the thought made your heart thump.

“where did you get this?” you ask, touching over the names of all the people who’d signed it,

“just looked at like four different second hand book stores,” she shrugs and looks on fondly as you excitedly flip through the annotated pages.

“thank you!” you lean over the counter and kiss her cheek.

“and not that that was a bribe or anything but-“

“I obviously want to go on a date with you vika,” she blushes at the nickname, her heart beating a little faster. “yeah?” “yeah,” you nod and jump at andy’s snide remark for you to start your shift.

“I’ll pick you up after work,” she taps on the counter and smiles widely, the bell on the cafe door ringing loudly in her ears as she exits. for the first time in a long time, she’s more than just living. the air smells fresh, colours and bright and her heart is pumping hard, hot blood coursing to her cheeks as she thinks of you. tonight, tonight, tonight.

okay next chapter is the date and maybe a sexy little smut scene hehehe or angst. who knows? not even me. 🏷️ @iamaboringrattat @archangeldyke-all @sevsbaby @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz @opropheticsoul @ariariarr @sexysapphicshopowner

[pascalsbby]

The Devil & His Brother / II

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I / Masterlist

Summary: “Good, been staring out the window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger.

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

AKA: Bath time with the Millers 😈

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: 18 + mndi, DUBCON DRUG USE: enemies to lovers, heavy talk & use of drugs/pills, morally grey Millers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH Miller brothers instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & praying for the devil himself.

I feel like I'm sending out something so personal... and familiar in ways that I know aren't. Maybe that's how memories feel after a while.

God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wants forgiveness, he shouldn't have given us memory.

- Vi Khi Nao

“Can’t do it, Joel.” 

“Goddamnit.” His huff was deep and bothered by your apparent inability to do anything he asked of you.

His anger didn't sit with you, but himself. He didn't really know that, though. Doesn't feel too much beneath the thickness of his skull. Hard-headed fucker.

The scent of you hung leaden in the steam-filled bathroom. Iron. Blood. Something saccharine that made him ache as he peeled your clothes from your weak skin. Lately, his temper has been short, and unbeknownst to you he hasn’t always been this way. Even in recent years. You assumed he was always like this, further etching the lines that softened on his face (only after yelling at you), but he would argue that you were acting like a little fuckin’ brat… so his snippy remarks were justified. 

"Did all the work of carryin' you here and now you're gonna off yourself? Cause you won't let me help you bathe in the only hot bath water you've seen since you were what.... sixteen? M' not that big and scary, Bunny."

You both had your own ways of dealing with things, you guessed. Verbal expression of any kind besides small, whispered sentences had been scarce. Except for when he was angry. Except for right now.

You stopped listening because suddenly nothing seemed to matter too much. It didn’t all feel so black and white; life-ending like he was making it seem, being a real grump. 

“Are you listenin’ to m–?” 

His tuneful voice now sounded hollow as it bounced off of your blurring peripheral vision. 

You didn’t answer Joel, instead, you listened to the music in your head and wondered how it got there. How you got into his arms. 

Joel called Tommy’s name after you stumbled into his warmth. You winced at his raised voice, almost breaking you from a blissful trance. “God damnit Tommy, get in here. I can’t hold her up and wash her at the same time.” Ten minutes of Joel trying to get you in the bath like you were a fucking toddler was enough. He wouldn’t be able to hold your body up and wash you simultaneously, either. It was a two-person job to do it correctly, and gently. 

Tommy returned an hour or so earlier, saying whoever had followed them had taken another way around, but they’d seen fresh hoof marks. “It’s weird Joel,” he said. 

“Fuck, I just washed these jea-“ his voice coming from down the hallway. He turned the corner, changed into clean clothes, and was taken aback by your bare chest staring back at him from underneath Joel’s veined arm. His skin burns into yours.

“What the fuck did you give her?” He was immediately angry. 

Give me? Peace. Radiating warmth, you thought. He didn’t know that you didn’t feel a lot anymore, but you knew deep down that you felt something more for Joel.

 “She’s in pain, Tommy. Only thing she’s felt in the past nine years is pain. Help me get her in here and then take off the fucking jeans then, I don’t care. Get some towels and then get in here. Don’t know how much time we have ‘fore it wears off.” Joel growled. Then you close your eyes and let go, swimming through the low buzz in between their thrown bickers.

He’d talked real sweet to you, in hopes of getting you to take a bath. Mostly because being 'somewhere else' would be best when washing your wound, away from the water gripping at your side. Another small reason was that he didn’t want to hear you mumble, “no,” again. You needed a proper bath if you were ever going to get better. Although you didn’t seem too interested in such

That must have been the extent of Tommy’s anger, because he listens exactly to what Joel says. He unlocks his leather-backed metal belt and it hits the floor in the same instance, cling. He doesn’t mention the pills again, just takes his jeans off before he turns the handles of the running bath off and assumes his position outside of it. Joel takes his own shirt off, skin soft-looking and warm. He was sweating, skin slightly glowing from the sweat reflecting the bathroom lights. You could smell him. He kept his boxers on, still maintaining a sliver of his respect. He was willing his cock to follow the same.

He sunk himself into the bathwater with a deep groan, one of relief. Tommy walked you closer and helped you climb into the bath. It burned, felt like it was boiling. You were standing in it now, between Joel’s legs, hands still enclosed in Tommy’s as he helped you keep your balance. Joel was trying not to think about how your core was aligned perfectly before him as you stood. You turned, ass swaying as you prepared to sit on his clothed lap. They both looked away as your body was fluctuating in the prettiest fucking way they’d both ever seen. 

“S’okay baby, sit down.” You bent down to hold the sides of the tub, letting Tommy go. You were spread open right in front of Joel’s face, the back of your pussy practically calling to him as it finally came in contact with his lap. 

Tommy turns around and sighs before walking out of the bathroom to fetch towels like an obedient dog. Joel shuffled you, with what would have been awkward silence between the three of you if two of you weren’t high. If one of you hadn’t just left the room.

Joel has already swallowed his dusty piece of sanctuary. You had too, in the tea he made you thirty minutes ago. He was dangling another pill in front of you, now that Tommy was out of sight. This time allowing you a choice; rather than remain silent as it swam down your throat.

"Let me help you sum’ more, baby. Gonna give you something to help the hurt. Don’t go running, an’ don't tell Tommy. He wouldn't like that I'm makin’ you feel good."

Telling Tommy would consist of more non-compartmentalized guilt and yet another thing for him to look down upon Joel for. Another bullet point to add to Tommy’s list of Reasons Joel is a Fucking Asshole. And you needed help right now. This is how he could help you. So no, he would not be telling Tommy that he fed the girl more pills, too. She was simply exhausted and needed help bathing. She was in pain and needed him; them. Tommy would have done the same, no?

He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

He notes your lack of hesitation to open your mouth for him. He places the bitter thing there, gently. 

“Swallow.” 

He smirked as you obeyed.

“You’re a’ good little thing, you know. S'good to listen and mind.” He tucked your hair behind your ear so that it wouldn’t keep falling in your face.

His drugs were now yours. His regrets, too. And he secretly hoped that his desires were burning into your body and being met with the same inner incineration. But he wasn’t regretting it right that moment. Not as he watched your body slacken. He knew your entire being was numb when you were reaching up at him, fingers looking for feeling. 

His thumb ran across the plumpness of your bottom lip and his thighs flexed inadvertently. You felt the small jerk of his body, your eyes drawn upwards meeting his. He felt the moment your breathing became deeper, slipping through his skull and resting on the center of his lust. Then he heard the teetering of the old house as it sang. He heard chatter outside, and it all sounded happy, nothing scary around. He returned to your nose, where a little black wish sat, kissing your cheek. He moved his thumb up to brush the eyelash away and whisper his own silent prayer.

You looked around his face before resting your gaze on his lips, and he knew that you were slipping deeper too. The moment ended in a split second torn into a million, and you were looking him in the eyes. Your pupils are already blown, helpless, and in need of strong arms to hold you upright. It fucking hurt. You hadn’t been so willing without the drugs. The pit of his stomach crawled in need as your back rested against it. Your ass was scooted up, and he could feel the break between your legs, could feel the warmer skin of your pussy kissing his thighs.

He loosely assumed that you’d never been in the bath with a man before, either. Probably never been naked in front of one... or two. And he knew that it shouldn’t be something he was proud of, to have you here, safe in his arms and naked in his bath. But he was. 

“Feel something?”

“Mhmm.” 

He felt your response in the tone of your flexing abdomen. His wide fingertips sink into your cushioned fat and the softness of your stretch marks. It stung, the water, like having his presence near it set it off, simmering around his body, trying to kiss anything of him that it could. The water was pretty pink for a few moments, your body releasing the hold it had on your dried blood and the dirt accompanying it. His hands were occupied by the washcloth he was softly rubbing against your body. Then it was dark, and whenever you looked down it was harder and harder to see the end of his legs, stretching out before and underneath you, holding your body (against his) up. “Fuck me.” It was he who had released that sound.

“Good, been staring out tha’ window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”

You did what Joel wanted of you, and quickly you fell into the heavy light buzzing right outside of yourself like your aura was bouncing off of the smoldering color... like a blanket, maybe. One of blurred confessions and soft, radiating heat. Your arms are heavier but in a slow melting comfort, and it feels like butterflies right above your hip bones crawling right towards your cunt in a low pulse. As if the energy moved and hovered itself into your underwear and is prodding its fingertips into your soaking center, touching every bit of swollen flesh as his fingers disappear into you. But he’s sitting still, you think. He is everywhere but inside of you.

Your memories lilt against your skull, retracting from any indication of themselves. Much of who you were is gone, left in dark patches of shadow and musk. Outlines of a monster (human) ((him)) setting his jaw on your shoulder from behind, willing the air to kiss that spot right under your ear. Your own blood, his sweat. The undulating sway of his plush lips and impending jaw from below. You’d only seen him this way, from below. Like he was something holy, forever above you and rarely looking down. You reach up and feel his face, running the sensitive skin of your fingertips against his stubbly chin and neck. 

-

Most of your time was spent contently sitting in your (Joel’s) favorite chair, the one you hadn't really left or released yourself from, just assuming that it had now formed to your body. Maybe you had melted into the dirty crevices, instead. You wanted nothing more than to sink into it and become a part of the worn and well-loved fabric. No one expected anything of this chair. For it to simply exist confirms its usefulness.

A week or so ago, you had been dying, pooling blood turned your skin terian-like, how the tips of your fingers used to turn in the now-cold bath. He was right– it had been years. This death doesn't feel much different. Just slower. You had been doing better before Tommy left to check the perimeters and outward land of Jackson. They didn’t know that no one would be following you. Or looking for you… needing you. Praying for you.

