#yes yes yes piss stuff!! i had a wonderful wetting dream last night too. i have to many wetting fantasies...

[mychlapci]

I woke up thinking about some vivid, nasty Tarma this morning and it won't leave my head,,,

Pharma and Tarn go about business as usual: hand over the t-cogs, frag, and then part ways. This time, however, Tarn does something and locks Pharma's panels as he's leaving. The medic doesn't think much of it at first, just assumes it's something kinky.

It quickly becomes apparent that it's a problem. No matter what Pharma does, he can't unlock them himself. He tries every trick in the book and they still won't budge, still locked tightly in place! Pharma's getting really anxious by now, he doesn't know what to do next... and he really has to piss. The urge to empty his waste tank keeps growing stronger and stronger, and he's stuck uncomfortably holding it behind his panels. The pressure building up inside is unbearable, and Pharma is physically unable to relieve it! Poor guy probably ends up with an intense UTI from holding it so long...

To make matters worse (and because I love robot periods) Pharma's cycle starts a few days after his panels are locked. The pressure in his frame and fluids dripping uncontrollably behind his panels are driving Pharma insane. Forget about work, all he wants to do is lie in berth all day, desperately trying to pry open his panels. Still, his patients (and more importantly Tarn) need him, so he begrudgingly pushes on and keeps working through the terrible pain and pressure in his frame. Pharma even manages to collect well above his quota on t-cogs, hoping it'll impress Tarn and get him to unlock his panels.

The next time they meet, Tarn can't help but smirk at the disheveled mess that Pharma's been reduced to. Tarn is indeed satisfied with the amount of t-cogs collected, and with how Pharma is begging him for release how could he possibly say no? Finally, finally Tarn unlocks the poor medic's panels and stares with intense lust as the medbay floor is showered with energon and oil. Pharma should probably be mortified, but at this point he's too relieved to be embarrassed.

Tarn takes Pharma then and there, bending him over a medical berth and watching as Pharma's valve squirts out more energon and oil with each thrust of Tarn's fat spike.

Ough... that is all.

-💚💙

holy fucking shit the moment i got to the word piss i started frolicing, squealing in happiness. Yes. this is so good.

Tarn locking Pharma’s panels so tightly that nothing can leak out, no matter what. And slowly, as the days go by, and Pharma’s waste tank fills up, it becomes a really big problem. And then his flushing cycle comes in too, so he’s always in pain now, unable to relieve himself in any way whatsoever. He’s pretty sure his waste tank is going to rupture if this keeps on going, because the fluids just don’t have anywhere to go, and his gestation tank is bleeding and it’s pooling in his panels, mixing with what little waste-fluid fit in there. What cannot leak out is partially suspended inside of his valve, putting mild pressure against the calipers, driving him insane. First Aid and Ambulon keep asking him if he’s alright when they see him stumbling and all he can do is grit his teeth and say yes of course.

By the time Tarn is back Pharma’s standing pigeon toed and shivering with the intense pulses that wreck his waste tank every few minutes, telling Tarn to please unlock his panels. hrghhrhnh Pharma immediately pissing himself the moment his panels open, without even a moment’s hesitation, a hard hot sizzling stream hitting the floor as he experiences bliss beyond overload, humping the air desperately. Tarn considers that an invitation <3 He fingers Pharma’s valve open while he’s still bleeding and pissing, drenching his hand completely, and then he starts fucking Pharma against the medical berth, brushing his fat, modded spike against Pharma’s waste tank from the inside with each thrust, causing him to squeal, wings fluttering, and he squirts out more oil, pussy bleeding around Tarn while clinging to him desperately <33

Pharma and Tarn would be into period sex, wouldn’t they?

[alreadyblondenow]

And life will always be la vie en rose

Mark Lee x reader // FLUFF, SMUT, SMUT

Themes: long distance relationship, established relationship, very domestic

Word count: 4k

Summary: The city of love with the person you love. Mark surprises you in Paris but the vacation was not going as expected.

Warnings: phone sex, unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol, drunk mark lee hehe

A/N: Inspired by Emily in Paris and Mark’s TVN short drama. requested by @mellowvoidexpertfriend​​ sorry it took me awhile :( and I hope this makes you happy. Thank you for requesting it! I wanted to give it a sad ending but figured you might hate me if I do that.

Its been almost seven months since you moved to Paris for work and leave the life you’ve always been used to. Your family, friends, your boyfriend Mark, all of them knew that moving to the city of love for your career is a big step.

Although some of them did not agree with your decision that you’re choosing your career, at least you have your boyfriend’s support no matter what. Mark has been with you since you were just starting at your job, he’s always supportive and caring even though he has his own career to take care of. Long distance is hard, but there’s nothing Mark wouldn’t do for you.

“Good morning, Paris” he greets you with a bright smile, the perfect afternoon light hits his face perfectly. You miss seeing that glow in person.

“Good afternoon, Seoul “ you answered with a raspy tone. Still sleepy but happy to see Mark, even if it’s from your phone screen.

“Tired? I miss you” he says, smiling sweetly through the screen. He was still in bed, comfortably laid with his thick blue sheets and striped fluffy pillows.

“Yes. I have a lot of stuff to do in the office today. But I still got time, no need to rush this call” you stretched in bed.

“Want to have phone sex?” He was hesitating to ask you but Mark was really horny in the middle of a hot afternoon. Good thing mornings make you horny like crazy too, so you said ‘yes’ and the next thing you know is you’re both naked in bed, phone on the bedside table with a perfect view of your naked body.

“Run a finger up and down your slit” he commands. You can hear soft grunts from Mark already, pumping his semi-hard cock on the screen. “Yes baby, you look hot” he moans and you smile at his compliment.

“Oh I miss touching your boobs, the next time I see you I’ll grip those so hard- ah” he was having a hard time talking because watching you touch yourself was always too good and too much for him. “So good baby, pinch your nipples for me” he added. You moan and with your free hand, you lick your fingers and rubbed it on your nipples and made sure to let him hear your soft moans.

“Fuck- that was hot” he was going a little too fast pumping his cock, the sound of it was turning you on, and how Mark bites his lips and rolls his head back, watch you with half-lidded eyes. You just smiled, knowing that he’s your man and only you can see him like this. “What’s that smile for? I love it when you smile like that” you giggle at what he said.

“Baby, I’m near” it was a high-pitched moan and you curl yourself a little, trying to stop yourself from cumming so fast.

“Okay-fuck, spread your legs- yeah just like that” you followed what he said and you see his lower abdomen go up and down a little too fast, obvious that he’s stopping himself from cumming before you do. “Remember how I fucked you during your last night here- Ahhh. You were begging me to stop but I couldn’t cause your pussy is so good”

“Fuck Mark” you were still moaning deliciously, trying not to close your legs for Mark. His eyes were fixed to your body, your lips that he misses so much, how you work wonders with your own fingers.

“Oh! I will, Y/n. I will- fuck—you”

You came first then Mark, you watch his thick cum land on his stomach. Watching him look so weak and sweaty but still handsome. He caught you looking at him while you were cleaning your fingers, he winked at you and smiled which made you shy for no reason.

“I love you. Can I talk to you for a couple more minutes?” he requests, holding his phone near his face after he cleaned his cum.

“I love you too. Of course. We can still talk while I’m in the shower” he nod his head in disbelief. And smiled oh so sweetly to you before he tells you about his morning and how he had a dream of you. He was promoted last month, so there’s not much work for him these days because he’s basically a boss now. To be honest you feel bad for not being with him to celebrate for his promotion, talking to him for as long as he likes is the least you can do for him. Sometimes you’re talking to him while you walk to your office, or having lunch alone, virtual dates, or letting him pick what lipstick suits you on a certain outfit.

For almost a year, it was the little things that make you both even more in love with each other and no one is complaining.

“Hey Y/n, the boss wants to see you with your presentation now” your assistant knocked on your door, holding it for you as you gather your laptop and pretend that you’re not nervous.

“What if she hates my ideas?” you asked your assistant, walking together slowly to the conference room.

“The dragon lady will love it, don’t overthink it” she pats your back good luck and opened the door for you.

During your presentation, your boss had this I’m-bored-can-we-go-home-now face and it was bothering you while you were talking in front. Nonetheless, you delivered every single detail perfectly and smoothly that the other members of the board were impressed, and you hope the dragon lady is too.

“Good. Make it happen. Are we done here? Give her the company credit card and I want updates every week. Dismissed”

That’s your cue to breathe. Finally, you can relax. You were smiling from ear to ear for a minute then you remember all the work that you have to finish. Making this project happen-making this fundraiser happen, will seriously impress your boss and the other members of the board. You can’t afford to fuck up.  

Overworking doesn’t bother you at all, you don’t care if you’re the last one in the office and the first one to come the next day. You love your job and you value it. But to be honest, overworking is your coping mechanism. To stop thinking about home and Mark, just continue until you make it.

You got home and talked to Mark about the great news, of course, he’s very proud of you. Then you talked about the list of things that you have to work on for the project, and you wish you didn’t. Mark loves you, and that’s clear but he hates it when you overwork.

“Can’t you, make someone else do it?” easy for him to say because he’s a boss now.

“No, baby I can’t. This is my one way ticket to be the boss. If I make this happen, then okay, I’ll order everyone I see. But for now... sorry babe, it’s work for me” you said while unzipping your dress and moving around your room to change into some comfortable clothes. “Are you mad?” you asked, hoping he’s not.

“I can’t be mad at you, for loving what you do. I’m worried, that’s all”

After that call, Mark was dealing with some of his work as well and thinking about how he can rescue you from overworking. Well, he only had one effective solution. And that is to visit you in Paris and be with you so he can take care of you for a short time. He wasn’t going to visit until Christmas, but he couldn’t wait much longer.

He gave himself a week to think this all out and plan his surprise to you. He booked a flight, took two weeks off from work, and packed his bags.

You, on the other hand, is busy overworking tonight at the office. You feel heavy and exhausted, hungry but you just want to sleep when you finally get home, and Mark hasn’t messaged you like he normally does in almost two days. You feel awful, but Paris at night can quickly take away all youe exhaustion. Everywhere you look is beautiful.

As you force yourself not to feel tired on your way home, you saw a familiar figure who just got out of the taxi with a bunch of luggage. Am I dreaming? You slightly slap your face and walk slowly behind the man and wait for him to turn around.

When he did, you almost burst into tears.

It’s been seven months since you last saw Mark in the flesh.

“Hi, you look exactly like my girlfriend” he smiled and scrunched his nose, pull you into a hug, and kissed you in front of your apartment building. Paris is starting to feel like the city of love, finally.

You helped him with his bags up to your apartment, feeling so excited and happy that the tiredness that you’re feeling earlier was long gone. As soon as you reached your door and opened it, Mark put down the bags and crashed into your lips. Kissing you in the dark with only the light from your window.

“Oh, I’m never going to leave your side,” he said while hungrily kissing you. Removing your clothes one by one, making a trail of clothes until you reach your room, and pushed you on your bed. It’s been seven months since you last had sex with him and you’re sure that Mark will make you feel good tonight, as always. He may look innocent and cute always, but Mark knows how to fuck.

“We just have to be quiet tonight Mark- French neighbors. Don’t want to piss them with my moans” you warn him before his cold hand lands on your boobs, touch them softly and squeeze them tightly as he promised.

“Okay, let’s just keep our moans between us two” he kisses your lips as his way of saying, he’s going to start now. Kissing you down to your body until he reaches your pussy, to show that you're eager, you spread your legs widely for him and begged quietly. He used his pinky finger and slides it up and down your slit slowly. So slowly that it makes your legs shiver and your hips jolt, giving you goosebumps and making you sensitive already. He smiled at your reaction, happy that he has that effect on you.

“Wet” he murmurs and proceeds to kiss your pussy, like it was your lips. Feeling his hot tongue on your cunt, using it to fuck you. He spits on your cunt and let you feel it roll down your slit. It makes you sensitive and moans his name. He goes back in and licks you good, his hands run softly on your stomach, making you feel calm and confused. When he felt that you’re already on the edge, he watches you moan quietly, pinched your nipples, and did not released it until you’re shivering and shaking your legs uncontrollably.

You catch your breath until you see Mark above you, kissing your cheeks and reaching for your hands to intertwine it with his. “I just miss you, is it too much?” you shook your head with a smile and kissed your boyfriend back.

“My turn to give back,” you said weakly, but you’re already pushing him on the mattress. On your way to straddle the man you love and ride him good. You kissed him softly, grinding on his cock and spreading your juices on it. Brushing his nipples softly, which made him stop kissing you to let out a curse and tell you to don’t stop. It was too much for him but he likes it, overstimulating himself was his favorite and he drags you into that pleasure of his.

As you put his cock inside you, he grab holds on your wrist that he allows you to rest on his strong chest as you fuck him. Seeing you on top of him after for so long was toe-curling for him. The thought of it makes him blush, but also his view of your boobs in front of his face makes him smile too. He licks it once, “Oh- Baby, do that again?” you ask of him, he knew you would like it.

Your boobs are perfectly being sucked by Mark while you bounce up and down on him, rolling your hips at a steady pace. He lets go of your right nipple with a wet sound, feeling both of your nipples really swollen and sensitive. “Can’t hold on much longer baby, let me take over?” he was already on edge, you are too, but you let him take control and let him fuck you senseless that you were covering your mouth to stop yourself from moaning to loud.

“Bite me,” he said and you didn’t think twice, you bit his shoulder as you ride your high. He was cumming so hard too and his whimpers were muffled by the pillow behind you. You feel like he's going to crush your hand by gripping it so tightly and he feels like his shoulder is about to bleed.

It was a romantic night in the city of love. Both exhausted from sex but you two never kept quiet and talked to each other all through the night, watching the Eiffel Tower from your window, bodies covered with your thin sheets. You snuggle to Mark sniffing his armpit and making him giggle like a teenager, he tickles your legs and making you jolt and kick him a little too hard which made you both laugh so hard. You were away from each other for a long time, but your love stays the same and neither one of you is planning to ruin it.

The next day, Mark woke up with the smell of freshly cooked omelet and the zest of freshly squeezed orange juice. He looked at your clock on the bedside table, and it was almost lunchtime. He was quick to put on his glasses and find you, still naked because of last night’s intimacy but he doesn’t care. He feels home because you’re the first person he sees. Mark wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I was wondering where did my shirt go,” he says with a raspy voice. It’s obvious that he’s still sleepy but he wants to spend as much time with you.

“Still sleepy?” you turn around after turning the stove off, “And still naked with only your glasses, huh? You look like a nerdy porn star” you tease him, slap his ass, and made him wear at least his sweatpants and come eat breakfast with you.

“You don’t have work today?” he asks, chewing his omelet and drinking his juice.

“I have but, I call in sick for three days. Wouldn’t want to waste time” you said, smiling and winked at him. “You know, I know why you’re here. And I want you to know it’s working” he chuckled and scratched his head, busted he thought. “But I can only leave work for three days, after that I promise you I will do my best to still be with you, and not waste your time here-“ you were talking too fast, rambling that he didn’t have any choice but to stop you from talking.  

“Understood, baby chill. I’m not here to sabotage your career, I’m here to take care of you”

In those three days, you and Mark enjoy Paris like a married couple enjoying their honeymoon. You’ve never enjoyed Paris like this, all thanks to Mark, the city became even more special and magical for you. You brought him to different French restaurants and made him eat a lot of good food and a lot of Watermelons, of course. You toured the city hand in hand, going to art galleries and taking countless pictures. The winery tour and your dinner date made Mark really drunk and it made him ten times even more funny. It was a struggle to bring him back to your apartment in his drunken state, but you love him too much that you even enjoyed his drunken company.

“I’m gonna ask you to marry me okay? Are you ready?” you help him step by step as you go up to your apartment, laughing so loud and disturbing your french neighbors, he was going on and on talking about marriage. “It’s true, check my pocket get the ring”

There's a huge part of you that secretly hopes that he’s telling the truth. Even if he’s proposing in his drunken state and couldn’t pop a knee, it’s okay. The staircase is still romantic for you and drunk or not, you love Mark with all your heart and soul. If Mark was telling the truth… you will say ‘yes’ and accept it will all your heart.

With all your bravery, you checked the pocket of his jacket and looked for a ring or a box. Honestly, you don’t know what you’re searching for. But there’s no ring. It made you disappointed but just laughed it all out and soothe his back because he’s about to throw up.

You reached your apartment, just in time for Mark to puke and curse every alcohol in the world. “Sorry if I’m a burden” he murmurs, resting his forehead on your toilet bowl while reaching for the flush.

“You’re never a burden. Feeling okay? Come on I’ll help you clean up” you kissed him on the forehead and left to get some clean clothes for him.

You spent the night taking care of Mark, enjoying how he hugs you so tight like he’s a child while he whines about how his head hurts. The night mostly consists of him whispering his apologies and never-ending I love you’s, while you still think about what he said earlier. Even if it didn’t happen tonight, the fact that he brought it up, finally, means that he was thinking of doing it someday. And that thought alone made you throw away your disappointment and hug him even more tightly.

Days go by and you juggle work and spending time with Mark and enjoy Paris. You feel bad letting him visit some great places alone or stay inside your apartment until you come home from work and go out finally. It was heartbreaking in many ways, but you didn’t have a choice.

On Mark’s first weekend in Paris, the first thing you did is wake him so early with loving kisses and go to the market with him. There, you and mark bought food for dinner tonight and promised you will cook for him. He was so in love with the city but had a hard time talking to French people.

“Wow, your French has improved” he praises you, “I read somewhere on the internet that the best way to learn the French language is in bed. Is there something I need to know, huh Baby?” he kissed your forehead to let you know that he’s only joking and completely well aware that cheating on him is beyond impossible.

“Fuck me in Korean then so I can learn it too” it made you both laugh, finding each other completely hilarious.

“Okay, I’ll fuck the Korean words out of you tonight”

The dinner you made was delicious, and it made Mark sad for a second because he realized he has to wait for a few months more to taste your cooking again. To light up the mood, you didn’t let him have a single alcohol tonight and made fun of his alcohol tolerance. And soon, after cleaning up from dinner, you two made love again.

He was balls inside you while you were making the pretties moans only for him to hear, he suddenly moaned Korean words which made you lost it and laughed so loud, your voices could be heard from your open window.

“Were you about to cum? I’m sorry, I just want to make you happy” he said, still inside you but not moving anymore.

“On edge, yeah. But I am, happy Mark. You came to Paris for me, even though I work my ass off while you’re still here. Oh, baby, I feel sorry.” You whine and nuzzle to the side of his sweaty face.

“Will you be happier if I ask you to marry me? Hmm?”

You were like a statue when you heard him talk about it again, and this time he’s sober. He kissed you back to reality, smiling nervously on top of you while waiting for your answer. “Hey” he kissed you again, giggling awkwardly.

“Of-of course I’ll be happy- are you proposing now?” you were stuttering and your hands were shaking as you reach for his face to cup it and kiss him. Tears in your eyes, pure happiness.

“While I'm still inside of you? No- I already have the ring, but with all that’s going on with your work right now. I just had to be sure, you want this. The last thing I want is to ruin our relationship and I’m sorry I had to say this to you while I’m still inside of you-“

You stopped him from rambling and talking too much, “Save it for breakfast. Now, continue fucking me in Korean” you both giggled again in no time. The night went on but it became, even more, sweeter for the both of you, more fucking in Korean happened and both of you slept like angels.

The morning after, you two made breakfast while trying so hard to keep your hands from each other. Obviously, the sweetness from last night hasn’t died yet. Marriage is not always a bed of roses, you’re aware of that, but you pray and pray that you and Mark stay the same like this for many years more.

“So that night at the stairs?” you asked him, taking a sip of from your coffee, eyes never leaving each other.

“I was serious but too drunk. I was going to talk about it with you that night, but…” you understand. Still, it made you happy. The morning was filled with laughter and kisses with Mark, talking more about marriage and the possibilities of having kids, shower sex, and him helping you prepare for work.

When you were just about to leave, “Oh! I almost forgot, fuck, Uhm- I need you to be my date tomorrow night. It’s the event that I’ve been working on, here” you hand him your credit card, “Sorry I can’t go with you. Buy yourself a nice suit okay? I’ll see you at dinner, I’ll be a little late, but I’ll make it to dinner” and again, you feel bad about treating him this way.

Mark is amazing in many ways, he bought a nice suit for your event tomorrow night and looked for a quiet french restaurant where he can propose to you properly. It was not hard, but talking to French people was not easy either. All he had in mind was, you deserved a romantic proposal.

Your most awaited day finally comes and everything is running smoothly. You haven’t seen Mark, because the dragon lady wanted you to get ready with her at the hotel where she was staying. “Have you seen Mark?” you asked your assistant, “I left him at the gallery. I told him you’ll meet him shortly”

After a few minutes of saying 'hi' 'hello' to the guests, you forgot that you were looking for your boyfriend and felt bad for doing that.

“Hey beautiful” he whispered behind you, and you almost spilled your champagne. You turned around and see the most handsome man on Earth, wearing a black and white suit with a slightly crooked bow tie. Your mind swims to the question, ‘will he be this handsome on your wedding day?’

“Wow- I’m speechless” is all you can say while admiring him like he's one of the paintings hanged on the wall.  

“You look expensively beautiful” he greets you with a kiss and you fixed his bow tie, asking for a kiss again that he happily gave. You showed him around and introduced him to your friends, exchanged laughs for a minute then you're around working again, leaving him alone. He watches you do your job, even if he’s left alone most of the time. Nonetheless, the event was a success and you’re soon to be promoted, the dragon lady told you herself.

“Baby, I’m sorry”

“What for? You were great the whole night” he helps you unzip your beautiful Valentino dress.

“How many times did we talk tonight, I feel bad” you whine and helped him with his tie while you’re all exposed, wearing only your black lingerie. He played with the strap of your bra and proceeds to palm your ass. You did the same because he has a much nicer ass, he chuckled and kissed you to bed. Just like that, Mark turned everything around.

It’s his last day in Paris today, he leaves tomorrow morning. And you hate it. The bed feels, even more, warmer with him in it, you’re not ready to let go yet. “Don’t worry. We have forever to make the bed warm. Right?” he tries to cheer you up. “Don’t forget the dinner tonight okay?” he added.

Your day went on with Mark and you two spend more time together talking about life and everything under the sun, laughing while eating watermelons, until you had to leave again for the company dinner. It was supposed to be a night filled with Mark and Mark only but your boss decided to throw a dinner celebration for a successful event the other night, and you can’t miss it because she told you, ‘Show up tonight. Don’t piss me’. with a sly smirk that you oh so hate.  

It was heartbreaking. You don’t know if the dragon lady knew that Mark was going to propose tonight or it’s just your life, ruining your perfect relationship with Mark. The dinner ended almost before midnight and you ran to the restaurant Mark told you not caring anymore if these Manolo pumps cost a fortune.

There, you saw Mark playing the piano while the restaurant staff was already cleaning up, fixing tables and chairs. It's been a while since the last time you saw him play an instrument, he knew you love it when he sings for you. You looked around the place and figured how he found a place like this in a country he's not familiar with. He was trying so hard during his whole stay, and you just watched and you let the people from work drain you until there’s nothing left for Mark.

He was still playing the piano sadly when you embraced him from behind, greeting him with a kiss. Feeling sorry for ruining the night he has planned for the two of you. He stopped and faked a smile, it was obvious and it pains you to see him like this. The space was quiet, and you notice that the staff were nice enough to give you two some privacy. He continued playing the piano and started singing the song his father used when he proposed to his mother.

You feel unworthy of his love.

Mark kissed you before he stands up, but all you wanted to do is say sorry over and over again. But you didn’t want to ruin the mood. You watch him bend on one knee, smiling shyly but you can say that he knows what he's doing. “Even if I already know the answer, and even if you become the busiest woman in Paris, marry me? Make me the happiest man alive?”

You were in tears, but you don’t know if it's made of happiness or sadness. There was a moment of silence that made him nervous and thought that maybe you changed your mind. It was making him nervous.

“Yes yes, of course”

Mark sighed in relief and let out a nervous laugh. He puts the ring on your finger and dried your tears before he kisses you. You see his sharp cheekbones appear from too much smiling and told you that his cheeks hurt.

That very moment made you realize that your job here in Paris and your boss, doesn’t deserve you. You can be amazing somewhere else, somewhere closer to Mark. In that way, you can be busy, yes, but you can come home to him every day and fuck in Korean the whole night.

[nanoland]

new chapter (supernatural fic)

(Also on AO3.) 

Clean Hands, part 4 

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel 

Warning: Demon deals, violence, mention of abuse and torture. Also: Crowley is an abuse + addiction survivor and also a cold-hearted arsehole with very little respect or empathy for abuse + addiction survivors, and this story is written from his POV. 

0 

What was there to be done when you were enamoured of a man who hit you?

Leave him! the whole world cried back in one voice.

Which was a bit like telling someone trapped in a burning car to get out of the car. Yes. Quite. Thank you. Fully agree. But what if, for a moment, you assumed I wasn’t as stupid as a fucking dog?

That, incidentally, was one of a handful of ways the world had worsened since Crowley last drew breath.

Back in the fourteenth century, the women in the marketplace had noted his black eye and torn dress with immediate understanding. Instead of insisting he pack his bags and walk out of the house belonging to his wealthy shoemaker husband, the father of his child, the man on whom his safety and good reputation and continued ability to eat depended, the man he, for some fucking reason, still loved, they’d actually tried to help.

Sybil had given him willow bark for the pain. Rose had engaged him in long, rambling conversations, stretching the minutes until he had to return home. Jane had walked across the village and rapped on his door every evening she could, always armed with solid excuses, just when the bastard was well and truly in his cups and looking for something to damage.

If ever analytical minds were to try to account for Crowley’s misanthropy and sadism, they couldn’t honestly conclude that either was due to his never experiencing true, heartfelt human kindness.

Yes, Sybil and Rose and Jane had all thought he was a woman and addressed him accordingly, and it had hurt. But that wasn’t their fault. He’d not had the courage to tell them otherwise.

Crowley didn’t regret much. Regret, in this game, was a slow-killing poison.

Still, he did occasionally wonder how things might have turned out if he’d accepted Jane’s invitation and fled with her to London that one warm night, rather than hanging in for years until he finally snapped and beat his husband’s skull into tooth-sized pieces with an iron kettle.

Returning to the present:

As Crowley watched Dean’s fist barrel towards his face, and not for the first time, he reviewed the pros and cons of incinerating him with hellfire.

When fist and nose were one millionth of an inch apart, he teleported across the room.

“Squirrel,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with you.”

Dean charged and took another swing at him. “Fuck you! He worked so hard! Clean for four years, you piece of shit!”

This time, Crowley reappeared sitting on top of the dead man’s wardrobe, where Dean couldn’t reach him. “Good for him. His family and friends won’t remember him as the thieving, lying wretch he was ten years ago when he sold his soul for a pound of meth. They’ll probably give him a nice funeral.”

“Why couldn’t you make an exception? Just once?”

“That’s not how this works, Dean! It wasn’t even my deal! The contract is in the hands of a relatively inexperienced subordinate and honestly, I’m glad that she pulled it off. She’s got potential. This is her first real win. It’ll increase her standing in Hell and make her more powerful, which will be useful because some older demons have taken to bullying h-…”

“I don’t give a damn about your minions,” he snarled, picking up a lamp sprinkled with blood and throwing it at him. Crowley ducked. “Every last one of you can take an angel blade to the face, for all I care. You’re fucking parasites.”

Evenly, Crowley replied, “Yes. We are. You know that. You’ve always known that. Why are you having a fit about it now? Good people get dragged to Hell all the time.”

Dean stared down at what remained of Martin Booke, now that the hellhounds had left. “He worked so hard. Christ. You could have made an exception. He came to us and I swore I’d help him out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have cocking well done that, should you?” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands.

Eyes wet, Dean sneered at him. “Parasite. Get out of my sight before I wring your evil neck.”

Crowley left.

Upon arriving back in Hell, he went to the Admissions Department.

The soul of Martin Booke was sitting in one of the cheap blue plastic chairs, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably still reeling from the trauma of the hounds ripping his throat out, though no damage was evident on his form now.

“Mr Booke,” Crowley said, sauntering up with his hands in his pockets. “Could you come with me, please?”

A door appeared in the nearest wall and swung open silently.

Once they were both standing inside Crowley’s office, it swung shut and dissolved into nothingness.

Moving to his liquor cabinet, Crowley said, “I hear you’re a Harvard man.”

“Um… y-yeah. Yes. I was.” Thin voice. Midwestern accent.

“Promising career ahead of you before things – ah – went awry.”

Booke swallowed. “Tom. First boyfriend. Got me into meth. Got me into a lot of stuff. I figured it was okay because we were gonna be together forever and as long as I had him, I’d be fine. Then he went and died and I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Smiling thinly, Crowley said, “Isn’t romance grand? As it happens, you may still get your happily ever after. Thomas Abbott is currently waiting in the eternal queue – which, ordinarily, is where you’d be headed.”

“Yeah. Dean told me. Although… um…”

“You have a question? Spit it out. Cowards bore me.”

“Dean said that when you sell your soul, you go to Hell and demons torture you until you become a demon. But he also told me about the queue thing. So that’s confusing. I mean, queuing sucks but it’s not torture.”

Crowley poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down behind his desk. “Clever boy. Yes; when I became King of Hell, I restructured things. Most of you end up in the queue. The hot knives and whips are a speciality service and, as such, are reserved for our elite clientele. The pedos and Nazis and so forth – and, of course, anyone who pisses me off too much. As for the process of becoming a demon; that doesn’t actually require torture. I know! Surprised me too! We always thought it did, back when Lilith was in charge. Then I started running some tests and it turns out that becoming a demon is a bit like catching a virus; it’ll happen to anyone who hangs around other demons long enough. Everyone in the queue will have black eyes by the end of their first century.”

Booke took off his glasses and nervously rubbed them on his sleeve. “You said that ‘ordinarily’ I’d go to the queue. So am I an – uh – ‘elite client’?”

“Hah! No. Your little life was staggeringly boring and barely impacted anyone in ways either negative or positive. No, the reason you’re here is Harvard. See, I had a snoop and it seems that before you dropped out, you were getting bloody good grades.”

A wistful smile. “I guess. Had big dreams, once.”

Sipping his bourbon, Crowley said, “On track for a Master’s in aeronautical engineering, I believe.”

“Yep. I wanted to work for NASA.”

“Cards on the table, Booke: I might have a job for you. There is, at present, space in one or two of our departments for a man with your talents. But first I need to ask a question.”

He cocked his head. “Um. Sure? Anything’s better than what I was expecting. Shoot.”

“Do you know how to crash a spaceship?”

[kiwi-bitchez]

hey love can you maybe do a shower smut one shot? don't feel pressured like if u don’t wanna do it it’s fine!

Water Pressure

Reader x Peter Parker

Reader and Peter are both college-aged. College!Neighbor!AU I guess?

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut, shower sex, oral sex, face sitting, dick sucking, soap getting in your eyes, unreliable landlords

New York City in the summer was a great place to be. The stress of school was lifted off your shoulders, and you were lucky enough to be interning at your dream job. You were grateful for the opportunity to stay in the city after the semester ended, not having to move back home to your small town. However, there was one thing about summer in the city that was unbearable: the heat.

It was like a wet blanket that hit you every time you stepped out of your apartment, not that the tiny window box unit you had made much of a difference indoors. It was oppressive and heavy and difficult. You managed to survive with ice packs and cold showers. That was… until this afternoon.

You hike up the seven flights of stairs to your tiny apartment. The building was under serious renovations and didn’t have a working elevator, flickering lights, strange noises in the night. But it was seriously cheap rent compared to the other buildings in the area, so you were willing to make the sacrifices. Not many people lived on your floor, most of the rooms had been occupied by college students whose leases ended at the end of the school year.

You press your sweaty forehead against the chipped paint of the door as you fumble with your keys for a moment.