Joel thinks a lot about the comfort-glaze of your eyes whenever you saw Tommy that day like you’d been happy that he was there to see you off, hold your hand as you looked into the sky and deflate into the ground. He thinks about how you’d probably rather have him here, now.

Maybe that’s what you write in your notebook, still sitting in the chair, but this time with your face turned towards your lap, completely lost under the lamp every night around 10:37.

Maybe that's what is feeding into his mood.

You would have already been in that bath if Tommy were to ask you, rather than Joel. He thinks about how Tommy’s eyes lit up when he first looked into yours, hazel. Gaze flashing as if in recognition of an importance. Joel could see a hint of the brother he once knew, before his world ended. Before all of your worlds ended. He knew in that moment that something shifted for the both of you, but for Joel, it felt like drowning.

He looked at you and he saw the torn, soft skin of a small animal. He didn’t know that the damage was on the inside. 

Joel resented the way he was drawn to you, it made him viscerally angry at himself. He was angry at how calling you baby had been so easy, the way he felt his cock thicken at the sound of your grunt in agreement. Or the smell of you, even though you hadn’t bathed in god knows how fucking long. He pretended it was the drugs, but it wasn’t. These were his secrets and the web was already intertwining with itself. He almost feels like if he were to tug on it now, even more shit would fall out, come unstuck and drag him into the ground to a place where he’s surprised he isn't lying already. 

How can you hide such a carnal want? He’s unfamiliar with the feeling. Uncomfortable with it. 

What would they say? Would Tess say? “One more pussy for you to fuck, Joel? This time it's new and fresh, betcha could teach her a thing or two, huh?” Tess had always been the jealous type, Joel clocked it the first week they met. She hid it well, but you can’t hide from someone who recognizes something in you, because they recognize it in themselves, too. Joel and Tess, Tess and Joel. The town knew there was something happening between the two of them, but no one said anything. They knew Joel was her loyal guard dog.  They knew not to disturb Mr. Miller's peace. He was a kind enough man, besides that.

He was hoping for anything other than to hear the question, "You think you can save this one, too?" He knew that he couldn't. He couldn't promise your safety. However, he could sense that you were in need of it. Perhaps not obviously at first glance; you appeared tough on the surface, but there was something in your eyes that begged him, “Release me. Let me rest.” Something calling his name. He was hearing it now, in the cadence of your voice, whispering around his head as he stopped himself from touching you. 

He knew that they, you, would get him in trouble if he didn’t stop it and try to pawn it off to someone else before it (his desire) got too bad. “Hey, look, she’s with him, not me. Now let me sit and stutter into the darkness while you take the only thing that has made you feel an inch of something in the past month.”

They would chain him up if he ever admitted the level of his desires. Embarrassed at the way he was already entirely attached to you. Something about, “I almost killed you, but let me be the savior. Love me enough to let me swallow you whole,” probably wouldn’t sit too well. 

“Joel?” you questioned, slow and small. 

His skin rises instantly, stunned by your sound and the touch of your body. “What did you–?” he softly shhh’s you because suddenly, the way your body hums into his when you speak is too much. Your hand continues to fall slowly against the thicker hair near his jaw, ghosting over unsaid words and lips. His breathing was becoming too heavy for someone who was just there to be a savior. 

“Gettin’ clean feels good,” his heavy thumbs pinching deeper into skin, voice far away and muffled under yearning, drowning, “don’t it, pretty?” 

You let your arms hit the water, too tired and blissed out to hold them up longer. He chuckled and it rang through every inch of your nude being. The water splashed, and the roundness of Joel’s lower belly retracted quickly from your back, startled by the closeness of your body. You hadn’t felt it before, his whole self pressed firmly against you. The thickness of it. Your thighs oozed over his lap, completely covering him. Your feet ended at almost his mid-leg. He stretched further out in the bath ahead of you. 

Joel didn’t need a verbal response from you. Knew you couldn’t give him one anyway. He knew that he should, that’s the right way to go about this. But he had just carried you over his lap for a week, bleeding out on him, screaming. He would help you relieve yourself, too, when needed. Couldn’t pee by yourself the first couple of days. Didn’t bother him much, not after what he’d seen. He’s had much worse cross his hands. He knew the whole ride back that if you were conscious enough to know that you were still alive, you’d be embarrassed to hell that he would help you off the horse, pull your pants down, and hold you. He couldn’t understand why that had shuffled something inside of him. The point is, he’s seen it all anyway. All of you, physically at least. Now he was simply just helping you out some more. Until you could tell him to stop. It's the least he could do if he really did shoot her.

He watched as they pulled the bullet out of your side, Tommy pale-faced in the corner, shrinking. 

Joel knew you were out from the pain meds they had stuck into your veins, but that wasn’t a good enough promise that you would sit still through it, that it would be painless. 

When you hold more weight, you need a little more. 

He slipped you a little something extra before all the men got there that night to see and help. Your body was lying on his kitchen table, sweating and tired, dying. But you– you were asleep with a soft smile on your lips. He held you still, just just in case, hands pushed down into your cushioned stomach. The other was around your wrists, positioned just above your head so that the ‘doctors’ had room to move freely around your side. It was hard not to stare at a body that looked well-fed and healthy, in a world like this. Your breasts were moving softly with every movement of your body from other hands. Your hair under your arms was dark and visible in the way he was holding your hands above your head.

No one dared speak upon your body with Joel around, especially since he was the one that dragged you in here, meaning you were his property, Miller property, now. 

-

TOMMY looked away upon entering, watching Joel retreat from where he was whispering into your ear. He could hear the bass of his brother's voice, slowly echoing in the hallway. He would pretend, for the sake of his sanity, that he didn’t know exactly what was happening before witnessing it. Especially after Joel had mentioned a couple of times that you seemed closer to his age, meaning keep an eye on this one, brother. “She’d probably like ya more anyway, younger n’ more capable. Bigger name in Jackson, too.” This coming from the mouth of a man who even went as far as to say, “Coulda’ made a good wife,” three hours after shooting her.

People all deal with things differently, he guesses.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he secretly craved something that his big brother was dangling in front of him, knowing that somehow he had the advantage. But then Tommy felt guilty thinking that way. Joel had been through so much and lost too many people for Tommy to get in the way of whatever look took over your body as you sat against his chest, halfway immersed in water and looking up into Joel’s face. You looked more peaceful now than you have at any moment since stepping into this house.

“Come and try to get her, Tommy.” 

But of course, he won’t show that he yearns for you, too. It feels wrong. That Joel was the one to kill you but you were staying with him; that he was your primary safekeeper and healer. You were sitting on his lap, nipples hard and body at attention, peacefully asleep with your cheek pushed up against the hair on Joel's chest, resting in the arms of the man who nearly succeeded at killing you. 

If he were to say anything else, it would be, “I know you fucking drugged her, Joel. N’ you didn’t even give her a choice.” But he didn’t want to wake a sleeping bear, not right now. Not when you looked so peaceful and pain-free for the first time since they grabbed the world from underneath your feet. Not when the very thing Tommy could not stop thinking about was lying on the bear’s chest. 

-

YOU can feel yourself between your legs. It’s the kind of absentee pulse that you almost want to stop, but it feels too good. Light fingertips brushing the hair on the back of your neck. Like that of knowing a lightning storm is crawling its way across the night sky. Or hearing the neighbor roll their trash can down their road, unable to tell if it’s thunder or an earthquake in its deep humming, only to be relieved that it is in fact another human existing in close proximity to you. Although not something that you remember too well now, just the feeling. It’s surprising and suspenseful at the same moment. It’s love and then what comes after. 

There’s always an after. 

Then you feel the drip running from right inside of you into the hot water, against the fluttering of your thickening lips. 

Please. Kiss me here. Hard, hurtful, and sinful. Strip me to my bones and then use them as your toys. Then tell me I’m a good girl and run your hands through my hair. Tell me I fought good and hard and then let me lie here for a while. 

Chanting like a prayer. 

You remember the smell of his lap, much different than the smell of his neck, but still devastatingly carnal. You cradled into the warmth of his neck; in the burn of his embrace and you sat there, teetering between consciousness and the bliss of finally being held. You had always been afraid that you would leave the world and not even be able to wrap your own arms around you. But someone was holding you before the ground will be—  forever. This didn’t feel like dying through. 

This felt like something else. Similar, but different. 

You sat on top of Joel’s lap in the bath for at least an hour, resting your head on his shoulder, turning and resting it against his chest, too. They both washed you, silently eating you up. Tommy stood outside of the bath, combing your hair after Joel ran his gruff hands through it, pawing at your scalp and rubbing the dirt (hurt) from your scalp. No one talked, everyone inside their own thoughts.

Joel was stuck thinking about the small bags of things you had lost grasp on whenever you fell (were shot). It looked like time-worn items that meant something, from before the world was this way. One is an old driver's license- your smile, happy, content, young. Your name, now repeating in Joel’s head over and over, and over and over, coating every inch of him. He still hadn’t heard it come from your lips. 

9 years ago, this all started. You, now in your mid-20s. How long had you been all alone? No one had come running to your corpse. 

They had come to the conclusion that you were doing well on your own. You weren’t skin and bones like most of them who are lucky enough to survive and find their way to Jackson. You were thick, and heavy in the most beautiful way. Heavy meant healthy, able to hunt, and useful. It meant maybe being able to carry children. It meant handfuls of skin and whispered praises. It meant more to wash, to take in, and try not to touch. It was too much for both of them. The only difference is that Joel knew he was a weak man. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he kept feeling this way. 

After they removed you from Joel’s lap, they towel dried you and you slowly became more aware of how different four large hands felt grasping at your body, taking care of you. Helping you.

An hour or so had passed and Tommy was lying in bed next to you, reading something. Joel turned the corner and leaned up against the doorframe. 

“Tommy.” There was tar in his throat, dripping down the back of his tongue and settling in his chest. He was a million pounds and his legs could no longer bear the weight of her. Of you. Of his guilt for slipping your drugs and undressing you in his bathroom. 

He looked into you, bounced off the sides of your mind, and then straight into the bed you were lying upon, sleeping so peacefully next to his brother. Tommy sees the pain in Joel's eyes, hung lower in embarrassment. 

He did this to you. He took the life of someone who had the rest of this fucked up world ahead of her. And it was a slow and painful death, too. You were someone’s daughter. It’s fucked up how the world works like that, huh? It wasn’t enough losing his own daughter- he had to kill someone else too. Does your dad, husband, or mother, feel you slipping from the world? Do they hear hushed whispers in the night of your name leaving something tongue? 