“Hey y/n, you good?” your neighbor from across the hall asks as he steps out of his apartment to leave for the afternoon.

“Yeah, thanks Flash. Its just so damn hot out. I’d suggest bringing some water wherever you’re going,” you respond. You sneak a peak into his apartment for a second before the door swings shut, getting a glance of his roommate Peter who was playing video games on the couch.

You were grateful to have them as neighbors, they were nice enough, would let you borrow a cup of sugar every once in a while, and weren’t too loud like the previous people you had lived near in college. It didn’t hurt that Peter was nice to look at. He was incredibly nice, and a little dorky, which only added to his charm. It wasn’t long into the summer before you had developed a little crush on him.

You had seen him around campus before, but never really got to know him. His best friend Ned had been your calculus tutor sophomore year, so you saw him in passing but never more than a wave or a smile. Now that he was living across the hall you saw him almost every day, lucky you.

You finally make it into your shoebox apartment and drop your stuff down on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t much cooler inside as it was outside, unfortunately. You immediately shed yourself of your slightly sticky clothing, peeling the few layers off your damp skin. It had become routine to hop in the shower as soon s you get home, an attempt to bring your body temperature down a few degrees and wash the sweat from your hair.

A sigh of relief escapes you as the ice cold water hits your face. The air of the city left a certain layer of grime on you that always felt nice to wash off. You allow yourself to use a large dollop of shampoo, wanting to scrub the roots of your hair from any sweat and dirt that the city had left.

It was moments like this that you cursed your landlord, cursed the building that you lived in, and cursed whatever higher power was in charge of your utilities. Your water shuts off. You jiggle the knob, hoping the water would turn back on, but it only lets out a few sad drips.

This had happened before, and typically wasn’t too big of a problem, however you had a mound of soapy hair on the top of your head that was starting to drip down your body. You let out an exasperated groan, not knowing what to do. You hop out and stick your head in the sink, hoping to use the sink water to rinse some of the shampoo suds out of your hair.

Of course the sink wouldn’t turn on either, and now your head was upside down in your tiny bathroom sink, soapy wet hair all in your face. When you stand up, the suds drip into your eyes and mouth, making you frown and scrunch your eyes up tight.

You grab the towel from the door hook and wrap it around your dripping body. In a moment of panic, soap burning in your eyes and starting to drip onto the floor, you decide to leave your apartment. It was a last ditch effort, but you needed this shampoo out of your hair and maybe their shower was working.

“Hey Peter?” you yell as you knock a few times, your other hand holding up the wet towel, “I need some help.”

You feel a little relieved when you hear his footsteps approaching, however that relief turns to embarrassment very quickly when he opens the door and you remember your current state.

“Y/n…. um…” he is a little confused.

“Sorry, my water shut off and I have soap in my eyes and in my hair and all over the floor,” you start to ramble, not really able to see him through your scrunched up soapy face, “is your water working? Can I use it for just a second.”

He starts laughing, which makes you feel a little bit better, you let out a laugh too. “Sure thing, I think it’s working.”

He runs over to the kitchen and turns on the sink, “Seems to be working fine, feel free to use the shower.”

“I…um…” you stand blindly in the frame of his doorway, dripping water and your hair a soapy mess in your face.

“Here, let me help you,” he laughs again. He takes your arm and guides you into their bathroom, his apartment the same model as yours just mirrored. “I have to leave, but feel free to take your time and let yourself out when you’re done.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” you hear the door close behind you and you step into the shower, fumbling with the knob for a second before the water shoots out. You feel your heart rate slow as the soap is finally washed from your face.

You had only started to run your fingers through your tangled hair when you hear the bathroom door open again. Your eyebrows furrow as you start to peek your head out of the curtain. You see a figure for a second, floppy brown hair that could only be Peters. His hand quickly moves to the curtain, closing it in front of your face.

“Peter, what the fuck,” you start to ask.

“Shhh,” he shushes you and keeps the shower curtain closed tightly with his arm.

“Peter, what-” you begin to ask again before hearing Flash’s loud voice from the hallway.

“Hey dude, you in the shower?” He asks Peter.

“Umm, yeah, what’s up?” His voice is tense. You’re incredibly confused and just stand there in the shower enjoying the cold water.

“Just forgot my wallet. You mind if I take a piss?”

“Uhh,” before Peter can respond the doorknob starts to wiggle. You wonder why he doesn’t just tell Flash that you’re using the shower, but the situation is hard to gauge from inside.

“Fuck-” Peter mutters as he swiftly hops into the shower with you.

You turn to face him, about to throw your hands up, but it all happens too quickly. Before you can even ask what the fuck is going on his hand comes up to cover your mouth. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your knees almost buckle when you finally see Peter.

Standing in the shower in front of you from the neck up was your neighbor Peter, the science whiz, nerdy, cute, t-shirt wearing, floppy haired Peter you had come to know. From the neck down…was Spider-man. Tight red and black suit that hugged his body, hand covering your mouth was gloved in a strange material that felt cold against your skin.

His face was incredibly panicked, his eyes almost as wide as yours. His other hand frantically came up to his face, signaling you to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Not that you had a choice, his large suited hand was tightly covering the lower half of your face.

You didn’t even have the time or focus to be embarrassed about being naked in front of him. You were overwhelmed with confusion and were too concentrated on the superhero in front of you to bother covering yourself up.

He throws his head back in annoyance as you can hear Flash peeing a few feet away, humming all the while.

“Alright man, have a good day,” he yells as he exits the bathroom.

“Yeah, you too,” Peter tries to keep his voice cool but you can hear an underlying shakiness.

As soon as the door slams shut he removes his hands from your mouth, but is still frantically gesturing for you to stay quiet. A few seconds pass and you hear the front door shut, he lets out a sigh of relief, but you can’t say the same for yourself.

His eyes grow wide again, realizing that he’s in the shower with you, and you’re naked. He scrunches his eyes shut and quickly turns around.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” he runs his hands through his hair, a little damp now from the condensation of the shower.

Before he can continue you grab his arm and turn him around, “What the fuck Peter,” you were still absolutely stunned, “what…”

“I’m sososo sorry I didn’t mean to be a creep or anything, I didn’t know he was gonna come into the bathroom and I had to hide…” you could tell he was just as nervous as you.

“I…what…” your brain still could not form words, “you’re… you’re…”

“Spiderman, yeah, and I really need you to not tell anyone please,” his eyes were wide with worry. At a split second you had thought this was a joke, or maybe he just dresses up in his free time or something, but no. The way his hand felt on your mouth and the terror in his eyes told you this was real, too real.

You give him a nod, “of course, of course.”

“It’s my biggest secret, and I can’t afford for Flash to find out because, well, I don’t think he’s kept anything to himself his entire life.”

You laugh a little, but your body still feels rigid and your mind is still swarming with questions. “But I think I can trust you,” he says, somewhere in between a question and a statement.

“Yes, you can trust me,” you could see ease creep onto his face, the wide-eyed, fearful look was slowly melting away. “Ned knows?” Out of all the questions you had, why was this the one you asked? It just slipped out.

“Yeah, Ned knows,” It was weird that you two were still in the shower, but you were both still too shaken up to realize or care.

“And…” you start.

“And that’s it. You and Ned.”

A deep pit begins to form in your stomach, “You aren’t gonna kill me or something, are you? Cuz I promise I won’t tell anyone; I swear.”

“Nonono,” he panics, “No, I’m one of the good guys, I don’t kill people. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry, I- I don’t know why I said that,” you felt bad for implying anything, you were just nervous that your newfound knowledge of Peter would change things.

“It’s okay that you’re freaked out, I’m- I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

Without really thinking you turn around and face the water. You needed to feel something other than confusion, embarrassment, shock, and fear. You spin back around after a moment, Peter still standing there in the same state of shock and confusion as you.

“So you’re Spiderman,” you say with assurance, “wow.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out, I’m sorry if I’m being super weird.”

No part of you blamed him for his actions, you knew he wasn’t making up excuses to hop into a cold shower with you. And you didn’t blame him for lingering. He was just answering your questions, explaining himself. That was reasonable.

“No,” you weren’t sure what to say to get him to stay, “step into the water, it will make you feel better, I promise.”

He stared at you with a blank expression for a second, not knowing how to take your suggestion. He was also concentrating immensely on concealing the erection that was prominently poking against the material of his suit. He wanted to remove himself before you noticed before you could realize that he had been looking at you.

You had noticed. For a split second, while admiring how nice he looked in the skin tight suit your eyes wandered south and caught a glimpse of his hard on under the suit. He still looked nervous, a new kind of nervous though.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, making somewhat of a bold move, you reassure him, “It’s okay Peter, it’s just me.”

There was something lingering in the space between you. The fact that neither one of you had rushed to escape the shower at the first possible second was one thing. You hadn’t tried to cover yourself up. You looked him in the eye when speaking to him with an air of sincerity and understanding.

“How does it come off?” you ask, genuinely curious as it seemed to be air-tight against his body.

His hand slowly comes up to the center of his chest, pressing down on the spider logo. The material seems to evaporate off him, expanding and stretching until it pooled at his feet.

The wide look in your eyes had turned to something else entirely, they boy you had been stealing glances of for the past few months was naked and in the shower with you. Albeit, the circumstances that got you here were not ideal.

You take his hands and move them up to your face, encouraging his strong hands to cup your cheeks on either side. The way he was looking at you made something inside you stir. You tried to close some of the empty space between you, as he tentatively pulled your face to his.

The kiss was soft and gentile, your lips hovered over his for a moment before connecting. Your arms wrapped around his neck, a hand moving up to his damp curls. He pulls away slowly, eyes remaining closed for a moment after your lips had parted.

“This…” he whispers, “this isn’t just because you think I’m gonna kill you or something.”

“No,” you laugh, “I wanted to do that before I knew your secret identity. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too,” he mumbles into your lips as he moves to kiss you again, this one was harder and more sure. His hands run up and down your body, wrapping around your waist and snaking up to your chest.

You couldn’t help but let out a whimper as his tongue met yours. Your hands were resting on his chest, toned and perfect.

“You’re really warm,” you comment with some concern, as his skin was burning underneath your touch.

“It’s a…spider sense thing,” he wasn’t quite sure how to go about explaining his abilities to you.

“Here, step into the cold water,” you had forgotten where you were for a second. You felt bad about his water bill, you had been in here for quite a while, and hopefully would be here for a while more.

You clenched your thighs together as you watched him step under the water and run his hands through his now wet hair. It was like a scene out of a movie, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, the way his lips remained slightly parted as the water washed over his face.

His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you under the stream of water with him. The sensation of his face pressed to yours, lips interlocking as the water rolled down your face was unreal. You shift your body towards his, pressing your chest flat to his. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, making your thighs clench again.

“Will you touch me?” you whimper into his mouth, sounding desperate and weak. You move your hand over his, showing him where you wanted him most.

“Fuck,” he groans as his fingertips make contact with your wet folds. His hands are much bigger and stronger than yours, the sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut.

You move your hands down to his already hard cock, rubbing it up and down, somehow making it harder. Your mouth falls agape as he slips a digit into you, cool water still running over your body.

He takes your lower lip in between his, sucking on it in the process. He slowly pushes you back so your body meets the tile shower wall. One hand working between your legs and the other palming at your chest has you seeing stars. Your head rolls back, giving him access to suck and nip at your neck.

Fuck, why had you not done this sooner? He had been right across the hall all summer and only now were you finally experiencing what you had been daydreaming about.

“Peter,” you moan out, continuing to stroke his erection, “I need you.”

He mumbles into your neck, now littered with red splotches. He curls his fingers up into you, making your legs buckle a little, “Fuck,” you gasp out, “please.”

“Peter I need you to fuck me,” you can feel him smile into your skin, “but I’m worried about running u your water bill.”

“You don’t want me to take you right here?” he pushes against you so your back is flat up against the wall. All you can do is moan in response, his fingers still making work inside you.

Slowly detaching his lips from your chest and removing his fingers from you, he moves back into the water to turn the shower off. While he faces away, you slowly drop down to your knees, thighs spread apart and tongue laying flat out of your mouth.

You look up at him with big blinking eyes as he turns around to face you.

“Holy shit,” he hovers above you, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that, right?”

“Can I?” you ask as your head moves towards his cock. He nods and gives you permission before you lick a long stripe up the underside. His eyes closed and his head falls back as you take his tip into your mouth, rolling your tongue around his sensitive head.

“You’re sure this isn’t just because I’m Spiderman?” he manages to ask in between deep breaths.

“Peter,” you pause your sucking and continue to stroke him, “I’ve thought about having your cock in my mouth every day this summer. Every time we rode the elevator together, or passed each other in the hallway, I’ve wanted you.”

You go back to taking his length into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, loving the noises he makes as you take him deeper.

“Do you want to go to my room?” He asks, “the bathtub floor can’t be comfortable to kneel on.”

You stand up and place a gentle kiss on his mouth, “That’s very thoughtful,” you kiss him again between thoughts, “I would love to.”

He takes you by surprise as his arms quickly lift you up, wrapping your legs around his firm torso. He carries you with ease to his small bedroom, tossing you back onto his messy comforters.

Climbing back on top of you, peppering your body with kisses as he makes his way up to your face, your lips finally meet with Peter’s again. You bite down a little onto his lower lip as his hand tangles its way into your wet hair, the other resuming its place between your legs.

You let out a low moan, only to be cut off by him whispering in your ear, “Will you sit on my face?” You pull back, a little stunned at his question, mouth parted at the way his fingers continued to twist inside you.

“All those times we were in the elevator or the hallway, and you were thinking about my cock in your mouth, I was thinking about you sitting that pretty pussy of yours on my face, riding my tongue.”

That sent a shiver down your spine that pulsed in your already soaking wet cunt. “Holy fuck” you could not even begin to explain how turned on you are. Peter easily flips you over so that you are now straddling him, his lips moving to suck down on one of your hard nipples.

You grind your crotch down onto him, missing the friction of his hand.

“Come here,” he lays flat down and guides your thighs up to either side of his head. Your mind was spinning with lust, completely fucked out and unable to concentrate as he uses his strong hands to lower you down onto his face.

His hands wrapped comfortable around your waist, fingertips diffing perfectly into your soft skin. A deep moan escapes you as he starts to lap up and down your slit. His tongue moves easily across you, lapping up and down, around your clit, into your hole, all of it. Your eyes were permanently rolled into the back of your head.

His grip on your waist started to guide your hips back and forth, rolling your core across his eager tongue. Every time your hips buckled forward and your clit made contact with his tongue waves of pleasure shot up your body. You couldn’t help but lean forward, using his headboard as support as he completely owned you with just his tongue.

“Peter,” his name comes out as a strangled moan, “I’m gonna come soon, fuck.”

He hums into you, adding vibrations to the slick wetness. “I want to come on your cock, fuck. Please, Peter, I need you to fuck me.”

Although you couldn’t get enough of his tongue, the way he was taking control over you, you were dying to feel him inside of you. You wanted to feel your walls clench around him as you came.

He laps a few more times at your sensitive clit, almost pushing you over the edge. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs shook around his head, pressing against his ears. He starts to move, replacing his tongue with his fingers against your clit. He gracefully changes position, coming up behind you so you didn’t have to move at all.

You were already at the perfect angle, arms pressed up against the headboard and hips arched back for him. He continues to rub tight circles against you as he starts to run his tip up and down your soaking slit.

“You’re sure,” he knows you’ve already said yes, but he just wanted to make sure.

“Fuck, yes Peter please, please fuck me,” your words came out somewhere between a whine and a moan.

He pushes his tip into you slowly, and you rock back onto his cock, letting him slip deep into you. His mouth drops open for a second at the sensation of fucking you mixed with the way you looked with your head thrown back and ass bouncing against him.

“Peter, I’m gonna come please don’t stop.”

He picks up his pace, fucking into you faster while his fingers continued to rub your clit. He had only been inside you for a few moments, and he could already feel your tight walls gripping around his length, your orgasm washing over you and dripping all over his cock.