Joel stopped believing in God a long time ago. He was slipping from his grip, facing the fall, and Sarah’s last moments solidified his feet on the ground. Almost under. Still surprised it’s not under. 

“I’ll take her, Joel. In the mornin we’ll pack up some things and go back to my house.” He said softly, nodding and looking down at the ground in an unspoken, “I know.” 

It's Tommy who steps forward, taking charge and offering to care for you. He can sense his brother’s connection to you, why he wants to save you so badly. So much so that he can’t. He doesn’t trust himself for what will happen if someone else dies under his watch, because of him. Someone innocent. “I know she’s sleepin’ but can we have a moment?” Joel asks. 

Tommy doesn’t question him, he marks his page, sets down his book, and carries his body from the bed to the hallway. Joel waited a moment and assured me that you were tucked in well, warm from the bath. He sighed, one of pain. 

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was stern in the way that held back his tears. “You have to believe me,” he whispered your name, the first time it left his tongue and he wanted to say it over and over again. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that to you without askin’.” He caressed your face, watching as your body reacted to his touch, stirring, before the bed creaked with the weight of his body leaving, and then he was gone. You had heard everything, felt him leaving. The room felt entirely too empty.

The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” 

Tommy entered the room again and sank under the covers. He moved his body closer to you and you decided to bask in it, instead.

-

You wake up, unclear but clean. You don’t remember last night in great detail, or at least a few hours of it, at all. He slept peacefully despite the world’s end, cocooned in a haven his mind crafted. Your mind was far less forgiving— or maybe you still hadn’t learned how to ‘deal with it’. You always felt like everyone dealt with It better. The room lay shrouded in darkness, your thoughts raging, Joel’s words echoed in your mind, etching against the soft inside of your head, deeper with each repetition. His guilty confession and desperate plea for forgiveness replayed. But forgiveness was no longer something you believed in. The world had ended, shattered, and reassembled without remorse. You are sober now. You fall back asleep. 

Your eyes opened again to Tommy caving the bed closer to him, moving your body closer, too. You closed your eyes quickly, away from him, and pretended you hadn’t been awake and listening to the lull of his deep breathing, trying to gain your standing. You felt comforted, waking up next to his freckled shoulders. The hazy light of morning was trailing in from the window and laying out on the carpet, stretching itself in the morning confusion.

There was one thing you were absolutely-fucking-sure about, and it was that Joel Miller had drugged you, and it had secretly awakened something unknown inside of you. It tickled, but it was shoving its way up your stomach and relentless, neverending in its pursuit of something. 

Tommy Miller had saved you. At least he had put you to bed, it seems. And with him, too, rather than the one who seems to be dissolving into his own. Your hair was wet and you smelled like Joel, but you were shrouded in Tommy’s clothes. Slightly more fitting, and better kept together. 

You’d never slept in a bed with a man before. And then all of sudden there were two, interchangeably. Brothers. One that smiled above your eyes and one below. Ones that rocked the bed differently each time their body swam through the damp covers. 

You’d never taken a bath with a man either. Never had anyone's brother ever pulled your sinking body out of bathwater. You remember the inward push of the water and the hands that followed, reaching through it, pushing you forward to Tommy. 

There’s a quick assessment you’ve always done, automatically but unintentionally, “Would this one stop if I asked him to?” Most are ‘no’s. Tommy was a yes in your mind. He would put away his soft, white wings and free you from his divinity if you were to ask.  

~

He was sipping his coffee, dressed in his usual, alone at the table. He had opened the blinds he made sure three times he shut last night. The smoke billowed from the base of the cup into his face and hair, mixing with the silver tuffs. They shone against the darkness at the nape of his neck and the bottom of his chin from the emitting light. 

He looked calm sitting there, as content as a devil could. He felt you before you had even turned the corner upstairs, but he didn’t say anything. He never really did. 

That being said, you can't remember much of anything besides wondering if it was indeed your body that rustled the ground that day. It was, and then you felt a man. A few days could have been weeks, and suddenly you were sitting in a town. A word that didn’t mean too much for a long time, but it did again; sitting at the breakfast table of a man, undulating under his gaze and between the blank spaces of your memory. 

An animal caged inside itself looks for relief in any way it can. Even if the relief is a different kind of pain masked as want. It meant throwing away your expectations and doing what it took to survive. 

You intended on speaking first. Rather, you reached the bottom of the stairs and tucked Tommy’s red flannel across your sparsely clothed body, and suddenly heard, “Shouldn’t be half-naked when Ellie’s here. She’s a kid.”

He didn’t even take the time to move his attention away from his coffee cup. That would be too much effort given to you. You ignored him, wanting to scream, “Was she here last night when you played with me like I was your little fucking doll?” You didn’t give him what he wanted, but still hoping he would give you what you did. 

You had watched the back of your eyelids dance with the small red and green dots for two more hours before getting up, willing remembrance. And oh, did it come.

“Got any more of those?”

“Of what?” He spat, eyebrows lowering in pretend interest in his hot coffee again… into his fuming lap. He knew exactly what the fuck you were talking about. How dare he take advantage of you and then throw it to the side like nothing happened. He was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he got high and took you with him. 

“This is feeling’ a lot different than last night. Those little round things that kept me pliant an’ dead enough for you to press yourself into my naked body? – Joel, do you think I’m not payin’ any fuckin’ attention? The second I tasted the salt on your fingertips, I knew it was you shovin’ pills down my throat. I knew it. And the way you were talking to me, calling me babygirl and sweetheart? Then I didn’t know anything, for a while. Not really. But Tommy,” you were raising your voice now, “Tommy was there too, then I woke up in his bed with his clothes on instead of yours— just tell me what the fuck happened Joel!”  

“Lower your voice, right now.” He was pointing at you, and his body moved closer to yours. “You… you wanted it Bunny,” He growled, “You practically drooled across my palm.” He sighed, gathered the lies from his web, and prepared them. He had already prepared his own cocoon, years ago.

He hadn't been the only one whose high wore off far too early in the night. 

“You didn’t say you didn’t want ‘em and—“ 

Then you spoke above the sentence he was starting to dig deeper into the ground, to his surprise, in a softer tone. One that had a hint of sweetness to it, of want. 

“Sweethear–”

“Do it again. Felt good.”

You liked it. Wasn’t the only thing he wanted to shove down your throat, either. No, no, no. Shaking the thought from his head. 

He removed his eyes from the creases in the wood floor and sewed them into your gaze instead, eyebrows cresting. He wanted to make sure he heard you right. He wanted to hear you repeat it.

“Say that again?”

“Said feels good when you touch me like that. When I’m melting into your flesh and sinking down your bones. That’s what the water felt like. First, it felt like fire, perfect for a Devil, and then it felt like a calm warmth. Then your hands were touchin’ me and, no one has ever touched–

a pause, “like—“

“No one has ever touched you, bunny?”

“No, Joel. And I hate you so much for making me feel this way. For showing me something I can’t continue to have because it’s wrong and, for being so sweet to me and then eating me up like I'm a burden because you couldn't just fucking kill me when you had the chance... and…I can barely even fucking walk. I am in so much pain but you took it away for a while last night. You took everything bad away. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Hate me, huh? Thas’a strong word for someone who is depending on me, wanting more.” Good. This is how it needed to be. He needed to take care of Ellie, himself now. He promised her that he would.

“Depending on you? Sorry, I forgot we hadn’t got to that part of the conversation yet, past the one where you drugged me. You dropped me into your brother's arms as of last night, didn’t you? I remember it, you musta popped one too many, huh?”

Your attitude and his lack of sleep were making it easier to will the words off the end of his tongue. 

“He seemed better suited for someone…” he looked you up and down, “like yourself.” 

You didn’t have anything to say to that, and he was immediately sorry after speaking about it. 

“For being such a big bad man in this town, you don’t have your fucking shit together,” returning the look he gave you, “do you?”

You were out of breath, releasing too much of yourself into his anger, knees weak and side-splitting in pain. You weren’t going to tell him that you were awake when he begged for your forgiveness. That you heard every word he whispered and repeated it back to yourself as if it was a passage pulled right from the pen-marked Bible your dad used to shove into your hands nightly. 

He thought you had been listening to everyone talking, in the mess hall and whatever drama Ellie had brought home. Maybe even Tommy had told you about the real Joel. The real Joel will tear you apart. 

You sat down on the sunken chestnut couch and the pillows lifted more of his smell into your space, settling and trying to get comfortable. You both remained silent, stung. It made you even more mad that he had the ability to stick straight into your anger like that. So you wished for a way to really hurt him like you were some kind of child.

You weren’t done yet. You were angry. So fucking angry at everything you have endured. And he was standing there, pity and disgust in his eyes–but he was looking, seeing… listening. 

“Tess.” Her name stung like the sound it ended with, for a reason you didn’t know, but inherently felt after last night. The hurt that flashed into his dark pupils spread through the tightness in his jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin-”

“Oh. Shut. Up. Joel. Heard ‘er talking to Tommy last night. Came knocking on the door around 1:30 am, asking for you. Tommy went to your room and you weren’t in there. Went back downstairs and said he couldn't find you, seen you only a couple of hours ago. She was throwing her hands against the door like it was hers to tear down. Guess she didn’t know I wasn’t with you,” you took a deep breath, trying to relieve the pain so you could continue, “Have you seen him? N’ that girl? Tommy, she's a fucking kid. Ain't right for him.” You mimicked her concern. You knew immediately who she was asking for. “Maybe I should go ask Tess if she would give me a few, she seems like she’d like to know what’s going on.” 

His jaw was flexing, his eyes burrowing into you, biting the inside of his lip. You continued, 

“Feels’good being numb for a’while. I’m always fanning off another fire but it always finds the loose thread and kisses it ablaze anyway. This feels like sinking... like I don’t have to fight anymore.”

His deep breath stifled the fire on his chest.

“Know it’s good,” his tone falling deep, low, and warning, “But you don’t need anymore.”

“Don’t I? You were the one who fucking shot me. The least you could do is slip me some pills. I’m in pain, Joel. I’m hurting.” He knew that you weren’t just talking about the wound in your side, that he put it there with his own split metal. He wanted to take that hurt away, get you curled up tight against him and high, painless, protected yet free– from a world you were too young to be living in alone. But how could he protect you from even himself?

He didn't even save her. Nothing has changed now besides the fact he finds it harder and harder to get out of bed every day. That he’s running low on whiskey and that's what keeps the bear inside. The pills keep it sedated. How could he admit that he was not fit to be your protector, and the only other person in town who it could be, was Tommy?