You fall forward a little, letting out gravely moans of his name and profane language. He fucks you through your orgasm, not letting up as you start to come down. He can start to feel your legs shake, so he removes his hand from your clit and takes a firm grip on either side of your ass. He kneads your flesh as he continues to bury his dick into you.

You were almost flat down on your stomach, hips still angled up for him, face buried into the pillows to muffle your loud moaning screams. He wanted to see your face as you cried out his name, so he pulls out and gently rolls you over, kissing up your thighs to give you a second to readjust.

He thought you looked incredibly beautiful, with your hair sprawled out around your head, your lips puffy and eyes fluttered shut.

He takes your chin between his thumb and his hand to angle your face up to his, kissing you passionately and deeply as he slipped back into you. You moan into the kiss, hands coming up to his hair.

He held one of your thighs back with his hand, giving him perfect access. Through fucking you he never stopped kissing you, only coming up to gasp for air when he felt you clench around him in pleasure. His thumb rubbed across your cheek, hand tucked perfectly under your jaw.

He loved the way you would whisper his name in between kisses, rolling your hips up into his.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, the way his dick swelled inside you as you sucked a mark onto his neck was a dead giveaway.

“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” he whispers to you, only encouraging you to grind your hips up more and kiss him harder.

He jolts back up onto his knees, pulling his dick out and rubbing the tip across your lower stomach as his come shoots out. You lift your hips up, collecting his come all on your stomach and dripping some down onto your inner thighs.

You can’t help but gawk at him as you watch him come undone, the way his brow furrowed and lips parted, the veins in his arm bulging as he stroked his cock.

He takes his length in his hand and rubs his red tip up and down your thighs, rubbing his come into your skin, spreading it around from your stomach to your legs. He slips back into you, slowly thrusting a few times before pulling back out.

“Holy shit,” you sigh as he lays down next to you, “that was…fucking hot.”

“You’re fucking hot,” he laughs.

He buries his head into your shoulder, leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“Um, can you get me a towel,” you laugh, gesturing to all the fluid on your lower half.

“Hmmm, no I don’t think so,” he jokes, “I think I want you right here, just like this for a while.”

“You certainly earned it,” you joke back before he hops up, grabbing a warm wet towel to wash you off with.

“Damn, well now I hope my water never comes back on,” you quip as he flops back down next to you.

“You are welcome to come use mine any time, even if yours is working fine.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course.”

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it--IT AIN'T MINE

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 7

Kihyun

The next day, after two fittings with costumes, two phone interviews, a shoot for an ad, and a tv spot; I finally got back to the dorms, and back to that story.

Bryn PoV--

As if today wasn't bad enough, I walked into the house to find it completely empty. The kids wandered around and I tried to field a million questions about where they were gonna sleep and what we were gonna eat. That and the meltdowns every five minutes led me to try to call my little brother. I really just needed to talk to another grown-up. As soon as I had supper figured out, I called Joey.

"Hello," said a voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ummm. Hi?"

"Oh. Hello," The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Joey.

"Is Joey close?"

"Sorry. Who?"

"Sorry. Jooheon. Kids call him 'Uncle Joey'. Guess it stuck."

"Hmm. No. You just missed him."

"Dern. Can you pass on a message?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell him to call Bryn when he gets back?"

"Oh! I didn't recognize your voice, Bryn. How are you? It's Kihyun. Joey is in the shower. Can I help you with whatever you need," I asked, biting my lip and praying she would say yes. Just the sound of her voice was both soothing and somehow able to tie me up in knots.

"Actually, I was calling to vent. I've had a particularly terrible day today. Joey is my sobriety sponsor."

"He is? Wow," I said before Honey came charging at me, his hair still wet. "I would still LOVE to talk to YOU," I shouted.

"Gimmie my phone, Kihyun."

I handed him back the phone and heard him say

"What's up, Sis?"

Though I couldn't hear exactly what was said, I could tell by the look on his face, it wasn't good.

"Really?"

Then, Honey sighed. "Lemme see what I can do from here."

"Please, let me help."

If it were possible for him to get any more pissed off, he did. "HE WHAT," he yelled. Then, he pulled the phone from his ear and said, "I need a one way ticket to Peoria International!! I'm gonna kill him. I am gonna fuckin' kill him." Next, he put the phone back to his ear, "Lemme see what I can do here, Sis," he growled as he demanded numbers and wrote them down, and then hung up.

As he started digging on the internet to find the cheapest fare, HyunWoo said, "Hold it, Hot Shot. What happened?"

"That douchbag finally left. He took everything! Even the kids stuff. He left them with NOTHING! That is why Sis was calling. He cleaned out their account and took everything. Damn lucky he couldn't touch the shop accounts or he would have cleaned them out too. Literally everything. She needs a little cash to feed the kids til Friday."

"Thank God it is Wednesday," said CK. from the far side of the room. If anyone had bothered to look, the reflection on his glasses was an Amazon cart with 37 things in it. The only time ANYONE has that many things in an Amazon cart is when they are buying groceries. However, most of those were chips or snack cakes.

Honey, Min, and HyungWon all sat down to iron out how much and what they were gonna contribute.

Silently, I picked up my bank book and palmed the slip of paper with her info on it. Only HyunWoo saw me slip out the door. He stopped me as I waited for the elevator and handed me a few bills from his own wallet before turning back towards the room.

"What," was all I could get out before he interrupted, cutting me off mid-question.

"We look out for our own," He answered before he opened the door to the dorm.

After heading to the nearest Western Union, I called the number on the slip from Honey. When she picked up, I smiled.

"Hey, Bryn, it's Kihyun. I wired you some money. Should be about $100, if everything gets exchanged right."

"Kihyun, you guys didn't have to do that. My dad was already gonna feed the kids. I just needed to talk to someone. This has got me so shaken up, I want a drink really bad. Guess I wasn't too clear with Joey."

"Really? Then why was he," I stopped as a shadow fell over me. "Well, shit. Guess who is now standing right behind me."

"Tell him to calm down."

"Bryn says to calm down. She told me to sit on you if I have to."

"Kihyun! I did not."

"I paraphrased," I laughed. "Besides, Sweets, if looks could kill, I'd be dead right about now."

"Really," she chuckled.

"Oh yeah. He is probably gonna follow me all the way to the dorm. I guess I am not allowed out on my own," I laughed.

"Why," She asked.

"I tend to do dumb things, according to others. Though they may be a little impulsive, they always work out in the end. So don't look the horse in the mouth."

"I won't."

"Good girl," I laughed, "So why did you call him, anyway?"

"I needed someone I could yell at that would not take it personal."

"I am always here. Though, I may occasionally yell back."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Making me laugh. I needed that. "

"Damn. I was looking forward to the screaming match. C'mon, get it started, Angelface," I said as I stopped at the stoplight and waited for the crosswalk. "Do you want me to start," I asked, then pulled the phone away and yelled.

Bringing the phone back to my face, I asked as the crosswalk lit up and I crossed the street, "How was that," I grinned.

"A 10. A fuckin' 10. Have you thought of being a Rockstar," she laughed.

I could almost hear the smile on her face, which made me laugh. Even if my throat killed me in the morning it was worth it.

"Hey, hang on a second. I want to send you something," I said as I put my phone on speaker and started the camera.

"Oh dear God, what now," she asked.

I took a short video of me sending her a kiss and sent it off. "Nothing bad."

"Ok, if you say so. Just not cool with unsolicited dick pics from strange men."

"I would not send you unsolicited dick pics, nor am I a stranger. Now, if you asked for them...Like a good girl," I started and looked over at Honey, who was looking at me with the 'better never do that' face. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I'm getting side eye."

She laughed and said, "I know just the look. It screams, 'You'd better not be sending photos of ANY part of your anatomy to my sister'."

"Yes," I laughed. "So how are you feeling? Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. I'm here all week. Try the veal," I laughed. "Still want a drink," I asked.

"No. The laughs did it for me. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Darling. So did you get the video I sent?"

"I did. That was very sweet. Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Pretty Lady. Well, we are back at the dorms."

"I should probably go then," she sighed.

"Just remember I am also available for Mitzvahs," I chuckled, which made her laugh. "Seriously, Sweetie, anytime you need a sounding board or a laugh fest, a screaming match or some naughty-Ow, Mother fucker!-I got smacked on my arm for that last bit. I am always here,"

"Thanks again. Until next time."

I paused and came VERY close to telling her how I felt but said, instead, "Again, you are welcome."

"Bye, Kihyun."

"Bye, Bryn," I breathed, then hung up.

Honey looked at me as he crossed his arms over his chest, "It took everything you had to not tell her 'I love you' didn't it?"

All I could do was nod and hope that my dreams tonight would be better than they had been.

As we got into the elevator, He said, "It was good hearing that you made her laugh."

"I love the sound of her laughter. Once I got her started, I didn't want her to stop. I think that she is just as funny as she is sweet."

"You do know that she will do one of two things, right?"

"What two things?"

"Either immediately send the money right back, or hang on to it and physically give you back every bit. She hates asking for help...of any kind," he said as he opened the door to our dorm.

"Yeah? Wonder why."

He just laughed, "Her ex-fiancée, ex-husband, and her father."

"What happened," I asked as I made us a pot of coffee.

"They all held every penny over her head. Her dad decided he wanted her out the minute she turned 18 and to do it, he threw her out the boat, so to speak. Said if she floated, she never needed help anyway; and if she sank, well, it was her own fault."

"That's abuse. Financial abuse."

"Yep. He was the kind to tell her everything she had was his, that she owned nothing; not even the clothes on her back. He comes from the 'I Own You' school of parenting. Her ex-fiancée would demand she work, then make her late, so she would lose any job she got. Then, he'd take any money she got paid and use it for crap he wanted rather than the bills she had it ear-marked for."

"Oh, tell me he didn't."

"Oh he did. Spent it on girls at the local under 21."

"Shit. He screwed around on her, didn't he?"

"Yep. Which is why if you ever think about cheating, I will castrate you myself," he growled.

Somehow I knew he would do it, and I would let him. "Don't have to worry about that. Can you tell me about her ex-husband?"

"That asshole was a piece of work. Emotionally, Mentally, and Fiscally abusive. The entire time they were together, he would pinch a penny until it died if it was something she needed, but she was expected to turn over her things and cash to him. She worked second shift in a factory; out of the house from half 1 to almost 1 am. He was in semi driver school at the time, racked up a HUGE amount of debt; I'm talking almost 40K. Constantly accused her of cheating when he had a different lot lizard every night. It's a miracle he never gave her anything."

I was disgusted by this guys behavior. To have a woman like her waiting at home and trying his best to break her.

"And that isn't even the worst of his offenses. He screamed at her one night while he was over the road, on training. She was at work, and he called her on her lunch break. The entire time, he screamed at her for having a cold sore and yelled about her cheating loud enough for her co-workers to hear. Her boss to tell her to turn off her phone; that he was tired of hearing that jerk yell at her. The guy he was learning with, told him that 'If I were her, I would be calling the lawyer first thing in the morning, after that shit.' He 'apologized' pretty quickly after that."

"Icky. I hope she ended it there."

"No. That girl has a ton of stay and No show. He ended up deployed to Egypt and told his brother about the girls there. Never thought his brother would run and tell her. She still didn't leave. You left a blister on her cheek one night and he threw her out in the snow."

"Stay and no show? I'm not sure I understand."

"Horse terms," came a voice from the doorway. I had forgotten Hoseok was staying with us while his apartment was getting the pipes fixed. "When a filly is learning to ride, it's said she is full of Show and no Stay. Meaning she looks good, but is too skittish to stand still. Sis--Well Sis may not look like much, but she has tons of loyalty to those who show her the same. She has the patience to play a 30 year long game, and the courage to weather ANY storm. But she has a problem knowing when to leave, and so she gets hurt."

"Hold up! He threw her out in the snow?!"

As Hoseok filled his own mug, he answered, "Yeah, he threw her out of the apartment in the middle of a snowstorm. Lucky her parents were in town. So if you start this with her, and you ever want out; you are gonna have to straight up tell her to go. She won't understand otherwise. She doesn't play games and has a tough time with subtly. So always be direct and honest with her."

I nodded taking it in. There was something I thought I wanted, so I asked, "How is her aegyo"

"If you are looking for overt aegyo, don't. Hers is subtle but she has got it in spades, and she doesn't even know it. It's in the way she plays, either with her guy or her kids," he said as he leaned against the counter, "It's in the subtle blush when you say or do something for her without her asking. It's in a compliment and the smiling eyes that comes with it. She has never had some of the things other girls take for granted, like a stolen kiss or flowers on her birthday. Other things, like those romantic gestures, she has only had once or twice. If I remember right, the last guy to 'play' was an FWB years and years ago, and that guy only stole one kiss, once," Honey replied.

"Don't expect her to run with girls. Most girls find her too harsh, too rough. She doesn't appreciate girls and their whiney, gossipy ways. She never wears makeup, and I have never once seen her with her nails painted. She is a guys-girl, a tom-boy through and through; wasn't made delicate. She is stronger than most people will ever know. However, her heart is extremely delicate, it's been broken and bruised so bad, even I wonder how she is still alive. So, let me tell you, right now," Hoseok said as he sat down his mug and leaned over the counter in my direction, "She may not be blood, but she is my sister."

"Hmm," I nodded. "You really don't have to worry about that," I replied. "How are you related to her again," I asked.

"Distant cousin. Her auntie married my mothers little brother, for all of five minutes. I am only gonna tell you this once, if you hurt that filly in ANY way; you wont walk again."

"Got it," I replied, cringing.

"You know that she won't ask for what she wants or needs. You are gonna need to be damned good at reading between the lines, cause she is so afraid that if she tells you what she needs, what she wants, you will do the same thing every one else has done," Honey said after a minute.

"Run," I answered nodding.

"Yep. Most men can't handle her intensity so they either run or try to turn her down to levels that they can handle without realizing that her fire isn't meant to be dimmed, but fed. She is gonna need you to be just as emotional as her, to show her that it is ok to feel again. She is very touch oriented, very tactile. So a lot of her feelings are touch related."

"I understand, Joey."

"You had better. The only reason I didn't beat the shit out of the other assholes, is that I wasn't there. If I had been, I would have had no problems with a few months in the county lock-up. And if Clark had tried that shit while I was there..."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, the shit of it is, she fades into the background. She doesn't want all those things that other girls want. She isn't the kind to run or chase. She doesn't play games. She is also emotional. Ease into it. Don't try to love bomb her, she went through that shit with Clark and won't put up with it from you," Hoseok said, then turned to Joey, "Speaking of, did you hear what Lone Elm called him?"

Joey shook his head.

Hoseok grinned. "Elm called him a fuckin fishstick."

Joey started laughing, "Elm called him 'Fishstick'."

I looked back and forth between the two men who were holding themselves up on the counter while they laughed. "I don't get it. What-What's a fishstick?"

A hand landed on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Changkhyun standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Fishsticks are only available in the States. They are mashed-up fish paste, about an inch wide by around six inches long, which is then breaded. Then, they are to be baked in an oven. Either they turn out soggy or they are hard as a rock; inedible either way. Which is good, because they are fuckin' gross. Nasty little things."

"Are they like the fish at Mickey's?"

"No," CK stated. "The fish there is actually decent. Fishsticks are generally served in school hot lunches on Fridays due either to religious reasons, or because they are cheap and can be purchased by the gross. At any rate, they are still inedible."

"Icky. How in the hell can people do that to their kids?"

"Not a clue. That was why I always took my lunch on Friday. Every Friday, the hot lunch was always the same thing; rock hard fishsticks, soggy tater tots, dehydrated-rehydrated mixed vegetables, and golden glow salad with mayonnaise on the top. It was the grossest meal I have ever seen in my entire life."

I shuddered to think of those poor kids. Forced to eat that nasty stuff.

After reading that, I was glad her kids never had to eat that. She fixed boxes for them. School lunches in the States sounded gross.

'Some things were ok.'

'I thought you took your lunch, Mami?'

'I did. My dad said cold lunch was cheaper. But, there was one day, once or twice a month, that I would get school lunch. They called it pork pattie day, but it was a breaded pork tenderloin on a bun. It was pretty decent. It was pretty gross the rest of the time, but that day wasn't too bad.'