That's why today was the last day you'd be slamming down his stairs. Your footsteps were a reminder that the hurt animal had made its way into his house. A reminder that he was the one who hurt it.“‘M not given’ you anymore. So don’t open your mouth about it again. Got it?"

As always, please let me know if I missed any warnings / want me to add you to the taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @faggotinie @justlulu

[rocksaltandmountainash]

Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 29

Chapter summary: all work and no play would make kara boring. peter is there to ensure that doesn't happen. set between Teen Wolf seasons 3b and 4, and Supernatural seasons 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count:  3.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, smut, peter hale being incredibly attractive and nice, which definitely requires a warning. Gif sources:  Peter 1 | Peter 2

Utah:

Peter scratches his nails through your scalp, eliciting a contented sigh from you as you recline against him. You’re all kinds of relaxed, leaning back on his chest and resting your hands on his bent knees, savoring the moment as you come down from your high. He’s just given you a good-morning orgasm and if he wasn’t sitting behind you, propping your body up, you could collapse and melt into the bed. 

Almost. If not for one question that’s pin balling round your head.

“Peter?”

“Mmm.”

“You know that…. Wh- when you…ah fuck, never mind.”

He stops playing with your hair to peer down at you, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

He swiftly wraps hands around your waist and shifts you so you’re facing him, draping your thighs over his own, “Tell me.”

Suddenly keenly interested in inspecting the veins running down his forearm, he has to lay a palm on your cheek to get you to look at him. 

“Just…that thing you say -”

“We say a lot of things.” 

You smile shyly at that, couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to, because Peter is vocal and descriptive in bed and he makes you loud. Part of you thinks he does it on purpose, like he’s hoping if you get enough noise complaints at one Motel 6, you’ll be banned from them all and he won’t have to lower himself to your standards anymore.

“You know which thing I mean.” 

Peter genuinely has to wrack his brains to figure out what you’re talking about and grins when the penny drops on the word that makes you croon beneath him, throwing your body higher toward ruination in an instant. 

“Oh - you mean ‘Daddy’?” he smirks before continuing, “I thought you liked that?”

“I do! But…it doesn’t weird you out?” averting your gaze, your eyes drill a hole in the wall behind him. Tell me you don’t think I’m a freak.

“Why would it?”

“Because you’re someone’s actual father.”

Peter draws in a weighty breath, staring at you intently. He didn’t realize you knew about that, and guesses your source at the same time you break and admit;

“Stiles?”

“Stiles.”

The sound of shared laughter pierces straight through your embarrassment.

“You know they’re dating, right?”

“Yes, thank you - I’m aware,” he says curtly. 

It bugs him; Malia with the sarcastic boy who not too long ago was flinging chaos around Beacon Hills - though he knows it’s not his prerogative, his place to be worrying about her.

“For one thing,” Peter lifts his fingers to list off reasons, “I only found out about Malia recently. I didn’t raise her, and she has never called me that.” 

It makes sense. You know that blood doesn’t necessarily mean family. As much as you came to adore Bobby, all his bumbling affections couldn’t turn back the clock and make it like you’d known him your whole life, like he’d parented you.

“Also, it’s…” his eyes drift, recalling each yes daddy, daddy please, fuck daddy, you’ve ever uttered, “Exquisite - so you better not stop.”

He grins when you relax, “And third, you started it.”

“What? No, I didn’t!” 

“You did.”

“When?” you demand.

He thinks back, pinpoints the beginning, “Colorado - when we sorted that nest.”

“Oh…whoops.” 

You don’t remember, would have sworn it was Peter who said it first, which only proves how corrupting he can be, how far gone you are. With your fears mollified, you scoot closer and push on his chest to force him down to the pillows.

“Does Stiles know about me?”

“Pretty sure you’ve met him - several times,” you tease, grabbing a condom from the box on the nightstand. 

Peter rips the foil packet open with his teeth. “Come on, you don’t gossip about me?”

“God no! Much as I love the kid, I’m not sharing details of my sex life with a seventeen-year-old.” 

Impatiently, you wait as Peter carefully rolls the condom down before positioning yourself above him.

“Fair enough…mmmm,” he sighs as you glide over his length. “What about Weiner boy?”

That would be worse than Stiles - technically Samandriel’s probably thousands of years old, but he looks eleven, so the thought makes you cringe.

“Nah, he’s mad at me.” 

“Why?”

“I have an idea. He thinks it’s dumb.”

The sensation of Peter’s hands squeezing your waist, exerting control over your motions, gets you worked up, primed for another round. How he studies your every move floods you with want, causing your cheeks to flush as you grind.

“What’s the idea?”

“Not telling.” 

“Why?”

“It might actually be dumb…shit…” 

Peter sits up, the head of his cock tapping against your entrance, 

“Can you just shut up now?” you whine.

“Depends,” he smiles into your neck, gripping the base of his cock, “You gonna keep saying it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Finally, he tilts his hips and lets you sink down onto him.

****

Arizona:

You decide you deserve a night off. The day hasn’t been particularly taxing, just a couple of hours wandering through the mall to replenish your shower stuff and skin care.

You even got a trim, a few inches of split ends taken care of before feeding quarters into a massage chair and licking cinnamon sugar from your fingers after a warm pretzel, reluctant to venture out of the air conditioning back into the humidity.

After such a peaceful day of research and retail therapy, you simply can’t face the thought of hunting, want to chill, be normal for a change. So now you’re wolfing down a burrito while you watch A-Team reruns and text Peter. He’s arriving tomorrow, and you’ve been thinking about him all week. 

Luckily, the limited amount of sex you’d had in the past hadn’t been bad, per se, maybe just a little disappointing. Bland. Boring. Not that you’d known at the time.

Chris was your introduction to multiple orgasms and dirty words falling from your mouth and all kinds of things you’d wanted but never tried. The discoveries you’d made about yourself, the way he monopolised your mind for a bit there, had felt like more than only sex. All intertwined with wanting to be his - you liked it when he called you pretty as he came and held your hand after, loved how he snuck kisses away from the bedroom. 

But that’s all it - all Chris - can be now; a memory. Had to try to forget, the good parts and the bad. Clear out the image of his hand wrapped around a gun, pointed at Stiles. Push down the humiliating way you’d tried to fuck him after Allison, how kindly he’d denied you, barely touched you after that night. Until he left and kissed you goodbye at the airport.

Forced to choose one thing to lock away in your mind forever? 

You wouldn’t be able to decide between the miss you and you’ve got this and trust your instincts or the heat of his breath on the shell of your ear moaning your name and groaning shit baby, just there and mmm, that’s it.

Peter, on the other hand, is your first experience of fucking like it’s sport, or a competition, something to excel at. Of giving yourself over to someone and letting them use you as they please.  He calls you things you never would allow outside the walls of cheap motel rooms, things you probably shouldn’t enjoy - slut and whore. But always daddy’s slut and my perfect little whore. 

It’s disgusting, and it’s worrying and it’s perverse, except...it really isn’t. It’s fucking hot.

No stake in each other, no claims, just teasing and playing games and then going your separate ways. It’s purely physical, neither of you have feelings, you’re merely another of each other’s bad habits, like how smoking tastes so right when you’re drinking.

Regardless of what this thing with Peter is, it’s undeniably fun and you want to keep it. You’re even beginning to feel relieved you’re so completely alone, because you don’t want to defend your desires, just want to follow them down the rabbit hole. Why not have some light to look forward to when everything else is so dark? 

Wiping your hands, you laugh at his response to your text saying you’re headed for a shower.

Pics?? 🙏

You tell him to piss off and stand waiting for the water to warm up with your phone in your hand.

Go clean up, doll. Tomorrow you’ll be filthy. Sleep well x

****

Oregon:

A month later, and you’ve got a fairly stable routine going, taking tentative steps back into the real world. It’s an after effect of running away or being left behind that you become adept at rebuilding. You’ve done it before, even find some comfort in sowing the seedlings of a new life.

You work during the week, mostly straightforward cases, make time for Samandriel even though neither of you have anything resembling news, and do a reasonable job of being nice to him. 

Peter usually arrives on Fridays - grabbing you up as soon as you open the door, always ready and always with some snarky remark about your lodgings. 

“Is there any hovel you won’t stay in?”

“‘Dunno, any mirror you don’t stop in front of?

Tonight, though, you’re alone. Kicking open a flimsy bathroom door and slamming on the light switch, leaving a trail of blood across the wall and knocking the hairdryer out of its cradle. Panting hard and mumbling to yourself, you take off your jacket and cut your t-shirt up the middle so you can peel it away.

One glance at the gash that starts at your shoulder blade and runs all the way round your left side has your throat filling with acid. You slip your arms through your bra straps, unclip it and drop it at your feet before you lay out supplies across the counter and steel yourself.

“Shit.” 

Much worse than you’d thought. 

You’d only tracked two demons sneaking in and out of the abandoned mill. Nothing you couldn’t handle on your own. After climbing in through a basement entrance, there were three more waiting. During the fight that ensued, you lost your footing and landed on something sharp. In your hustle to get back up, you’d twisted without thinking, howling as your flesh tore open. 

With the stress and the fever pitch of your anger, you were able to clumsily dispatch the last demon before you staggered back to your car, which was hidden behind the tree line a mile down the road. Not your finest work. Wasn’t until you were a few blocks from your motel that you started to feel the pain.

You feel sick as you un-spool thread with trembling hands. Feel so fucking stupid as you poke into the skin under your breast, watching your progress in the mirror, so you can pretend it’s not your body that’s carved and leaking blood.

Realizing there’s no chance you’ll be able to reach around to patch up the entire wound, you let the needle hang useless and pull your phone from your jeans pocket. 

Don’t want to ask for his help but you’re out of options; the cut is still dripping and you’re chilly and tired and he’s closer than anyone else.

“Fuck.” you watch a fat red line dribble down your abdomen as your finger hovers over the contact. You hit the call button before you change your mind.

When it clicks over to voicemail, you turn and slide down the cabinet, wanting to cry at the automated voicemail greeting.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m in Oregon…can you…”

Suddenly you panic. He won’t come. Why the hell would he? You barely talk when he visits. All your questions seem to annoy him, so you just bang the weekend away - hardly what you’d call friendship, and probably not worthy of a favour.

“Can you come fuck me right now?”

The only ace up your sleeve to guarantee he’ll show up. 

“Sweet Home Inn, Highway 20, Room 7.” you speak fast, closing your eyes and pulling your jacket to wrap it around yourself.

Peter parks next to your beaten up car, smiling to himself and brimming with smugness as he retrieves his overnight bag from the passenger seat. 

It’s only Wednesday and you’ve called to beg. This is going well. 