'Have I watched you fix those before?'

'Not sure.'

'Are those the sandwiches where you beat the pork chops to nothing and then bread and fry them?'

'Yes.'

'Those do look pretty tasty,' I said as I dug around for what to fix the next day, so I could write it on the board. 'Hmm. Help, please. Can't figure out supper.'

'Whatcha got?'

'Hmmm. Some sausages, some tiny shrimp, and a package of chicken,' I said as I dug around in the freezer.

"You can use the shrimp and chicken in Gumbo.'

'It has been quite a while since I've had Gumbo. I've never made it before though.'

'Look it up. There are a million Gumbo recipes out there.'

'I think I will do that. Thanks, Baby. Have I told you, today, how awesome you are??'

'Yes, but I can always stand to hear it again,' she laughed.

A/N)--The above abuses......actually happened. First hand experience.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

MAKE MY MESSES MATTER (MAKE MY CHAOS COUNT)

THE 100 / BELLARKE/ CANON DIVERGENCE SINCE S2 FINALE

AO3

{First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river. / a.k.a. clarke leaves to heal herself; it doesn't mean she abandons anyone }

This fic is dedicated to the best reviewer, best beta and best friend in the entire world - Lana, darling, I don't deserve you <3 <3.

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

I‘ll see you in the future when we’re older

And we are full of stories to be told

Cross my heart and hope to die

I’ll see you with your laughter lines

- Laughter Lines, Bastille

I.

First letters come when frost finally lets go of the river.

It’s not spring yet, and Echo told him not to let anyone get their hopes too high-  weather is unpredictable and cold can come back quickly and violently, but – fuck, winter was so hard and now there are flowers blooming in-between ponds of mud and still-remaining snow. People are laughing again, letting yellow light of spring sun kiss their pale, frostbitten faces and Bellamy slowly, very slowly lets himself take a breath. It feels as if he was holding it ever since first snows hit them, when they were so epically unprepared and if it wasn’t for Lincoln, they’d probably all be dead by Winter Solstice (what an irony- Bellamy thinks sometimes, looking at Lincoln wrestling with kids, helping Abby, kissing Octavia- what an irony indeed).

And even with Lincoln, there was nothing easy about those last few months and Bellamy’s hands are calloused and rough from digging too many graves in the frozen ground. And then flu hit them and there were too many bodies to bury, so they burned them instead. He can still almost smell it; this strangely sweet smoke smelling like meat, which was making their empty stomachs growl, which in turn would make them sick.

There was nothing easy from the beginning till the end and the hardest part was that there was a huge hole with jagged edges where Clarke was supposed to be and where she wasn’t, his ‘together’ haunting his dreams and hers ‘you won’t be by yourself’ mocking him over and over again.

But now spring is finally truly coming, days become longer and he manages to sleep more than an hour or two during most nights, so he decides to focus on positives.

Letters come when Bellamy’s on a hunting trip deep in the forests; they are waiting for him in Arkadia along with Echo. She was a frequent visitor during the winter; serving as their link to the situation between clans, telling them all about Lexa’s trial, about the fall of the treaty, about wars coming and ending and beginning ( because all this world is war, war and war, constantly. Never stopping, not even to take a breath). The only thing she wasn’t telling them about is, well.  

Clarke.

Bellamy knows Echo knows where Clarke is. Or at least, has a general idea. She slipped it, once or twice, mentioning some ���Wanheda’ in a tone living legends are spoken about, but the person she described didn’t seem like his Clarke at all. His Clarke was soft eyes and steel turned skin and blood under her fingernails because she was saving somebody, not because she strangled someone with them. His Clarke was hummed lullabies and her father’s worn-out watch and grace with every movement…  but his Clarke is gone and he doesn’t know if she’s ever coming back and hearing about new Clarke is too painful, so he’d rather not know anything at all.

Echo is sitting in front of his cabin, eyes closed, facing the sun and well, it turns out that not only Sky People are done with winter. She greets him with a simple nod and tells him that she has something for him. He expects everything, but a small package haphazardly wrapped in some kind of green cloth, smooth under his fingers and tied with a piece of string.

“This went through a long journey”- Echo informs while handing him the bundle. “One of the traveling clans from North brought it to my village, asking if anyone still keeps any kind of contact with Sky People. They really didn’t want to bring it in here themselves. “

Echo draws abstract lines on the fabric of her pants with her index finger, looking down and apparently thinking how to tell him something, while Bellamy fights with an urge to smile grimly. Apart from Echo and Lincoln, they haven’t spotted a single Grounder during winter. Not that Bellamy complained about it- they certainly had enough trouble even without them- but he had found it strange, until he realized that the legend of Clarke is not only a legend of Clarke but also the  legend of Sky People- Those Who Burn, he heard Echo saying one time, Those Who Burn everything standing in their way.

(what an irony)

“Just- just open it.”- says Echo eventually, raising her head to look into his eyes. “ And if you want to send anything back, let me know.”

She waves to him goodbye before he can get a chance to say anything and turns around quickly, her boots making soft, cracking noises on wet snow and mud. He is left standing in front of the hut with the package still in his hands, frozen in time and space, a good few minutes before he manages to move again.

He leaves the bundle by the doors and just - goes. To do things that don’t really need to be done, supervise people who are doing just fine without him hovering, piss off O ( ‘’What the fuck is wrong with you, Bell’’ ) and have yet another unnecessary shouting match with Abby before he’s able to come back and dare to unwrap it.

The string lets go easily, the cloth parts and Bellamy can see pile of – paper? Is it really paper?- few dried flowers, which slip from his knees and land on the ground and a greenish, nice smelling thing, which appears to be some kind of bark.

Half of the sheets of paper- which is also gray-green and there are tiny plant veins visible on their surface – turn out to be empty. The other half is full of words- words spilling on the margins, words on words, words chaotic and wild and crazy and-

II.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been twenty –two days and I think I’m losing my mind. I bumped into a Grounder hunting party today; they just dropped their weapons and things and ran away from me, so I took their things I guess I’m a thief now, why not, actually so they had this paper and a pen, it must be from before the Apocalypse and it still works, can you believe? And I started to write this, I heard people used to write letters to their loved ones when they were away-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been thirty –seven days, I wonder how Monty’s doing, how you are doing, how are you all doing, it’s so cold, I fell asleep on a tree branch and now I can’t feel my fingers, it hurts, Bellamy, it hurts to even-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been fifty days, I found a bark which works miracles on frostbites you should give it to my mother or Lincoln, or I should’ve given it to them, but I’m not with you, I’m alone here, I think I’ve lost my mind-

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been exactly fifty-eight days-

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

Dear Bellamy,

I’m haunted by myself.

III.

First, she catches a terrible cold. Then she slips on a thin layer of ice while hunting and injures her head and she doesn’t even remember how she manages to crawl into the cave she has been living in for some time and collapse on the fur. Her head is spinning, burning red and she sees Wells and Finn and her dad and Bellamy-

“Are you dead?”- she asks, confused and then he looks at her and she sees his body drained out blood, his eyes desperate, his hands stretched out, reaching for her:

“You told me to go.”- he says and his voice makes her shiver.” You told me to go and I went, was it worth it?”

Was it worth it was it worth it was it worth it Clarke was it worth it tell us Clarke tell us weren’t we worth it was it worth us – dead men of her life repeat and repeat and Clarke screams and screams and screams until her voice dies out and she drifts into a blackness and there’s nothing and nobody around her anymore.

IV.

Dear Bellamy,

I’m on the coast now, in Luna’s clan village. Their language is like a song on a wind; you’d love it. Luna sends her love to Lincoln. I had- rough time during winter, you can probably tell from the other letters. But those people helped me and –

Bell, they don’t seem to be afraid of me. I don’t remember them being involved in Mount Weather war, but they must’ve heard of it, heard of me. Still, nobody here treats me like other Grounders. Travelers stopped in a village and they agreed to bring my letters to Camp Jaha, even if they didn’t seem completely comfortable with it. I hope you’ll get it. It’s not much –and I don’t expect to get anything back – but that’s the best I can do now.

I just want you to know I think about you every day. All the time. And I’m so, so sorry, Bell.

Out of all the terrible things I’ve done, I’m most sorry for the ones I did to you.

I miss you,

Clarke

V.

“She doesn’t get to do this shit!”

Octavia’s all flaming anger, standing in the middle of his hut and waving her hands.

“Not after she left.  She left us, she left you; she doesn’t get to write you things like that!’’

But Bellamy’s angry too, anger to match Octavia’s, slowly burning his insides.

“Who the fuck allowed you to read it? How do you even know I get this, huh? You’re going through my stuff now, O?”

“Yes, because apparently you’re not capable of making rational decisions like burning this shit without reading! You’re probably already writing her a reply, aren’t you?”  

“It’s not your damn business, Octavia!”

They circle each other like wild dogs thrown into the pit, ready to fight with their fangs and claws. Octavia’s still holding Clarke’s letters and she throws them into his face, bares her teeth and fucking hisses.

“You know it’s all her fault. Everything that went wrong, is because of her. She killed all those people- TonDC, Month Weather, it was all her. “

Bellamy sees red and he could never, ever hurt his sister, but he feels his hands fisting, muscles clenching, bloodthirst swallowing him whole and he’s just so angry.

“I killed all those people along with her, Octavia.” – he says lowly, breath heavy and head low, facing her like a charging bull. “If Clarke’s a murderer, then so am I.”

“Because she made you this way!”- Octavia shouts so loudly, that her voice breaks in half and his fists drop to his sides and he just looks at her. He feels his lungs collapsing, his heart-stopping, entire freaking world freezing for a moment.

His sister is shivering like a leaf on a wind, hands outstretched towards him and shining eyes.

“She sent you away.-“ she whispers, stuttering like a little child and then she turns around so he won’t see her crying. “She sent you away and you went for her and I could- I thought I- I could lose you.”

Her shoulders are shaking and she wraps her arms around herself, sobbing and Bellamy’s standing still, hearing white noise in his ears and suddenly coming back to the times, when Octavia had bangs and curious eyes and clean hands and he was her only lifeline, the only thing connecting her with the whole wide world bigger than two chairs, two bunk beds and endless darkness under the floor.

“Octavia..”- he wants it to sounds like an apology, but instead it comes out like a plea.

Understand. Please. I can only forgive myself, if Clarke’s forgiven too.  

He hesitantly takes two steps and raises one hand to touch her back, to comfort her, but something stops him halfway. His hand’s frozen in its track, frozen in the air, hanging between him and Octavia like a blown-up bridge between two worlds which will never be connected anymore.

She hiccups, wipes the tears with the palm of her hand and turns around. Her braids are coming undone and the dark make-up around her red eyes is smudged, but she stands straight, with chin up high and says, clearly and calmly:

“She doesn’t deserve you.”

O marches out of the hut and he doesn’t stop her.

Instead, he kneels down to pick up the letters and puts them in order.

And then he takes the pen he asked Lincoln to bring him from the last trade and presses the tip of it to the clean sheet of paper.

Dear Clarke,

Winter was fucking awful and spring’s not much better, but at least it’s warmer now.

VI.

Clarke decides she likes the ocean most.

It’s big and wide and endless; silver-gray waves with white manes,  cool sand under her bare feet, wild wind and the smell of salt, smoked fish and crown made of finger-cutting sharp seagrass -  it’s everything she dreamed it would be, long, long time ago, and so much more and nothing less.

She wasn’t planning to stay, truth to be told. For the first few weeks she was constantly waiting for this sharp tug of ache inside just go, just go, far and far and never come back but it never came and Luna’s people are more gentle and kinder than anyone who she has ever met and they’re the only ones who seem not to be afraid of her. So she stays.

She patches up hunters and delivers children along with the old, nearly blind healer; she kisses scraped knees of kids and learns how to knot fishing nets and breathes in, breathes out, washes her face in icy, salty water.

One time,  girl from the village brings her charcoals and she spends hours on playing with them, morbidly fascinated with how different they feel, when her hands are no longer soft and white, but callused and cut and scarred and short on one finger and red, so, so red.

Clarke draws sea and people and a little, chubby boy chewing his fist and before she can even notice, she draws constellations of freckles and messy hair and soft, sad eyes; brown ponytails and sharp elbows and braids; goggles and gentle smiles and she wants to weep, she misses them all so much.

She wonders about her package, she wonders if it ever reached Bellamy, she wonders if it even matters at all.

She –well, she’s healing. But she’s still aching, something is still tearing her apart from the inside and she still can’t seem to let go of so many things, so she can’t go back.

She hasn’t had any hallucinations ever since she’s been around humans again, but her nightmares still have brown eyes and are holding a little football ball in their clawed hands.

VII.

“Bellamy, Bellamy tell us a story!”

Bellamy stares at the fire as kids are chirping loudly in his ears; he keeps his hands on his knees, palms out, fingers outstretched as if he was holding something.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess-”

“Clarke! Clarke!”

“Okay, okay!” – she laughs, with her head thrown back, but her eyes sad when she says-

“Once upon a time, there was a rebel – “

“-turned queen-“

Octavia’s bright eyes, narrowed lips, sharp pain in his chest.

“-turned king.”

Flames dancing on a pile of sea wood, her voice full of nostalgia.

VIII.

By the next spring, Clarke has a baby inside of her.

She doesn’t know whose it is; she doesn’t really want to know, to be honest. There were few,  men, women, nothing to grow attached to, just a tension relief, fuck and forget. She needs to get rid of it, but she spends too much time thinking about what she needs and what she wants and about Ark and Octavia Blake and then she can feel it move and everything in her screams mine mine mine.

So she lets it stay.

She lets it grow.

She lets herself grow bigger; soon enough her spine starts to hurt like a bitch and her eyes water when she sees little kids, little birds, little dogs and apparently every single damn little thing in the world. Her feet swell and her breasts ache and she suddenly craves wild mushrooms and tuna and apples.

She goes through twenty- hours- long labor, clutching Lila’s hand all through it and crying for her mom and Bellamy, delirious with pain, sweat and tears and blood and then-

A pair of very brown eyes,  strangely calm; a cloud of delicate blonde hair.  They look at each other and it’s like the world stops turning and for a moment there are just Clarke and this tiny alien thing covered in her blood,  small starfishes of her hands fisted, small feet kicking the air.

Clarke’s daughter has long lashes, pink, wrinkled skin and a nose like a tiny button and Clarke can’t stop looking at her, won’t stop looking at her. She feels some kind of –oblivion. Everything that was messed up before, everything she couldn’t deal with, now perfectly in order and she can’t remember being in such peace ever in her entire life.

IX.

Dear Bellamy,

Her name is Julia.

Bellamy clenches the paper in his hand, head thrown back and just- breathes out.

X.

When Julia’s eight months old, Clarke slowly starts packing.

It’s unintentional, at first; cleaning her hut, throwing some things away or giving them as a gift to those who needed it more than her anyway, packing the rest in sacks, trading with travelers for material for a travelling carrier for an infant– she does all those things before even realizing what she’s doing, until one day Aidan walks on her while she’s asking Rhea where she could get a horse, or maybe even two and how can she pay for them.

“So you’re really leaving, huh?”- he doesn’t sound accusing, but a bit sad and like he has been expecting it for some time now.

And Clarke… Clarke takes a deep breath and nods.

Dear Bellamy,

It’s been three years now. I think it’s time to go home. Would you like to meet my daughter?

The reply comes fast as the wind,  two lines written on a piece of paper apparently torn from the bigger one, letter bold and honest.

Dear Clarke,

Can’t wait.

XI.

They leave at dawn, moon and stars still visible on the golden-pink sky, Julia napping in her sling. Luna hugs her tightly and then Lila and Mara and Devon and Rhea and then the whole village kissing her cheeks and touching her hair and saying thank you and Clarke has such a lump in her throat that she can barely breathe, because she’s the one that owes them everything she has now.

Aiden helps her up on the saddle and pats her thigh.

“You’re always welcomed here, you two. And I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”- he winks, a wide grin spread on her face and she suddenly remembers why she even let this man, those people, get closer to her in the first place. “Also, I want to meet this man of yours and remind him how lucky he is. Being loved by a woman like you, Clarke- tragedy, but what a privilege at the same time.”

And to that, she can only blush.

XII.

She comes back at sunrise;  appears like a ghost from between trees on the white horse,  baby strapped to her chest, sacks hanging from both sides of her saddle.

He abandons his post near the gate and runs and runs and runs and she jumps off the horse and runs too,  but when they’re ten feet apart from each other, they slow down.

It’s been three years -

( but when Bellamy looks at her beaming, all golden hair and blue eyes and pink-cheeked baby glancing at him curiously half-hiding his face in the crook of her neck,  he feels like not a day has passed since dropship)

“Hi.”- she says, breathless,  taking one tiny step closer.

“Hello.”- he responds, taking another.

She looks him in the eyes, smiling, and she has damn laughter lines on her face. God, he wants nothing else but to spend the rest of his life giving her more. He raises his hand and traces them delicately and she shivers under his touch, leaning into his hand.

“Bell.”-   her voice is hoarse with emotions and low, just above a whisper. “ I  missed you, Bell.”

Sun is setting, casting reds and goldens on her hair as he wraps his arms around her and her daughter and she presses her face to his shoulder and the forest is so wonderfully, wonderfully green.

And in this one moment, they are everything and nothing and Bellamy knows there are storms in the future and broken hearts and bloody hands; but right now, when he can feel her lips on his skin and her baby’s little hand fisting his shirt,  all they are is right and real and exactly, where they are supposed to be.

[babbushka]

Two’s Company (1/5)

1989 and New York City is a mess. Life was shit for all but you and Pale, who found that among the rubble and rubbish, there existed peace and calm and hard hot fucking. That is, until, an unwanted visitor makes themselves known, throwing this happy dream into a tumultuous nightmare. 

Chapter 1 of the much anticipated sequel to Blue Moon!

(Word count: 4.6k Warnings: N*SFW)

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It had been a year.

Well, almost.

Almost one whole entire year since you came home from the diner to find a big broad man cursing at a mover’s truck across the street. You smiled at the thought that you only remembered wondering what the hell someone was moving in so late for, not paying any attention to the owner of the shiny black car or the penthouse it was parked outside of.

Sometimes, you couldn’t believe it, how things had changed, how nothing had changed at all.

You were still you, and Pale was still Pale. Just, it was one year later.

One year later, Pale still snored.

Loudly.

You were lying on your side in his bed, in his apartment, the very same one you stared into the windows of, so long ago. It was getting late in the morning, too late, late enough that he was going to be pissed he slept in that long, pissed that he didn’t wake himself up sooner.

He always was an early riser, your man. A worker, he called himself. You didn’t know anyone who worked harder than Pale.

The curtains were pulled so that light spilled into the room, and you were sure that Pale would have woken up along with the sunrise, but as it was, he was still snoring. You watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, and you thought about how endearing it was that even in sleep he had a little frown, even in sleep he grumbled and mumbled about things that bugged him. Not even the honking horns or the construction outside was enough to get him out of dream-land, despite it being late enough in the morning that the whole city had woken up by now, you were sure of it.

You rubbed the frown lines away from his forehead with soothing circles of your thumb, kissed his cheek sweetly to try and wake him up gently. You tried to rouse him for the fourth time with a soothing rub of your hand on his exposed bicep.

“Pale.” You whispered, eyeing the clock. He was gonna be so pissed, you thought with an amused smile.

That smile turned into a grin when a great big groan of annoyance spilled from his lips, when his brow pinched together again as he tried to block out the day.

“…No.” He grumbled, and you knew you had won.

You straddled his strong thighs, rubbed at his chest. His arms wound around you and pulled you down flush to meet his lips, but he frowned when he kissed you. What a grouch, you thought with a smile as you tried using your lips as bait to lure him off his pillow.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, it’s time to get up.” You said playfully, and Pale’s grip tightened on you, keeping you in place.

“No it fuckin’ ain’t, go back to sleep.” He mumbled, before abruptly rolling over in the great big bed of his and pinning you underneath him.

“Pale!” You laughed, startled as he let himself turn into nothing but dead weight that you tried to push against.

If he weren’t so fucking grouchy, you knew he’d be smiling.

“Can’t hear you, sorry.” He lied, voice thick and laced with sleep, that handsome baritone of his pressing into your throat where he shoved his whole face in an attempt to hide from the sun.

“It’s Saturday, you gotta go down to the concert hall today.” You reminded him, arms coming around to smooth against his hot back.

He always ran so hot, your man. One-hundred and ten degrees, he said.

“That ain’t until like ten o’clock.” He groaned, sucking needy marks against your skin where his lips rested.

“I know honey but it’s eight now.” You strained to check the clock once more, and the digital alarm clock blinked back at you.

Pale didn’t like the sound of that, if the way he bolted up was any indicator of things.

“What?” He snapped, suddenly very awake, “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

You could only roll your eyes with a small smile as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, took three great big strides out the hall and went into the bathroom.

“It’s gonna take me a fucking hour to get all the way down there with this traffic and that leaves me practically no fuckin’ time to eat or do nothin’, christ (Y/N).” He bitched and whined, voice echoing down the hall.

“I’ve been tryin’ for half an hour now to get you up!” You explained, laying back down on the mattress with a little huff of a laugh as you heard the toilet and sink run one after the other. “You were the one who kept snoozin’.” You pointed out when he returned to the bedroom.

You had tucked your hands behind your head, the covers all rustled and pulled away from your naked body from when Pale had practically flung them off of himself.

He never did like the covers, too hot.

“Oh fuck me.” He groaned, scrubbed a hand down his face, stretched his muscles that had you ogling at how fucking good he looked in the dappled sunlight that came through the curtains.

“Okay, come here.” You said real cheeky, and he took one look at you and practically pounced.

You had thought, foolishly, that over time his appetite for you might have started to mellow out. You thought maybe he would have had his fill and gotten bored of it, tired of it, used to it. Hadn’t he once said that getting’ laid was just okay? Maybe you had imagined that part, maybe he had said it a long time ago but not to you. You didn’t know.

What you did know, was that you were wrong – and you normally didn’t like being wrong about things, but you didn’t mind being wrong about this. The way he kissed you, touched you, fucked you…jesus it was enough to wear a girl out. But you loved it, and he loved it, and you opened your legs for him happily, willingly, wanting him to take what he needed, what he wanted.

He only ever wanted you.

“Let me see that pretty pussy of mine, huh?” He licked across his teeth, yanking you down the bed by your ankles so he could pry your knees apart.

You grinned and made room for him to settle between your legs, and he wasted no time in sliding his hard cock right into you.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, I missed this hot cunt.” He sighed, hips already thrusting like a man possessed.

He kept your pelvis pinned down against the mattress, held onto you tightly so he could chase his pleasure. You moaned and tipped your head back, nipples stiffening as they brushed against the skin of his chest.

“You fucked me last night.” You pointed out, making him grip your jaw and pry it open.

He shoved a couple fingers against your tongue, and you sucked, got them soaked with your spit. He spit into your mouth, added to the mix, fucked your throat with those big fingers, fucked your pussy with his even bigger cock. You were wet all over and squelching and Pale was addicted to it.

“Yeah, and? That was ten – oh fuck yeah – fucking hours ago, might as well have been ten years ago. ‘Coulda been sooner but someone – shit (Y/N)! – someone let me sleep in.” He smacked your stomach and watched as the flesh rippled for him when he did it, watched as you grinned and spit his fingers out.

“Hey! I – oh, Pale – I didn’t do nothin’ you didn’t want. And a quickie – oh! – a quickie’s fine.” You assured him.

He liked taking his time with you, liked reducing you down to a tear-stained babbling mess, but there just wasn’t the time for it right now, not right now. And that was okay, you had plans for him tonight, plans that you couldn’t really reveal just yet.

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard anyway.” Pale rolled his eyes, let them slip closed as he got lost in his own pleasure for a while, hips grinding into you with all the same intensity and desperation as they had a year ago.

The headboard smacked against the wall, and it was all you could do but hold on for dear life, clench yourself around him to make it tighter, hotter, wetter, better for him. He groaned and grunted and brushed the head of his cock right against that spot that made you see stars every fucking time.

“Yeah, yes! Make me come, please?” You begged, kissed and sucked hickeys onto his neck with more little pleases, breathy little things that had him groaning, had his balls tightening up.  

“God what a whore you are, bet you’re gonna go the fuck back to sleep like this huh? My come sliding outta your tight cunt? You gonna lick it all up for breakfast you slut?” He gripped your jaw, bit down hard on your lip, so hard you were worried for a minute he would break the skin.

“Yeah I’m starving, fill me up.” You said, before suddenly your orgasm came out of nowhere, but maybe not nowhere, from the way he was pinching and fucking and pushing and pulling at you. Your eyes flew open with a surprised, “Pale!”

“Shit – oh shit.” He followed soon after, tweaking your nipple hard as he shot his come deep into you.

“Hmm.” You sighed happily, wiggling your hips a little underneath him as he breathed heavily on top of you, the both of you feeling his come filling you up to the brim, just like you asked. You were sure that once you stood up, it’d already start dripping out of you, run down your thigh, but you’d deal with that in a minute.

He always did have such a big fucking load, you thought with a smile.  

The two of you breathed together, heartbeats all in sync as the traffic blared on and on outside.

You had been spending more and more time in his apartment, so much that it was starting to become your apartment, the two of yous together. You had moved some of your stuff in, some clothes, toiletries, books and records and mementos. You still kept your apartment of course, but your lease was coming to an end soon, and you still hadn’t decided what you wanted to do about it.

Maybe you’d bring it up tonight, you figured, when you gave him his surprise.

Pale was unusually quiet against you as he came down from the high of his orgasm. He’d been working so fucking hard lately, between running the restaurant in the city – which had been doing so well that Fish was pissed he hadn’t thought of doing it sooner – and planning his next big symphony. Sometimes he didn’t come home until two or three in the morning, exhausted from a long day of yelling at schmucks.

He was going to have a long day today too, but hopefully it wouldn’t be so stressful. The thought of the symphony made you nudge him gently. He needed to get a fucking move-on with his day otherwise he’d be late, and he hated being late more than just about anything.

And that was really sayin’ something.

“Breakfast?” You asked, breaking the silence of the moment and he chuckled, nodded as he kissed your temple before pulling out.  

 Pale was real fucking picky about his food and drink. If there was one thing he knew inside and out, it was how to make good food, and he hated when people fucked it up. A year ago, he wouldn’t dare let you touch the stove – not because you weren’t good, but because it was just so much easier if he did it all.

Now though, now you’ve been together long enough to know how he likes things, to know how to do it right, and you all but took over breakfast. He always did it all, and you thought he needed a fucking break, just one thing that he could have someone do for him.

He had been so hesitant at first, but now, now you could see the gratitude in his eyes at someone taking care of him for once.

Hadn’t you said that, ages ago? That you’d take care of him?

You smiled as you slid the full breakfast onto his plate a few minutes after the two of you rolled out of bed and cleaned up. Pale was dressed in one of his nice suits, one that wasn’t black for once. He wore a very handsome silver number, one that made his shoulders look extravagantly wide with all the padding. Underneath his jacket he had a crisp white button down and on his feet were his shiny black boots, and you had helped clasp the gold chain around his neck.

You were in your underwear, because of course you were, tits out and hair clipped up and your own gold chain glinting in the sunlight that came from the windows in the big kitchen. Pale was staring out one of those windows with a coffee mug in hand, shaking his head with disdain at the street below him.

“You know I’ve had it just about to here with this fucking construction going on, how long has that been happening? I swear it feels like it’s never gonna fucking end, can you believe that? What kind of a sewer of a city is this? You go to bed to fucking back-up trucks beep-beeping and you wake up to jackhammers. This ain’t no kinda paradise. I’d be pissed if I had to wake up to that every fucking morning for the rest of my life, how’s a guy supposed to get any fuckin’ sleep like that?” He bitched, angrily sipping his coffee.

“It’s for the bond money, you know.” You said matter-of-factly as you plated up a dish of your own, carrying both yours and his to the kitchen table and sitting on one of the nice chairs.

“How’s that?” He turned to face you, practically rushed to sit at the table with you.

He never sat across from you, always next to you. Whether it was a table that seated ten or two, he always dragged his chair around to be able to have you close to him.

Sometimes it all felt very domestic, being here, a game of pretend that you both liked to play.

“The bond money? The city will apply for money to fix the roads, except they know that once the road is fixed, the money runs out. So they delay the building of the road for long enough that by the time it’s basically finished, they gotta go re-pave over the whole fucking thing all over again because it’s been ten years and there’s potholes at the start.” You explained, and he had to hold his hands up in protest.

“Did you just say ten years?” He was already shaking his head.

“You bet.” You nodded sympathetically. You had been dealing with the never-ending construction your whole life, guessed it wasn’t like that back where he came from.

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely not. We’re moving outta this shithole, that’s it, I decided.” Pale grumbled, scarfed his breakfast down.

“Oh yeah, you decided?” You laughed, nudging his calf under the table with your foot playfully. “Where are we gonna go, Jersey?”

“Don’t be a brat.” He pointed his fork in your direction, bit off a big bite of his eggs.

“Me?” You asked with wide eyes, pointing to yourself with mock innocence.

“Yeah you.” He grumbled and you laughed, shook your head at him and ate your breakfast.

He couldn’t help but let the smallest smile slip out, but buried it with his own breakfast, practically scraping the plate clean, careful not to get any syrup from the French toast on his suit.

“Hey, look at me?” He asked, once he was done, and without thinking you turned your head, only to be captured up in a kiss.

He did this sometimes, just kissed you like this, hands wandering around to your tits and giving them a nice light squeeze. He licked into your mouth slow and deep, and you could feel his eyelashes tickle your cheek from where they brushed against your face, the two of you so so close.

In moments like those, you remembered all of the pain and anguish he had been through in the past year, the riot in his chest caused by the sudden death of his brother slowly but surely settling down into a longing ache that everyone who has grieved will know.

You kissed him back just as deeply, broke apart only when the clock chimed nine, when he absolutely had to leave.

“Have a good day, okay?” You whispered against his lips, and he nodded, stole one more chaste kiss before getting up and putting his dishes in the sink.

“You too.” He said, downing the last of his coffee, and grabbing his keys from the small hook on the door.  

“Oh, Pale?” You asked, you suddenly remembered you needed to get something, and whipped around quickly trying to catch him before he ran out the door.

“Yeah dollface?” He hung in the doorway a little, always hanging on your every word, much as he pretended he didn’t.

“I was hoping to do a little shopping today, if that’s okay?” You asked, real shy.

You didn’t like asking for money, in fact you never did. The whole time you’d been together the most you ever had asked for was a nickle for the jukebox once. But you were out of cash and didn’t get paid until next Friday, and you really wanted to make tonight special for him. For the both of you.

“Okay? It’s more than fucking okay, Jesus Christ I thought you’d never ask! You know you really oughta let me get you a whole new fucking wardrobe, I tell ya some of your clothes I’m just sick to fucking death of seeing you in. You need nice shit, real nice comfortable shit I’m not sayin’ all of it has to be sexy or nothing – although don’t get me wrong I ain’t gonna oppose to sexy. Where are you gonna go? Actually you know what, don’t tell me, I’ll guess when I come back home. How much do ya want?” He got so excited at the thought of spending money on you, it made you blush.

You just held up your fingers about half an inch apart, knowing he dealt out cash in stacks. He was so good at it, between the drugs and the booze and the backdoor restaurant deals and everything else, that he knew exactly how much was in each of the stacks he split off.

He unrolled a big thick wad of cash and handed it to you, leaning down for a kiss in exchange, a payment you were more than happy to give.

“Thank you.” You smiled, batting your eyelashes at him.

In fact, you thought he deserved more of a payment than just a thank you, so you slowly sank to your knees, right there in the doorway, right where anyone walking by could see.

He was in the penthouse, so there was nobody, but still, the thought made him groan with pleasure as you worked his pants open.

“Ohhhkay, okay now, c’mon you’re gonna make me late.” He tsked, hand tangling in your hair gently as you pulled his cock out, stroked it in your soft hands until it grew hard and hot.