He raps his knuckles on the door, playing out in his mind how the night will go, what new thing you might be up for trying this week. Then there’s an unmistakable scent in the air and he barges in to find you slumped against the bathroom cabinet. 

You’re out cold, topless except for your jacket thrown up over your shoulders. Could be mistaken for asleep, if not for the puddle of stained red clothes next to you, if your skin didn’t look ashen, gray under the singular lightbulb. 

He moves your jacket aside and sees what he’d smelt - long, dried rivulets down your stomach. 

Peter scoops you up and takes you to the bed, happy to hear you groan but unhappy you’re not waking. He presses a towel to your torso, because moving you caused fresh streams.

so much blood

Deaton doesn’t answer Peter’s call, and he fights the impulse to throw his phone across the room, electing instead to glower at your side, as if his angry look alone might staunch the flow.

too much blood

He calls Derek, who thankfully picks up.

“What?”

“I need you to go to Deaton’s.”

Peter can feel Derek rolling his eyes at him through the phone.

“Why? Pet-”

“Kara’s hurt. She needs a Doctor.”

****

People are arguing. 

“She should be in the hospital.”

“Keep your voice down.” 

They’re quieter now, “If she wanted to go, she would have.”

“Fine. Get her a tetanus shot, at least. And look out for signs of infection.”

“Fine,” Peter is equally snarky, “Here.”

He hands the man wearing glasses a wad of cash and bundles him out the door.

You watch it occur from one opened eye, wondering briefly who that man is and who they’re talking about before you fall back asleep.

****

Night comes and Peter wakes you, gently running his palm up and down your arm until you stir.

“Hey. You came?” you’re groggy and sore and more than a little shocked.

“You called,” he tucks your hair behind your ears, unsettlingly relieved to hear you speak, “Who did this, Kara?”

“Huh? No one…” you scramble for something that will stop the chilly steel in his voice from overflowing, because he’s here now and you don’t want him to leave, “I….slipped.”

You change the subject, wriggling your arms out from the sheets, “Who was that guy?”

“Some doc Deaton recommended. Stitched you up. Said you made a good start.”

Peering under the blankets, you look over the cleaned up wound, take in the line of sutures - much tidier than you would have achieved.

“I tried.” you admit, embarrassed by your efforts, and squirming under the soft smile he’s aiming your way.

“What do you need?”

Closing your eyes, you stretch your legs, careful not to move your body too much.

“I’m starving. Diner?”

“No, you need proper food.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s disapproval. True, you’ve been subsisting on a steady diet of scrambled eggs, takeout, and protein shakes. Though in your defense, the drinks are loaded with vitamins, taste like chocolate milk and are the easiest way to stay full during your long drives.

He swats at your leg, “C’mon - get your ass up.”

“Eggs are healthy,” you mumble under your breath as you slowly get off the bed to wrap a bandage around yourself.

“They’re probably powdered.” Peter tells you, helping you get your bra clasped and pull a shirt on.

“Waffle House would never!” you protest, swaying as you let him do your buttons.

“There,” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, “You’re ready.”

****

The restaurant Peter takes you to is fancy, as expected. What’s unexpected is that the hostess let you in.

Must be a slow night, or he laid out a hefty tip or - there it is. You realize Peter has disarmed her with all his handsome and charm when she grazes her hand over his back while taking his coat, and looks solely at him as she lists the specials.

“It’s like I’m not even here.” you tease after she’s gone.

“Jealous?”

“Definitely…. think she’ll take my number?”

Peter peruses the wine list as you read the menu, frowning at the prices.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Get whatever you feel like. My treat.”

“You sure? I didn’t bring my wallet.”

He pulls the menu away from your face, “It’s just dinner. I’m not giving you an organ.”

“You’d love to give me an ‘organ’”

Groaning at your terrible joke, he opens his mouth to say something obscene when the hostess returns, beaming at him.

He orders, then directs her attention to you, “What do you want, darling?”

“I’ll get the eye fillet, please.”

“Sides?” she’s a touch less friendly now.

“Green beans, and mashed potatoes, and…mushrooms.”

Peter grins at your appetite and you shrug, too hungry to care about politeness and if he’s buying, you’re eating.

“Drink?” 

Now she sounds downright snippy and you can’t look at Peter in case you laugh.

“Just whatever he’s having.”

You hand back the menu and glare at Peter, waiting till she’s out of earshot to scold him, “Why’d you say that? She’s gonna fuck with my food!”

“She wouldn’t dare.” 

Your phone vibrates against your ass and you squeak before you pull it out of your pocket and read the screen, remarking on the coincidence -

“It’s Derek.” 

“Ah.”

You raise your eyebrows that he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I called him. I was trying to get hold of Deaton. Derek went and found him.”

Peter tries not to let it get to him when you mutter shit before hitting ‘answer’.

“Hey, one sec.” you tell Derek, holding the phone against your chest while you get up from the booth.

“I’ll be quick,” you promise Peter, “Check my food for broken glass please?” 

You drop a peek on his cheek as you pass, leaving him smiling. Outside, you pace the block as you bring the phone up to your ear.

“Hi.”

Derek doesn’t bother with a hello, “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine. How are you?” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just a cut. All sewn up.” You pretend that’s all he’s talking about.

“That’s not - why is he there?”

“He’s…we’re…”

Screwing each other senseless? Pals? 

“I called him.”

“Kara, he’s not what you think.”

“And what is it I think, Derek?” you ask, working hard to keep your voice on an even keel.

“I mean…he’s not a good guy.”

He’s probably right, you should heed his warning, but you look through the window and see Peter sip his wine without a care in the world. He’s just him, he’s here, and you’re not particularly good either. 

“I can handle Peter.” you laugh off Derek’s worries, “Okay?”

You hear him exhale… ”Okay.”

****

Peter stays an extra few days, helping you out while you recuperate. He refuses to let you do anything for yourself, bringing you coffee and food in bed, fetching your laptop when you’re fed up with reality TV, lingering outside the bathroom door while you shower. 

He’s kind and attentive and you wonder if it’s because he feels guilty. He should. You’re frustrated, borderline hostile, because Peter’s been ignoring you.

Tipsy from the drinks you had downed, drunk on how he’d taken your hand and shot the hostess a pointed stare, you pawed greedily at him in the car on the way back from dinner. 

“Peter? Can I?”

He tuts, shaking his head as he peels your hand off his thigh, “No, you’ve been bad - running off, getting hurt.”

You huffed and sulked, then your hand snaked back toward him. “Please….Daddy?”

He couldn’t refuse, with your voice needy and your fingers running across the pronounced bulge in his trousers.

“Need it that bad?”

He smirks as you nod eagerly and pretends to be annoyed, “Go ahead, doll.”

Made it back without crashing, locked the door behind you, and almost got him right where you needed him. Peter could always fuck you dumb, bury himself deep in a way that had your vision blurring and stopped your mind from spiraling. 

So, you braced for the pressure that would drive away your shame at messing up and having to resort to calling him to rescue you. 

He looked down, saw your eyes squeezed tight shut and quickly put an end to it. Making a barrier of pillows between you, he told you to quit bitching and rest.

By the end of the week, you’re climbing the walls, itching to leave. Had grown accustomed to being alone, to uninterrupted days spent with only your own thoughts, so it’s strange to share your space with someone for such a length of time. And if he won’t fuck you, what’s the point?

“It looks good,” Peter says, inspecting the cut as you lie on your side, arm thrown up over your head and clutching a sheet against your front. 

You’re healing fast, not as fast as he would, obviously, but he’s pleased with your progress.

“Good enough to get outta here?” you ask, dropping your arm.

“Wait…” Peter pulls your arm back where it was, “I’m fixing you.”

He focuses on arranging three rectangles of gauze in a line and taping them down carefully as you huff out a sigh, not sure which is worse - the ache of your injury or the one between your legs. 

“Done.” 

You tug a t-shirt over your head and start clearing up the trash, but Peter smacks your hand away.

“I got it.” he sits next to you and repacks the first aid kit, “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

You glance toward your open notebook, “Mmm. Maybe Chicago?”

“What’s this?” he stands and picks it up, flipping through the pages, “See the Empire State Building? Faulkner Books, Jackson Square?”

“Hey! Give it back.” 

Leaping off the bed, you grab for the book, but Peter spins and continues to read, 

“Ride a horse? Kara, there are horses in Oregon.”

“Not the point, you dick.”

“Are you…” he turns to face you, “Are you scared of horses?”

“The average horse weighs 500kgs.” 

Peter laughs.

“Shut up!” you try again to get it out of his grasp, wincing as you reach up.

“Sorry, here.” Peter hands it over immediately when he sees your pain, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” annoyed you lift your shirt to show him your side, “See? No blood.”

Peter’s gaze travels along your body, taking in the littered bruises in various hues of yellow and purple, and the small cuts and scabs of pink that dot your skin.

“Darach?” he whispers, eyeing older scars that have faded to an almost translucent silver. 

Nodding and realizing he’s staring, you drop your shirt, self-conscious under his burning scrutiny. 

You’re not hideous, but you don’t think you’re beautiful either. Hated feeling frail or weak, so are proud of your hard earned muscles, years of a strict training schedule giving you strength where you wanted it. A decent rack, curvy enough to like the way you look in jeans - but that was in clothes, covered. Without layers is a different story, an ugly one.

“Don’t.” 

Peter moves your hand away from your hem, tracing his fingertips gently across your skin. His other hand reaching around the nape of your neck to bring you close,

“Scars mean you survived.”

[deanscherrypie420]

Demons Blood - Part 2

A/N : Hi guys! I literally forced myself to write this because I WANTED TO WRITE but I woke up like.. twenty minutes ago.. ermmm.. ANYWHO, I hope you enjoy! I recommend reading PT1 before PT2

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Y/N, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Warnings: Angst, arguing, physical fights, supernatural hunting, over-consumption of alcohol, drinking, crying, suggestive dialogue, demons, blood, scarring, insecure about weight, SH reference. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: You were born a demon. You never found out why, but you have demon blood in your veins. Your father left when you were young and you've lived with Bobby ever since. Now, the Winchesters are living with you and Bobby and you hate it. You being and demon is the only thing Dean knows about you, and you and him can't stop fighting. Thankfully, Sam and Castiel are your safe place..

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

It had been weeks since Dean slapped her. Now, they pretty much ignored each other, not wanting to start anything in front of Bobby. She would still bring it up sometimes, finally getting payback for the torment Dean has put her through.

"C'mon, Sammy, it's not like I'm hurting him. He deserves it and you know it." She whined. She didn't understand why Sam was so hell bent on her and Dean getting along. "He's my brother, and you're like my sister! You two should really just.. I don't know, maybe stop being stubborn and apologize to each other?" Sam suggested cautiously.