“Come down my throat?” You asked sweetly, little kitten licks at the head where pre-come was already starting to leak.

And he did, oh he did.

Pale shut the door behind him, and tugged at your hair enough to get you to take him all the way, your eyes closed, focused on your breathing. He was so big, obscenely big, and you were still working on being able to deep-throat him right away. You got close, so close, your nose pressed right against his public hair that curled around and around, dark happy trail that you scratched at with your nails, other hand curling around his thigh to steady yourself.

“You look so fucking good on your knees, perfect whore.” He grunted, grip in your hair too tight, not giving you room to breathe or do much of anything other than let yourself be used. “My best girl, god this fuckin’ mouth is the best.”

He shoved himself down further, making you choke and gag, but he fucked your throat through it, made tears prick at the corner of your eyes in mild panic just from the sudden intensity of it all. The tile was cold on your shins, and you could feel yourself growing wet, couldn’t tell if it was his come making its way out of you or if it was your own slick. Either way, you could feel it starting to soak through your underwear, knew it would soon make a sticky puddle on the floor.

He came down your throat just like you asked, but pulled out while it was still shooting from the swollen red tip of his cock. He painted it all over your face, hot come clinging to your cheek and chin, even more splattering onto your tits.

Some still drooled and dripped onto the floor.

A drop got on his shoes, those lizard skin ones he was wearing to death now that he finally broke them in, and you sucked in a breath. He didn’t like his shoes getting dirty.

“Clean up.” He said, releasing his grip on your hair, your scalp tingling as you didn’t hesitate to smear the come off your cheek with the back of your hand, sucking it off your knuckles with loud wet pops.

You bent down to lick off the drop that had fallen onto his otherwise pristine boots, laved your tongue over the shiny leather. Was it leather if it was lizard skin? You didn’t care, you licked and sucked until you could see your reflection, until Pale nudged your cheek with the toe of it.

He struck up a cigarette, breathed in the nicotine deeply as he tucked himself away, checking his watch. He really would be late now, you thought with very little regret. You smiled up at him, and he tapped the floor, tapped the puddle of all your slick and spit and sweat and his come. You knew what he meant, and you licked that up too.

You weren’t worried, the floors were more than clean enough to eat off of.

“Gimmie a kiss.” He said once you were done.  

You were more than happy to oblige, taking the cigarette out of his mouth for a moment to smooch him right on the lips, before putting it back between those crooked teeth you adored so dearly.

“Don’t stay out too long okay?” You asked, knowing full well he’d be out as long as it took, but still. You liked him home with you.

“No fuckin’ promises.” He said, in that way of his that meant he’d try.

He didn’t have to say it, you already knew.

With a little wave, you ushered him out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

You only got a couple feet from the front door when the phone rang, and you cursed your bad luck.

Pale had been waiting on a call for a couple days now from a potential commissioner, and go fucking figures that the second your man walks out the door, they would call.

You quickly pick the phone up, already reaching for a pad and pen to write down who called and when, but when you answered, there was nearly silence on the other line.

“Hello?” You asked, not unkindly in the least. The last thing you wanted to do was piss off whoever it was that might’ve been calling.

“Is Jim there?” A woman asked, throwing you for a moment. You didn’t think that the commissioner would have his secretary call, but you shrugged, thinking it was for the better since Pale wasn’t there anyway.

“No I’m afraid he just left, can I ..take …a message?” You frowned at how the line went dead right after you had told the woman no. That wasn’t the commissioner’s secretary, you decided, no one would be that rude when they were trying to work with someone. “Huh.”

You couldn’t help but stare at the phone for a little while, wondering if the line got disconnected. But no, it sounded very much like someone hung up on you, so that’s all you wrote on the little pad of paper, not wanting it to be forgotten.

When the phone didn’t ring again, you shrugged, and went into the bathroom to rinse off and get presentable for the day. You and Pale had showered together earlier, but you figured what the hell, a second rinse could do you good.

You paid special attention to between your legs, making sure to fully wash away all the come and slick and sweat that was cooling and starting to itch. Pale used this really fancy bodywash that you always used, you liked the way it smelled and you liked the way it made you smell like him.

For how much you loved your leaky shitty clawfoot bathtub, there was something so luxurious about the rain showerhead in Pale’s bathroom. It made you feel like you were some sexy thing in a commercial, and it bummed you out that Pale didn’t get to see it. The water trickled down your body, carrying away the soapy sudsy mess of the morning along with it, and you watched as it swirled down the drain.

Almost one whole year, you thought. Ain’t that something?

You shut the shower off once you were all squeaky clean, slipped into the soft robe Pale bought you ages ago, and decided on what to wear.

It was cold again in New York, starting to border on freezing. November was a good month, you thought, a real good month. But it was a cold one, and you weren’t about to go wandering Manhattan in your robe, so you dried your hair and bundled up in some warm comfortable things that Pale had gotten you on a whim. He did that a lot, bought you things he thought you might like, bought things he liked to see you in.

You thought that for the one year, you might treat him to a special sight, wear something you knew he was sure to love. Fifth Avenue was only a half hour train ride away, and you knew the short trip would be worth it to see the look on Pale’s face later that evening.

You grabbed your key, engraved with your name and his on it like the sentimental bastard Pale was deep down inside, and locked up the penthouse, all wrapped up in your coat and scarf. The elevator ride was short and sweet and to the point, and you smiled at the woman who excused herself to squeeze past you in the doorway.

It took a little while, but while you were sitting on the subway heading into the city, you didn’t think that you had ever recognized that woman before. She certainly didn’t live in the apartment complex, otherwise you would have seen her. You resigned to ask Pale about it later, instead content to just look out the window and watch the city zip by as excitement buzzed in your veins at the thought of your great surprise.

You wanted nothing more than to show your love for this man, your man, your Pale.

You were gonna do it, and you were gonna do it right.

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Tagging some pals! I hope you guys are excited for this fic, I know I am! :) (If you’d like to be taken off or added to the taglist, please just shoot me a message!)  @fullofbees @spinebarrel @dreamboatdriver @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl @jedihbic @bens-rose @callmehopeless @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon

[mintjamsblog]

Wet (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.  

"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."

Warnings: NSFW!

Wet

It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.

He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.

The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling.  He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.

Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.

The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.

–––––

The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way.  He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.

If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.

"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."

"Well hello to you too, darling."

Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.

Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."

"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.

"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."

"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.

"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ...  where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...

"Alfie? You sure?"

"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."

"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.

"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?

He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.

–––––

The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.

"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.

"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."

"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."

It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.

"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"

"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.

"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."

"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."

"You what?" Alfie splutters.

"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."

"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."

"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."

That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.

"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."

"I'll be back later. Got people to see."

–––––

Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.

His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup."  See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.

"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."

"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"

And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.

"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.

Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...

A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's  cold.

"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though.  "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.

As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.

"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."

The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat.  "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.

"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."

"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."

"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.

"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."

Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.

"It is."

"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"

Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.

The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.

Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating.  Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.

"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."

"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.

"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.

He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."

Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.

"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.

Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.

"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.

"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.

"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.

He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.

"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.

Strange that this should  feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.

"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.

When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.

The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.  

"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.

Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.

And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.

Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.

Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"

"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.

"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.

"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."

"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."

"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him.  "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.

"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"

"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.

[spacegaywritings]

Warming Paws and melting Walls (5/8) “Territorial Revenge”

Summary: Nobody responded within a week and so Remy made sure to inform Emile so they could repaint the office. Virgil does not like being alone for long, especially when it is unexpected.

Luckily, the two are quick to make up.

 Tags: animal waster, cat litter box, urine, descriptions of urine smell, cleaning, a bit of fighting bc this is an upset kitty, food and eating mention, feeding, late nights, metal clanking sound, vaccine mention, vet mention, slight restrictions of breathing? Pining mention, auditory triggers, migraine mention, somft feelings, more snuggles and cuddles, kitty gone bad boi,

i do not think there is any more to be applied. If you need me to add anything, please contact me here or on my tumblr (spacegayparty, spacegaywritings)

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 // all.

tumblr:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (you are here!) / 6 / 7 / 8.

 Story under the cut: (Wordcount ~3,1k)

Metal clattered together as the key within the lock pressed deeper into it and started turning in order to open the door at last. The light sound filled the cool air. Eventually, the metal keys fell against the dark colour, wooden door and with a particularly loud ‘knack’ of the door, the lock gave way and the way was free.

Remy finally stepped into his home.

It was dark already but that did not stop him from wanting to go home, it encouraged him even further. He was the kind of person to change the night but with Virgil waiting for him, there was an intense urge to just be with the little pet. The darkness outside his apartment was driving him to be faster when the hours passed and passed.

 He had cleaned everything with Emile, right after fucking painting it all and reorganising two fucking offices. It was work. It was a lot of work but it was paid extra work on top of that, yet Remy was not exactly a fan of it. The man liked doing his thing, being left alone a bit but also having some non-annoying or intrusive/persistent social interaction. But.. working with Emile all day was as lovely as it could be exhaustive.

That pal did not gossip enough! Remy wanted to talk about chill things, not how he hated or did not hate his parents and whatnot.

 Sometimes he wondered whether people moved away and went to other therapists so they would be safe from all their dreadful puns. Maybe it helped in therapy? He did not know but it made him feel fluttered and warm all the same. Still, it would get him to feel nauseous after some time. Maybe Emile played into his auditory triggers - too many words in too little time.

 Remy stepped into his home and closed the door.

The sound of shutting it echoed through the vast emptiness in his apartment. Actually, there was so much nothing, it really filled the complete living space.

 Strange..

 All he could notice was a certain smell.. a pungent, intense smell. It was odd and he could not quite place it.

It sort of reminded him of...

 Oh no.

 He carefully switched on the light.

Whenever he used his lights, he could not help but be glad about having found proper lamps that did not cause too much eye strain at once. People who developed and invented ideas for dim light bulbs and lamps that were made to be comfortable rather than stinging in illumination were simply saints and he would never back away from this opinion. Those were fucking heroes because they helped the dumb minorities like him that was too Extra (tm) to live with regular things.

 When the dim lights, he loved so much, showered the hallway in golden warmth, he noticed.. a weird bit of something on the floor.

 Please please no.

 “Virgil?”

 He called into the void, for the void.

Nothing came back.

 Was the cat okay?

 Remy carefully made his way over to the weird something on the floor. It looked like spilled liquid, somewhat translucent and odd.

Did... Did Virgil vomit or pee onto the floor? Holy fuck, it smelled awful in the most indescribable ways. He did not want to describe it anyway, let alone sniff it enough to figure out certain components of the smell or any similarities to other scents.

 ...Oh dear fuck.

The smell - It was cat pee. Virgil had decided to fucking ruin his floor right in front of the little cat toilet he had put up.

 Well... that was it, he supposed. It had been a dream that Remy did not really have to “potty train” the kitten since it came with a lot of good manners already. That was so much of an indicator that the cat was from somewhere, that they were civilised and socialised.

Still, after weeks of no answers, Remy had cut the search and was happy to call the cat his own (albeit he never said so but the smiles on his face were more frequent than before and even his migraines seemed more at ease - not to mention how rare they had become).

 But it was too nice to have a cat - a first pet - that just was clean and trained and would use the litter box accordingly.

 “I swear, you are going to kill me, Queen. I just cleaned it in the morning. It cannot be that bad, can it?”

 He already moved to open a few windows and make sure the horrible smell would yield to the fresh air of the evening.

Maybe he should not have been outside for so long without sending anyone over to check on Virgil and catsit after all. Remy admitted he should look into some silly students who needed the money and would be happy about just cuddling a cat and being able to have some WIFI and such.

 But really, he had not planned to stay outside for that long. He had wanted to run over and check in on the dust ghost during his lunch break. Sadly, Emile did have that sort of amnesia effect on him. His horny brain went dumb and forgot all the important logic and memory. Therefore, he had been too stupid from love to really think about Virgil needing him at that moment.

Next time, he would discuss this with Emile beforehand. One mistake was alright as long as nobody was hurt and he learned from it.

 With black bags under his eyes and shades perched up on the top of his head, he grabbed a few tissues, gloves and a mop and got ready to clean up. Excitement as great as it could have been in such a situation, he got down to clean up and once done, he finished up over there and tended to the litter box.

 Nearly empty. There was like, the usual stuff but it was not much because he had cleaned it in the morning - on purpose!

 “Are you fucking kidding me? Virgil, why would you do this?”

 A deep groan of annoyance split his lips. He got up to remove the bit of waste that was still residing inside. It just took a few moment and it was already done. He disposed of the dirt properly and put his cleaning utensils into the dedicated space. 

A tinge of worry hit him as he did so. The cleanness was achieved at last but what about Vi- Just then, a streak of black crossed his view.

 “Virgil!”

 His tone was low, touching a bit into the territory of a parent. Specifically, when a goody two shoes did something wrong and the parents got all “I am not mad, just disappointed”.  

The kitten ducked away and whipped its tail down before slowly swishing it from side to side.

They almost looked ready to fight and as if Remy had provoked it, the void suddenly jumped at his black boot - yes, just one. This was one smol individual and they had yet to be tol enough to attack two Remy feet at once. Soft paws drummed onto the shoe and the ball of charcoal furry was hissing and scratching.

 “Hey! Ow-”, Remy hissed back in surprise and slight aggravation, “Virgil, what the fuck!”

 The cat jumped back and Remy quickly dropped his jacket, revealing a black sweat shirt he was wearing underneath.

 The angry cat hissed at the man and ducked and arched their back. Then, they went in for the fight, now aiming at his knees. A pair of claws jumped at him, so Remy committed himself to the idiocy of catching the cat and picking them up.

 Virgil did not get his knees but they did catch some skin of his arms.

 “What is wrong with you, gurl? Do you want to play? This is some shit way to tell me about it, queen. You pissed on my floor.”

 Virgil hissed again and Remy blinked in incomprehension. He should learn more about cats or something. Like, take a course in cat training because this whole behaviour was too sudden and confusing for him to make sense of it. These acts were so contrary to what they had done before to him. Even at the start of their relationship they had been somewhat loving towards once another.

 He did not want to admit it but.. the cat rejecting him kind of stung. Yeah, his attacked shoes were also a point of inconvenience he did not really approve of but they were manageable.

The cat was down on the ground again but definitely not down-to-earth. They were already spitting fireballs at the belated arrival and Remy was cursed with being puzzled forever since they could not communicate and explain what happened.

 Remy was unfortunate to think of Virgil as playfully fighting him. By instinct or whatever.

 “Hey Queen, if you wanna play, can you just give me a minute or two, so I can eat? I want to exist, too, and you need to eat as well.”

 He collected the food and water bowl and made sure to fill everything properly. Virgil had abandoned him again in favour of creepily staring at him from afar. The tail was swishing like a clock’s ticking arms. And they were counting his time until being brought to justice by Black Cat Law, aka The Void Law.

 The cat owner emerged from the kitchen, filled bowls filling his hands.

Dry food, just a bit - minimal amounts. Wet food - the main source of sustenance for the kitty cat. Water - because kitty cat got free bowls of water twice a day, thrice when at work with him.

Remy put it back into place and the kitten quickly returned to retrieve the food.

 “Yeah, now you are happy, are you not?”

 The cat very much ignored him so they could feast upon the bouts of food brought to them. Finally their slave human was working again and feeding them as he was supposed to.

Rude to just take an unannounced break.

 “Yeah, I should have expected you to be bitchy without food. You are just like me, are you not, little honey?”

 A chuckle could be heard as he took a little moment to relish in the sounds coming from the Void of Darkness and Fire (tm) purring and chewing. The noises were barely audible but Remy has started picking up the most silent ones. It helped him detect the kitten’s feelings or locations when he needed to tend to the cat. Also, it made finding the cat easier for when he wanted to give them a little goodbye-snuggle before going to work.

 The urge to cuddle the cat right now was strong but he made sure to not do it.

Cats hated that, as much as sources told him. Sources were the internet and people and also a book he had gotten by now. And the vet he had visited once more after he decided to keep the cat since nobody seemed to care enough. Also, vaccines.