She groaned and kicked him off her bed. Truthfully, just rolled with the kick and she knew that. "Stop defending him, Sam! He's an asshole and I hate him, and I'm starting to hate you right now. Get out." She huffed as she gestured to her door. He got up off the floor and walked to the door. "I'm just saying, maybe you two could be friends." He prodded with his signature puppy-dog look. "Get out." She demanded back, and he obeyed with a sigh.

A little bit later she left her room and went to the kitchen. She grabbed her water bottle and filled it with ice, the cold crystals clinking as they fell into the metal stomach. Dean came around the corner and watched her for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she turned towards him, an immediate frown appearing on her face.

"What do you want?" She questioned. He rubbed the back of his neck and walked over to her. She stepped back and gave him a look that clearly translated back the fuck up or I will kill you. He did so and leaned against the kitchen table. "I just wanted to see how you're doing, I guess." She rolled her eyes at his statement. So annoying, she thought.

"I'm doing great actually. Life's been good knowing I'm not the only monster under this roof." She remarked casually as she filled up her water. He jaw ticked and he glared down at her. "Can you drop it already? I don't get what the fuck your issue is with me."

Her brows raised and she scoffed, her eyes wide as if what he just said was fucking hilarious. "You don't get my issue? God! You are so pathetic, Winchester!" She shook her head, utter rage bubbling up in her stomach.

Fortunately for Dean, Bobby and Sam came in just in time to prevent the conversation from going further. "You guys wanna go out and get some food? There's a diner nearby." Sam said, knowing exactly what he walked in on.

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

At the diner Y/N was chatting with a guy, making small talk by the bar. Dean couldn't stop staring. He didn't know why, he hates her. But damn, watching her sit there with that glowing smile.. He wished it was him.

Suddenly, Sam nudged his brother under the table with his foot, making Dean's knee bounce up in surprise. He slammed his leg against the underside of the old table, causing the contents on it to rattle. "Seriously, Sam? The hell is your problem?" Dean hissed. Sam just chuckled and shook his head. "Dude, you've been eyeing her for like twenty minutes." When Dean shot Sam daggers with his eyes, Sam put his hands up in surrender. "C'mon, why are you staring at her so hard?" The younger Winchester teased. "Sammy, drop it." Dean demanded as he saw you approaching the table.

Y/N nudged Sam over with her elbow and he scooted down the booth. She sighed happily and leaned her head back, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm the shit." Sam cocked a brow and tilted his head, "How so?" Dean interrupted the brief conversation when he cleared his throat.

"That guy seemed like an ass." He muttered before a sip of beer. Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes back, not bothering to respond to him. Dean just chuckled, "That was hot." He said casually, and her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?-" She started, but Sam cut her off. "Dean, seriously?" Sam said with an eye roll of his own. He gestured to the side with one of hands, "Porn," he began, now moving his hands to the other side, "Real life. There's a difference."

Bobby had come back from the bathroom now and laughed as he heard their conversation. Y/N just sat there, feeling a pleasant sense of comfort at all of them being together, even if she didn't like Dean.

Maybe she liked him a little more than she let on.

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

"Jesus Christ, it smells awful in here." She murmured, covering her nose with her wrist as she stepped over a mysterious liquid. Sam laughed and Dean shook his head, an amused smile growing on his face. "Get used to it, Sweetheart." She didn't have to turn around to know he was grinning. Whatever, moron, she thought to herself.

They were in an old ranch. The group assumed that it was being used as a werewolf hideout. They ended up splitting up somewhere along the lines, she wasn't exactly sure when she had started going her own way, but she had a feeling she would find something. She heard something behind her and she turned around swiftly, her eyes quickly turning into black pools at the possibility of a threat. Her foot landed on a metal pool, making her slip and fall back. She tried to reach for something behind her to catch herself, but failed.

An arm quickly wrapped around her and hoisted her up right. She pushed whoever the hell grabbed her back, and then pulled out her gun. Castiel put his hands up in defense, something he saw Sam do often. Y/N let out an airy laugh, her eyes returning to normal, and pressed her gun to his chest. Not in a threatening way, but just a teasing way to push him back. "Jeez, dude. Way to scare me." Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Cas shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, something he picked up from Dean, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." He said quietly. She put her gun away and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, you're fine."

She then turned and gasped, another imaginary threat appearing in front of her. "Dammit!" She said as she realized it was just the brothers. She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the imaginary box the boys had made with their bodies. "You guys planned that." She shook her head and scoffed, still a bit startled by the double-scare.

Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze, "Relax, Y/N. You're too tense." She wiggled out of his grasp and rolled her eyes, "Shut it, moose." They both let out a laugh before Cas felt like he was missing something.

He cleared his throat and slung an arm around Y/N, copying what Sam had done, "Yeah, shut it moose." He echoed, and Sam and her burst out in laughter. Dean shook his head with a laugh, enjoying the stupidity of their humor.

After a moment of silly remarks and nonstop laughing, Sam finally announced that they should get back to the car. With a groan of compliance, Y/N and Dean agreed and began walking to the car, not realizing that Sam had pulled Cas to walk behind them.

"Hey, are we alright?" Dean asked, glancing over at her. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Dean, don't ruin my mood right now." He bit his lip and nodded. "Sorry." Dean stated quietly.

She felt air get caught in her throat as she realized what he said. That was the first time he ever apologized to her. She cleared her throat and bumped him with her arm, "Thanks. I'm gonna go walk with Sam and Cas." Dean nodded and gave a small smile.

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

When they got back to Bobby's after the case, Dean and her were at each other's throats. Sam had to deal with it on his own during the car ride because Castiel chickened out and left.

"You are such a fucking idiot, I did the right thing! You could've gotten hurt if I didn't!" Y/N screamed at Dean once they got inside. Dean slammed his hand down on the table, which made her flinch. "That son of a bitch could've killed you because you did that!"

She groaned and tossed her head back as Bobby walked in. "What's goin' on?" Bobby probed. Y/N gave him a look that could've killed, and Dean scoffed. "She put her life on the line! She used herself as bait when she knows damn well we don't let her do that any more!"

She rolled her eyes and slammed her freshly opened beer bottle down, immediately snapping back, "It was not bait! I lured the goddamn thing out so you could kill it!" Dean started walking towards her, towering down in front of her. He glanced down at her beer and took it from her hands.

"You aren't even old enough to drink yet, I don't know why we keep you around. Too immature." He growled at her. Bobby cleared his throat and leaned over the table, grabbing the bottle from Dean's hands. "Her birthday was a couple days ago, don't disrespect her like that." Bobby declared, and she laughed at Dean.

"I've been twenty-one for two days and I've been hunting since I was sixteen, don't you dare call me immature." Bobby gave her a look and her shoulders slumped, "What?" She muttered. "You were acting irrational on the hunt, you should know better than that. You keep yourself safe first, always." Bobby lectured to her and she rolled her eyes.

It was Dean's turn to laugh now, a small chuckle bellowing from his throat. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, heading straight to Sam's.

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

She was laying upside down on Sam's bed, venting about how frustrated she was to Sam and Castiel. Castiel was sitting in a black spinning chair at a desk that occupied the corner of Sam's room. He spun back and forth while listening, oddly fascinated with the way the chair moved. Sam was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, rubbing her leg in an attempt to soothe her. His head rested against the headboard and his eyes were closed as he listened to her rant.

"I don't understand how Bobby agrees with him! I was in the right! I did the right thing, I didn't even get hurt!" Sam cleared his throat at this, tilting his head down to look at her. "You got a pretty good scratch on your back. I understand that's not your point but you can't leave out details.." She hit his leg, biting her lip as she thought of what to say.

Castiel chimed in before she could think of anything. "I healed her though, and she knew I was there. I think you are correct," He said as he nodded his head towards her, "She did the best thing she could in the moment." Sam processed what he said and reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, okay. I just don't think we should hate Dean for being worried."

She laughed and moved to look over at Sam, using her elbows to hold her up. "Are you serious? I hate him for many more reasons than that." Sam shook his head and Cas shrugged.

A knock on the door took them out of their conversation. She flipped over onto her stomach, now resting in-between Sam's legs. "Come in," she ordered, and the door opened slightly.

Dean came in and immediately focused on the two. He cleared his throat and his brows furrowed. "Cute," he said, motioning towards Sam. Before Sam could respond, Dean continued. "I was just comin' to apologize." He murmured, now looking at her. She nodded and propped her head up on her hands, elbows digging into the mattress. "Go on," she urged and he did. "I'm sorry for yelling at you.. And uh, being rude, ya know, how I called you immature."

She nodded and gave a small smile, "Thanks, Dean." He nodded as well and rubbed the back of his neck. The room fell silent as they just stared at each other for a moment. He swore her eyes were a brighter shade of Y/E/C. They were beautiful.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean snapped back to reality. "Uh, I'm gonna go.. Probably gonna go watch a movie or something, if any of you wanna join." Y/N nodded and smiled and so did Cas.

Once Dean left, Sam nudged her with his leg. "You got something you wanna tell us?" He said, his tone was teasing but she was confused. "What do you mean? He apologized, that's a good thing." Sam nodded with a chuckle and Castiel stopped spinning, intrigued by the conversation at hand.

"What I mean is that look. You guys were staring into each other's souls." Sam said with another laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about." She muttered, moving to sit up.

Sam shook his head and crossed his legs on the bed, a rather awkward position for such a tall person. "I think you two would be cute together." Sam remarked, making her tilt her head. He put his hands up and began rambling to defend himself, but she was already lost in thought.

Maybe we would be...

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! I was really unmotivated today but I wanted to post another part. I wanted to write but I couldn't grasp the motivation so I hope this is good lol

Feel free to reblog, like and comment! I really hope you guys like it! Message me if you have any requests!

xoxo

[uchi4nlog]

🔪 𖥔 ݁ ˖ lovesick | beomgyu slasher fic.

♡ gn!reader ، wc: 3.5k ، genre: horror, gore, slasher, (maybe) angst ، tw: murder, blood, very toxic relationship, sexual innuendo.

♡ note: in no way i'm glorifying the themes below. this is a work of pure entertainment based on pre existent horror movies. if you don't feel comfortable, please, do not read it.

he looks at you mortified. as if he is not a ghost himself.

maybe he thought you are so pathetic, that you were so miserable, to the point you had to wash yourself in blood to prove how much you love him. but it didn’t matter. you finally have his attention back. you finally made him remember that you could, in fact, kill anything and anyone if it meant to keep his love.

“don’t you see, baby? i’m just like you.” a sweet and calm voice comes out, matching with your psychotic smile.

“y/n, stop.” beomgyu said, trying to take the knife out of your hands.

can’t he see how much you need him? how desperately you crave him to be yours?

“you don’t get it, do you? urgh! what else do i have to do to prove i need you back, baby?” the knife following your uncontrolled movements, making more blood drip from it.

he acted like you didn’t have a clue about everything. like you didn’t see him take off that stupid mask. like you didn’t know that he is the one responsible for the slashing killing of the last 6 months.

“you don’t know what you’re doing right now, y/n. let me take you out of here. you need help.” this last sentence made your own blood come to your skin. the sound of your heartbeat forming an unrhythmic marching band.

“i need help?” - a historical laugh bubbling in your mouth. - “baby… if i didn’t know you better, i’d probably believe that.” you drag the sentences whining.

“what are you talking about, y/n?”

“seems like you need your memories to be refreshed. so lemme help you.” - you said, getting closer to him. - “where were you that night? you know, that 19th january night that you said you were ‘oh, so fucking tired’ from working. were you at home? because if i remember it well, and excuse my miserable memory, you were seeing in the dawson’s house, weren’t you?”

beomgyu had a straight face all along but you can read him in the palm of your hands: he knew what you meant.

“you know i was sleeping in billy’s house that night, y/n. you even called me.”

“right, it wasn’t you that tatum saw! she saw a black veil, ghost faced guy with a knife in his hands. but, oh my god! what a coincidence, don’t you think? two weeks after her attempted of murder, i found that same mask in your basement.”

he looked you deadly in the eyes. “and, of course. let’s not forget that black veil. i guess you didn’t have enough time to wash it, right? there wasn’t blood in it but it smelled so fucking bad.” you laugh again.

“so what, y/n? i’m the serial killer now?” he arched one of his eyebrows, throwing a disgusted smirk at you.

you take the knife and point it at him. “i never said you were. i’m just… pointing out facts, baby.” you get closer to him, still with the knife directed towards him. “aren’t you turned on by it? that i did all of this for you? that i can be just like you? so crazy like you? and so, so, so psychotic just for you?”

you get on your tiptoes and place your lips close to his. “come on, baby… quit the action… lemme show you what i can do for you. don’t you miss me?” an innocent pout appears in your lips.

beomgyu’s expression changed. he looks primal, savage, just like a sweet bambi prey just passed by him. you know the truth and you’re still trying to stay?

“you’re so fucking crazy, y/n…” he laughs. “doing all of this for me? what are your plans, y/n?” his hand comes in touch with your neck.

your free bloody hand leaves traces in chests until it tangles in his hair. “stop saying my name like that. call me love again.”

beomgyu doesn’t know what type of poison you get through his veins or how you can make him so easily fall on his knees for you. it has always been like that. but now, looking at how far you went for him, proving how good you could be, it pushed the right buttons inside him: you have always been just as psychotically crazy as him.

“oh, love… you have no idea how much i’ve wanted to see you like this. all mine and so fucking disturbing. did you make all of this for me- ARGH.”

beomgyu drops on the floor with his left thigh stinging like hell. blood comes out at the freshly red stained wound.

you just stabbed him. but he was somewhat relieved inside - you didn’t want to kill him, no. as far as he got to know the new you, he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. this is a proof of your love. how much it hurted when he left and how much your love will hurt him. 

"i’m gonna make you never want to leave me again, baby. i’m gonna make you love me again, beomgyu.”

★ taglist: @impureperhaps @sunoooism @itgirlgyu @mazeinthemoon

★ status: taglist and requests currently open! send me an ask or comment to be added.

© gyuletters, 2023 - do not repost, copy, or translate. // my first halloween fic! it was heavily inspired by the first scream movie, my insane crush on billy loomis (lmao) and my undying love for jennifer's body movie. i know that this fic isn’t my usual style and is very different from what i’ve been “““known””” for. but i reaaalllyyy hope you love this as much as i do. anywaysies lol always remember that love you all and tysm for all the love and support!! ♡

with love,

star. xoxo

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

Tags: slight description of reader (chubby, muscular, strong, denying gender as a concept), possibly slightly sociopathic/autistic reader, profanity, denial of authority, evil scientist on the way to becoming. tags and warns are the same as in the last post, srry, I don't have time to make it more civilized and readable. Enjoy

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Feck, the next Si thing is gonna be called "coming undone" cos I like korn and I'm funny. just saying

It was decided to start tomorrow.

After breakfast. Which you and Price would attend together. You sleep off the night, decide to skip the rewashing of your bones from a bunch of failed abortion victims smoking at the wall opposite. The thought of talking to them makes your stomach turn. It's disgusting.

At seven in the morning, you're standing at the gym door waiting for Price. You have a huge tracksuit. It's black, it's old, but it's intact. You brought it for the occasion. The lucky one when you'd have to participate in experiments and you didn't want to sacrifice normal clothes for stinky rodents. You end up using it for the same thing.

You hear footsteps at the end of the corridor. "I agreed to this so I could go through the archives. Not to get military training." "And yet. You're here. That's gratifying."

Half an hour. Half an hour of warm-up, treadmill leading to exercise, baffled breathing, and endless sweat. He asks if you need to rest twice. But, God, you just smile and refuse to take any extra indulgences. He's already treating you almost gently. It's infuriating. You're not that weak.

So you grit your teeth and do what you have to do. For the sake of it, you push yourself with workouts at night, and days when some crappy scientific "War and Peace" can only be read while doing push-ups.

"Ever lifted anything?" "Only people." "Weight?" "Last one was three months ago. I was carrying some bloke in my arms. Five kilos bigger than me." You know you're digging yourself a deeper hole than you need to. But really, it doesn't seem like a test, just a regular workout together. Price is calm, attentive and strong. In his wrinkles you see traces of history. There's an skies in his eyes. You wait for your judgement. Your tongue tastes like blood, your throat is sore. You can barely keep your breathing steady without seeming even weaker. Pryce's gaze stops at your neck, the accelerated pulsation of a vein under your skin. "Rest." "I…"

A heavy hand covers your shoulder. A slight push, and you're sitting on a bench with a bottle of water. Wanted to test, now patronising? You blink, blatantly expressing your outrage.

"Don't be stubborn, you can't stand up straight." "Make a nasty joke yourself, I'm tired." You say finally, opening the bottle.

He hums, stepping away to finish his workout without exhausted you. In the couple of days you've known him, it's become strangely easy to imagine the curve of his mouth beneath his silly beard. No. His t-shirt is scuffed up. His body is hairy, too. Ugh. Even that fucking snail trail is straight and… Better than yours. That's not jealousy.

"Ghost." You drop it after a couple of sips. "Always knew how to surprise me."

Changing weights on the barbell. Heavier, heavier, and heavier. You find yourself not wanting to pull more answers out of him, content with fatigue and the sight of someone else's strength. Imagining yourself as an emperor is much easier, watching a gladiator. Enough. Scratching your lower lip with your teeth, you sigh and leave for the shower.

"Wait by the stairs when you get out."

You raise your thumb in the air without turning around.

Seven minutes and twenty-five seconds later, you're standing, washed, dried, and changed. You share a locker with a nice girl who has agreed to give you her number (phone number too) for the nice bonus of three cigarettes. That way you don't have to go through the annoying process of having your name confidentiality violated. Retreating to the stairwell, you open the door to observe but not be observed. Hidden in the shadows of the lower stairwell, next to the mops and a couple of buckets. You wait in silence for him for the fifteen minutes that remain before you leave for the enemy camp. This would all be a lot easier if he were at least a medic. That's what you've been thinking about for hours now. And it's awful. It's disgusting. You know you're falling in love before you're ready to admit it.

For what? That intelligent look in his eyes? How soft he seems compared to everyone else here? Like a boulder amongst the shards of glass and metal. For a little patience and understanding. No, medic's too soft. You'd have less trouble with your feelings if he was a serial killer. A maniac. But he's not crazy. You feel the humming walls of empty space echoing inside his soul. Price seems like a good man, even as Captain. And the fact that he's good at separating himself from himself doesn't let you relax for a second.

Overdeveloped emotional intelligence scares the hell out of you. Because it means he sees you, too. Like that's not a turn-on. Anyway.

He'll be leaving to play hide-and-seek with death in about a month. Official word is that your downsized staff will be moved to new quarters in about three months. Remodelled. Who do they think you are? You signed so many agreements during the transition, there's no doubt something's brewing. On your first day at the base, you joked that they wanted to organise you into a science underground. Dr Moon didn't laugh. So one month, and you'll never meet again. Until then, your only purpose is research.

Ghost didn't eat. Not in front of you. Two days passed. The first interviewees were Soap and Gaz. They were on the list of those whom Price himself was prepared to provide as interviewees. The night before the third day, you did go out for a smoke. It was unbearable.

Five interviews. Three on the first day. Unfocussed answers, half-friendly, half-professional atmosphere. You filled in the blanks not only with the obligatory material, but also with voluntary additions. You had their medical records on hand in printed form. Folders of examinations from the past years. You asked, and only one of them confessed to having lied in the last year. His arm was still sore from the wound. The others were silent. Their incredulity was forgivable. It was only fair, considering you'd still be going through their files as meticulously as possible. Or maybe you wouldn't. Ordinary blokes, nothing criminal. They've all got morals twisted in the same inhumane way that any military man has. Something about duty, about calling, about wanting to help people. Their good intentions were just an assumption. The stupid cruel jokes they allowed themselves while you watched them that evening said more than necessary. Ordinary blokes, ordinary brutes, ordinary dogs. On the second day, Gaz and Soap happened. You don't see Kyle as "Gaz." He's more of a beagle with the intelligence of a parrot (in a good way). Perhaps because of your prior acquaintance, he finds himself a little more relaxed in your company. And allows himself to deny you a look at his medical records. What the fuck. Fuck. You don't smile, just nod, knowing you'll be going back to his files anyway. But, you're willing to do the favour and consider the other candidates first in your work. You pray to your luck that Soap doesn't turn out to be that smart. Unfortunately, luck responds by making him just incredibly annoying. He's joking. No. He tells shit jokes. And not the fatherly type, oh, all the ones that crawl out of Johnny's mouth and fall in a gooey mass at your feet - vulgar, filth.

"That's why you're not married." "How do you figure?" "All your jokes are from porn."

So you're annoyed. Soap has poured such a flood of information on you about every wounding he's done that you're left in no doubt - he's just messing with you. And you have to sit through mountains of reports and thoughts, trying to piece together in intervals the scraps of callus masses that have stuck to your efforts at systematisation. At three o'clock in the morning you pull your petrified arse off the chair and go for a smoke.

So, the wall opposite the wall of smokers. This time, they don't stare at you when they notice you. You're just waved at. Don't get mad. Let them get you emotional once, and you've already lost. You spend a second forming your mask, before walking up to the group with a wry grin. "There she is, the captain's mutt." "Envy is bad, poopsie." You're tired enough from hours on the job not to make any sudden fist movements towards his unbroken nose. Especially since the soldier behind him is already slapping his backside and hissing about how he's going to kick his arse for treating a woman like that. "I meant the wag!" "Fine, so you think before you say shit, hm?" "That's what everyone's talking 'bout!" "About the fact that I'm his…" You take the cigarette out of your mouth, and exhale the smoke downwards without taking your eyes off the joker. The light in your hand is aimed precisely at him. He's silent. "Come on." He's silent. "Come on, keep going." He sighs and scratches the back of his head. You take another puff as the soldier picks up the excuses.

"You mean that rumour I'm his girlfriend?"

A spit in the sky. Exactly at the star. The soldier coughs it up crumpled.

"Well, or fucking him, you can phrase it however you like." "Stop it!" "What's so confusing to you? Quite possible conclusions. It's 'k. You need to amuse yourself. So, keep talking." You take another puff, this time exhaling the smoke exactly into his face. He tolerates it. "You don't think I'm in any kind of relationship with him, do you?" "Sat down with him the first day you were seen together, driving around, fraternising with his crew."

"Standing out, then. Coming out of nowhere, doing whatever I want, talking to people you'd be scared to look at, let alone breathe next to." You cluck and shake your head in feigned sympathy. "And the only option to achieve all that appeal is sex. Am I understanding this logic correctly? And since I'm someone's… mutt, I can't be touched or Daddy will come and fuck you after he rips those uniform trousers, hmm?"

He snaps, says something, but you cut it off with such a disappointed sigh that the soldier immediately thinks of his mother. "I'm leaving. I'm late to pee in the corners and ask for a bone." You say and you bark unemotionally. You didn't think it would start so soon. Well, if it does, it'll be quicker for those idiots to finish all the rumours. Or they'll finally decide you two are together. You weren't going to deny it, you weren't going to change their minds. That would only convince them you were right.

In training, you feel as drained as possible, still completing all the exercises. You don't leave early, as you've done the last two days, but stay, watching Price for a while. He clearly senses that a question is about to follow. You decide not to leave him waiting for long. "Are you married?" "No." Looking still equally thoughtful, you nod. Your lips tighten, your fingers drumming on the bottle cap. "Would you say that your attitude towards me is different from the others on the base?" You say as he finishes the set. "Yes." Short questions, as if you're interrogating him. "Should I be wary of your groupies?" "Are there precedents already?" "Oh, more. There's already a nickname."

About an hour earlier, just before you leave, you're caught by Dr Moon, who doesn't bother to hide her smirk calling you 'Captainess'. Adorable.

"Mutt, Captainess." "They're bored." "Same opinion."

He walks over to the bench you're sitting on, wiping his face with a towel. You hand him a bottle of water. "On the other hand, if they think you're a little more important, will make contact sooner." You raise an eyebrow. "When you come to interview them, I mean."

Of course he's got it all figured out from the start. You have a sneaking suspicion that your reputation might be playing backwards. Or it's just another test. Sometimes you thought your paranoia was taking too important a position in the decision-making battles. But, if you go straight and ask now, would it be… even more suspicious and straightforward than it is now? It's silly, but you say nothing, nodding, going off to separate showers with Price and not thinking about the scrambling anxiety.

Ghost is, again, not eating. He's not with his team twenty-four hours a day, yet he's almost always with them, as if he doesn't think he can fight them off. Not as a guard dog, but as a piece of the puzzle. Except he feels the urge to complete their picture, or does he just not want to feel lost?

You cross out the questions on the sheet again, knowing it's futile. Idiotic. Why the fuck did he say yes? Fuck.

You're not nervous, but Ghost can't help but inspire caustic respect for his strength and stealth. "Totally unlike me," you lie to yourself. It's easy to recognise a mortal possessive when you're the same. When the place of emptiness is taken by something, that something only comes back out gutted. After the last time, you try to stay away from anyone. And all that understanding, respect, keeps you from asking the same annoying questions. You've managed to interview everyone left behind. A reduced list of questions, a learned tactic. Habit. That part of you, laying fallow, covered in the dust of reclusive work, takes root in the top layers of the mask. Sociality, that's it. Ghost is late. You sense it even before he doesn't show up in the appointed frame of time. The sun hasn't yet had time to roll down the axis definitively. You don't switch on the overhead lights, letting the natural light do its job. So far, there's plenty of it. A depressing sight really. But soon, pretty soon, the night will be stretched out for most of the day. Mid-autumn, after all.

When Ghost comes in, you're standing against the wall, making yourself some tea. Not bagged, but real, leafy tea. That's the third reason the rank and file co-operate with you. A handful of insults, a couple of cigarettes, a pinch of good tea. You notice that all the tension around you goes down. You, too, become a piece of the mosaic in this picture. So, in the warmth of the passing day, you mutter a simple tune, adding thyme to a large mug.

Ghost watches, appreciating the immediacy, the humanity of that soft and inner, beyond the shell. It is as if there is no threat, no limits to the room. There is only warmth, steam from the hot tea, and even the sunlit dust stops, afraid to leave the moment of peace. And you stand, making your delicious tea. Settled, at home for a second, completely unafraid. Like a snail getting a new shell. Like you've always been here.

Something, inside, in a cut for the soul, where he doesn't dismiss the possibility of foolish and civil happiness (if not for himself, then for his loved ones), quietly clicks.

Not a maniac, just a lost girl.

The dust specks still drift in the air the same way, the light framing the artistic shagginess of your hair. Nothing changes for a second, three, ten, and then Ghost sees your ears rise, your back tense, your humming quieten. You don't look away from the window where you've been staring at the ant milling about for the last minute. But you let him know you know, as if he hadn't noticed it himself.

"Do?" You lift your mug of tea. "Do." The door closes behind him.

When he leaves, you're devastated. Because, he really did answer questions. But you can't take any of this into work. It's too much revelation and secrecy. It's too much revelation and secrecy. Ghost almost put his cards in your hands, willingly. Another test? No. Is this how your relationship with Price affects your reputation? There's two empty mugs in the corner, next to the sink. You don't wash them, so you can keep the confirmation of his ghostly presence and the story you'll take to your grave.

[aloysiavirgata]

Let’s call it a deleted scene from Mount Abora, @inutilidadesbytamara

***

Scully’s hand on his boxers wakes him into the dark, her mouth at his throat.

“I can’t sleep,” she murmurs against his jaw. “Too quiet.”

“Scully…”

She squeezes him lightly in reply and he groans.

“Shh,” Scully says. She nuzzles her nose into his ear, kisses his temple.

He’s half-hard and the air of the room makes him gasp when she works him free of the fabric. She’s got her mouth at his collarbones, his pectorals, his navel.

“No complaints but I thought-“

“Let me,” she says, and he’s not sure if you can snap your own spine arcing off a mattress with extreme force but the only person he could ask is currently short-circuiting his parasympathetic nervous system with her lips.

“Oh my god,” he hisses, twisting the sheets in his fists so he doesn’t grab her hair and scalp her by accident.

Scully’s mouth is hot and slick and she’s doing something uncanny with the flat of her tongue while her nails dance over his scrotum and then she sucks at him, actually sucks, and her teeth graze the head of his cock, that ridge is her hard palate, there’s that tongue thing again and where in the world did she -

He nearly weeps when she pulls her mouth away.

“Scully,” he pants, the air now agonizing.

She takes him in her right hand, begins stroking, while he makes a desperate sort of trapped animal whimper.

“Shh,” she repeats, tongues his frenulum as she moves her hand around him.

His heels kick into the mattress.

Mulder’s eyes are adjusting to the room and he looks down to see Scully’s pale, precise hand around the darker skin of his cock; Scully’s breasts moving under the silk pajama top he can see down; Scully’s aristocratic cheekbones in sharp relief because Jesus Christ almighty, her cheeks are sucked in around him.

Scully.

It’s too much, visual overload even in the dark, and he grinds his hips up against her hand, her mouth, doesn’t care in that second if he chokes her and he cries out when she draws him halfway back down her throat.

“Scully,” he breathes again, because it’s otherworldly to say his partner’s name when they’re like this, while she’s, well, fucking him with her mouth because there is absolutely no other way to describe what her jaw is doing right now; he thinks of her in his lap with her skirt up and her ass in his hands as he thrust up into her sinuate body, how he’d buried his face in the fragrant wet heat of -

Scully’s found a steady rhythm now, her hand and her mouth and her tongue and her teeth, and his nails are cutting into his palms and he’s biting the insides of his cheeks because otherwise he’s going to make it maybe another thirty seconds and what is the etiquette here, hey Scully seems like you have a solid gag reflex but you should know I’m -

Her hair is brushing against him and it’s absolute torture, her tongue at his glans, Agent Scully’s serious little mouth with her ripe lips -

“Oh my god,” he groans, and now his fingers are lacing through her hair because he absolutely has to touch her somewhere while she does this if he can’t grasp at her hips like when -

“Scully,” he says, and “Oh my god,” again and both over and over until they might be the same thing because his sacral spine is pulsing like a supernova and when Scully said she wanted to make this work he didn’t know it would be like this with her, he didn’t know, didn’t understand that she is his touchstone and his true north and his recondite talisman and she is somehow also a woman like other women, that she aches like he does, that she desires -

There are stars and stars and stars in the dark and he’s gasping her name with his hands in the cool silk of her hair, riding out the crest against her hot tongue while his head presses back deep into the nest of pillows and his toes curl.

His heart crashes blood joyfully through his veins, like the big kettle drums in Peer Gynt. He twitches a few more times against her hand, spent but ambitious,

“Wow,” he says, breathless.

She laughs a little, tucks her hair behind her ear. “Wow yourself.”

He reaches down for her and she moves up next to him, on her belly this time. She props herself up on her elbows.

“What was that for?” he asks warmly. “I want to make sure I do it again and stay in your good graces.”

Scully strokes his nose with her forefinger, presses her thumb to his lips. “Hasn’t anyone ever done something for you without strings attached?”

He considers this. “I don’t think so, actually,” he confesses, lipping the pad of her thumb like a horse with a sugar cube.

When he kisses the inside of her wrist it feels like the petal of a magnolia.

Mulder gathers her to him and they drift back to sleep in the languid rhythm of his heartbeat.