Other than that, Virgil also scratched him once he tried to snuggle them while eating. This was only legal when Virgil was already snuggled up to him due to pure pity they felt for him. Such a Queen.

 “You are too good for anyone, kitty. I am sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”

 No answer - but the black blob of fur seemed to be at ease with the food and water. This was a start, he thought to himself. Remy still felt guilty for leaving them alone for so long. Then again, he had expected to have the time and get home for a little bit during his lunch break but that did not work out, somehow. And going after his official working hours was not okay.

 He should give someone his keys so they could look after the little Queen of Salt for a bit when he had to stay away longer.

What if an emergency ever came up?

 His head shook the thoughts of darkness and anxiety away. Instead, he busied his empty hands with the simple task of reheating some food he had made before. Tomorrow he would get some chicken for his kitten to make up for being so neglectful and thoughtless. He needed to be more considerate and accept his responsibilities. After all, he was some kind of caretaker right now - a cat parent, if you will.

 Remy leaned back and took a deep breath.

 “Virgiiiiil ~”, he cooed softly and took out a little kitty treat.

 Just one.

It was not just for his guilty conscience but also for the cat to know he did not mean to. Virgil needed assurance and the stability of life. Giving him some sort of praise for being alone all day - for literally at least 10 hours - was appropriate, he supposed.

 The kitten was already done with their bowl of food and was currently drinking when the smell of more food and the sound of Remy’s - their owner’s voice - reached them. They sensed being called over and looked up from their bowl, licking their muzzle and nose with a satisfied look on their face.

 “Kitty cat”, he purred again and the void gently let their tail swish just a bit above the floor for a few single strands of their fur to trace over the dark ground.

 They purred back in solidarity. Soft paws sunk into the similarly dark floor. The kitty took one step after the other and slowly progressed, body slightly lethargic from the recent intake of food. The ball of fur and mischief made their way over to Remy and sniffed the air.

A determination ruled their fine movements.

 Ah, yes. More food.

Good human.

Their eyes sparked at the man, radiating praise and appreciation.

 Remy smiled in return and carefully nudged his hand close enough for Virgil to nibble at the treat. Immediately, they welcome it into their mouth. Without realising it, the owner visibly relaxed, the air standing in his lungs was flowing out of his nostrils and allowed him to inhale deeply. His posture eased up and his shoulders were now more straightened and calm compared to before. St a few moments ago, the weight of guilt tore down his body and forced his back to be crooked along with pushing his shoulders into a hunching position.

No more guilt was crushing him anymore, though. The cat had accepted his apology and was carefully pushing their head into Remy’s idle palm. The feeling of warmth, a bit of dampness and furry delight was tickling the receptors in his hand. The warmth travelled up to his chest, spreading throughout all of his body in the process.

 “You are too good for me. Aw, Virgil. Little Queen of Salt”, he purred and gently shifted to lean over and started brushing over the smooth and slightly shining fur of his little companion.

 His left was holding the curious head of a peculiar kitty cat and he gently started scritching their chin - well, the underside of their chin. It was a bit lighter than the rest of their body. At least, this is what it seemed like to him. It felt warmer and more brownish, yet just as lovely as the rest of them.

 Peaceful purring filled the room with soft sounds and calming noise instead of haunting silence

 “I love you too”, he chuckled.

 Maybe he did not know everything about cats, nor did he understand all his little sass-bean was trying to express with their general body posture, the position of their torso or their tail either - really, he did not know much at all - but he was still trying his best. He certainly was getting better at it and this counted, did it not? Also, it was not like he did not try to educate himself. His workplace naps were replaced by reading in his “cat bible” and literally taking notes.

 Hands gently curled around the food-filled body of a satisfied little void. Cradling the coal cat in his arms, he held them close to his heart and walked over to their couch.

 “Does my little storm cloud want to cuddle?”

 His voice was a low coo and the kitten responded with audible purrs and an enthusiastic bonk when their heads crushed together again.

 Ow.

... He would totally never get used to cats showing affection like that. 

 Well, still worth it.

Apparently, cats did that to show love or some trash. Whatever, Virgil barely ever did it but it got more and more frequent after their first days together. Now it was more often instead of rarely but it certainly was not the most usual and common thing between them.

Still, it could change. At the moment he just wanted to relish in the warmth of their cuddles and the comfort of their intimacy.

 Remy flopped onto the couch and left the cat on his chest while he simply laid down flat onto his back like a lazy plank swimming in the water. Just floatin’... simply going with the flow, adapting to any wave.

 The cat returned the action by softly pushing their paws into his ribs. Lungs complained due to the compromised volume for more precious and essential oxygen. Not that Remy cared.. nor did Virgil have the cognitive ability to care.

 “You having fun there, kitty?”

 This cat was royalty and Remy would continue to lay around and simply have them run up and down his body. All he wanted to do was.... just take off his pants and such and put on a more comfortable and flexible pyjama. Falling asleep in tight jeans was not as great (they were great for getting some looks from his boss, though). The idea of moving around right now was just as unpleasant as the idea of falling asleep and waking up in the pants he had worked and sweated in all day.

 Unfazed by anything, the void was simply preparing their human bed for a little longer before settling down onto his ribcage...warm and pressing. Just a tad uncomfortable.

 “Okay, there you go-”

 Yes, this was love.

 Remy was too exhausted and comfortable to feel too bothered by his air flow being obstructed. Slowly, he felt himself drift off. The man was soon in a light version of a slumber and gradually become a victim to the sweet relief of a little nap. The discomfort of sweaty and smelly clothes was forgotten when exhaustion took over. The overwhelming state of being physically drained got the best of him.

All good sentiment was forgotten when the comfort of a good cat and a warm home hugged him.

 Bye bye meal he had wanted to have. He was already satisfied in other way.

He was home.

 This was heaven.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “From Above”

She fell from the sky. Literally. The Joker has no idea who Y/N is, but one thing's for sure: after the encounter his life will never be the same.

The loud splashing sound makes The Joker open his eyes only to see the pool water flooding the terrace, almost reaching the lounge chair he dozed off on.

“What the hell?...” he gets on his elbow, confused after being abruptly woken up.

The waves are starting to calm down a bit and J finally gets up from his spot, curious and intrigued about the shape he’s discerning on the bottom of the pool: there’s actually someone curled up in a ball, most likely a woman.

The protective, translucent barrier surrounding your body is already disintegrated by the time The Joker dives under the water to get you out. In a few seconds you are placed on the same chair he rested earlier, The King of Gotham increasingly pissed that the security downstairs didn’t do their job properly.

“Hey, hey!” he taps your shoulder, puzzled by the white, skin tight outfit you’re dressed with: every time he touches it there are small electrical charges following the complicated pattern of your outfit.

You faintly moan, slowly coming to your senses.

“Hey, wake up!” J insists while wondering if you’re one of the “fliers”, a term used for people thrown from planes: either they know too much or have to disappear for good. Mobsters would frequently use aircrafts in order to get rid of unwanted cargo; a little push at high altitude and the corpse would be found splattered all over the ground and often unidentifiable. Did that happened to you? Were you maybe lucky enough to have escape death by landing in his pool?...

The Joker grabs his cell from the tiny table by his deckchair, instantly yelling as soon as Frost picks up:

“Are you guys napping??? What am I paying you for, huh?? How did she sneak in?!!”

“Who sir?” the henchman replies, totally alert now that the boss seems in a very bad mood.

“The woman in the white outfit! How did she pass by unnoticed?! Or did you just let her in The Penthouse to see if I’m amused by your stunt?”

“Sir,” the goon defends himself and the team. “We patrolled the perimeter and I can tell without a doubt that we didn’t see a soul. We would contact you before sending someone to The Penthouse; we know the rules.”

“Do ya’???!!” J yells so loud you open your eyes. “Never mind!” he shrieks seeing the woman’s reaction. “I’ll take care of it!” he hangs up and throws the phone back on the table.

“You!” he pokes your waist, annoyed. “How did you get in here, hm? Who sent you?” the interrogation continues. “Where did you come from?”

He watches you direct your arm towards the night sky, your index finger pointing at the stars.

“Were you thrown from a jet?” he slams you against the cushions when you try to lift your head. “Answer me!” The Joker violently yanks at your hand.

You just glare at him, analyzing the strange man shouting things you don’t care about and it makes you happy.

“Oh!” you exclaim and he doesn’t have time to dodge when your arms go around his neck; the embrace is so unexpected it takes moments to recollect.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” J snaps out of it and shoves you away. “Don’t touch me!”

You frown and pout, upset he didn’t recognize you: how could he anyway? It’s been so many years and it appears life hasn’t been kind to him to begin with. The logic realization makes you smile and The Clown lets you touch his face simply because he plans to break your fingers for the transgression. You keep caressing his face and your fingers are still intact, but he’s going to snap them soon. Probably…

“Who are you?” The Joker growls, mad at himself for showing weakness: he didn’t hurt you yet and he sure feels the urge to shred you to pieces.

“Who’s that Mister J?!” Kira sulks and walks outside on the patio, jealous the man she spent the evening with has somebody else over. She heard the commotion from the master bedroom and since her partner wasn’t in bed she went searching for him. Only to find The Joker with another girl, apparently engaged in some kind of foreplay. Or at least that’s what she believes.

“I have no clue,” he snarls while distancing himself from the weird creature that landed in his life out of nowhere.

“Don’t lie Mister J,” Kira speculates on The Clown’s capability of twisting the truth all the time. “Is she your new toy?” the envious woman inquires.

“No,” and the simple reply is not even taken into consideration.

“It’s fine, I can work with that…You could have us both in the same time…” she seductively bites her lip since this is the only solution separating her from being chased out of the premises. “Just let me stay…yes?”

“Stop talking and go to sleep!!!” he lashes out because he’s fed up with the blabbermouth: J has more important matters to attend than a resentful, casual escapade.

“Is she a dominatrix or something? I could get a latex suit for you also if you’re into that,” she continues to gamble on his patience when in fact he definitely had enough.

“GET. YOUR.ASS. inside,” he mutters through his clenched jaw, “or I’ll make you!”

He is definitely angry and Kira halts her tirade, aware she’s walking on pins and needles.

“Hey, where are you going?!” The King of Gotham inquires when you suddenly jump of the seat before he can pin you down. You run by Kira and barge in, your wet hair dripping all over the expensive rugs in the Penthouse.

“What is she doing?” the lady asks a worked up Joker rushing after you.  

You keep on running around the huge living room, touching and marveling at all the extravagant decorations scattered around the place.

“Oh!!!” you keep on exclaiming and the odd behavior makes The Joker forget his temper and watch the scene with a painful grimace.

Out of the blue, a deafening noise shakes the Penthouse; a few windows crack and car alarms start blaring on the streets nearby.

Already? you think and stomp towards The Joker, grab his hand and drag him outdoors again.

“Let go!” he slaps your arm when your white outfit glows with such intensity he has to squint his eyes: your free hand reaches for the sky and he instinctively looks up; there’s something enormous shining above Gotham with lights rhythmically pulsating each time you take another step.

“Mister J, w-what is that?” Kira gestures at the eerie apparition and shrugs in fear when the pool water is ascending towards the invisible force acting like a magnet for the strong beam of incandescence illuminating the atmosphere.

Although it’s not necessary, you cling to the man you came for because he must be paralyzed by now: the flash always has this effect on first timers.

“Don’t be scared!” you reassure J, “I’m here to save you!” it’s the last sentence he discerns as both bodies float in the air towards the ship meant to get you out of there before it’s too late. “Don’t faint!” you try to keep him conscious but The Joker blacks out immediately, not used to the advanced technology he is privileged to experience.

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

He groans in his dream, continuing to gaze at the transparent panels depicting stars and darkness steadily moving in the vast space. Maybe if he closes his eyes really tight and reopens them, he’ll be able to wake up from the bizarre hallucination.

Nope, it didn’t work.

“I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…” he deeply inhales, repeating the words meant to aid him recover from the sluggish state he’s in. J manages to bring his fingers close to his face, not even noticing the tattoos on his hand are gone: the shimmering white attire he’s dressed with sticks out, adding to his astonishment. “Shit,” The Joker reprises his words, believing his brain is playing tricks on him: “I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…”

“You’re not in a padded cell at Arkham,” the woman’s firm yet calming tone informs and he turns his head instead of just looking up at the translucent ceiling: the sluggish state he’s in is starting to diminish, panic taking over.

“Where am I?” J mutters, his erratic breathing escalating the more he remembers about what occurred yesterday, unaware it was six days ago.

“Please calm down,” you smile and he attempts to stand up without success. “I know how it feels, I’ve been there before. Just take deep breaths and exhale, OK? You were in The Inc.Ubator for days but the process finally ended.”

“The…the what?” The Joker pants and you have to distract him otherwise he will hyperventilate shortly and it won’t help the situation.

“The Inc.Ubator fixes everything that’s wrong with someone at molecular level,” you press on his chest to assess his irregular heartbeat. “Do you sense a certain clarity in your thoughts? Like, they are not scrambled and distorted?”

J has no idea about the involved circumstances that lead to his redemption, but he’s about to find out.  

“I’m not sure,” he justly concludes. “I think I completely lost my mind and I’m delirious.”

You chuckle at his affirmation since that’s what you thought also when you were saved by THEM 23 years ago.

“You didn’t lose your mind, I can assure you of the opposite: it’s fixed now. I’m sorry about the tattoos, teeth and hair though.The Inc.Ubator reads them as anomalies that shouldn’t be there: it follows biological imprints stored in its memory for each species, removing and repairing stuff that shouldn’t be there. Wanna see?” you offer to help him up and once on his feet you guide the dumbfounded Joker to one of the panels that reflects back as a mirror as soon as you draw a circle on its surface.

“Oh my God!” he covers his mouth in disbelief at the unusual sight: he has no more green hair, pale skin or tattoos; he looks exactly how he is supposed to look like without the Ace Chemicals incident. NORMAL.

“What did you do to me?” he fakely grins only to see white teeth instead of his silver ones.

“Not me, The Inc.Ubator; it’s an honor to be chosen as survivor of a dying world,” you draw the circle and the screen transforms back into the clear panel granting the two humans a visual of what is going outside the interstellar vessel.

“That’s Earth,” you point at a humongous cloud of debris in the distance. “What’s left of it…” Y/N’s voice dims at the visual. “The core had a surge in temperature and the globe imploded right before I took you. No warning for the people, nothing to stop it.  But THEY saved us from that…”

The Joker has a hard time comprehending the insane concepts thrown at him, yet he finds the strength to utter:

“Who’s THEY?”

“Enhanced beings traveling around the Universe and collecting mementos of extinct planets. THEY can’t intervene, their laws forbid it,” you pause to sniffle. “THEY predict when catastrophe will strike and  rescue a few samples before annihilation.”

J nervously digs his nails in your suit, unsettled by the news:

“So you’re one of them?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m from Earth, part of the First Wave they saved several years ago.”

“Why was I selected?” the former Clown Prince of Crime demands an explanation and he’s enlightened with the answer.

“Now that your mind was gifted back to you, do you recall the orphanage?”

His sudden silence confirms he does.

“Do you remember the mute little girl you used to play with?”

His eyes get big and you continue:

“You never made fun of me and my disability like so many other kids did,” you sadly recollect. “You always shared the sweets you stole from the kitchen and protected me from the boys that used to tease me. You didn’t know sign language but we understood each other, didn’t we?” your eyes get teary at the emotional past.

“… … Y/N?... “ J articulates the name he didn’t say since he was a child.

You nod a yes and provide more details to the stunned man standing next to you:

“I’m sure you also remember I disappeared. I didn’t. I was simply taken by THEM and brought here where The Inc.Ubator mended my handicap: that’s why I can talk. When THEY decided to save a few more before the disaster, I was urged to pick someone: the young boy that was so kind to me was the only one that stood out from my old existence. Thanks to their technology I was able to track you down and come get you,” you start sobbing and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I’m glad I had the chance to return the favor my dear friend,” you bury your face in his shoulder, incapable of letting go.

And the changed Joker squeezes you closer to him, shocked at the craziness that followed the first encounter with the lost and forgotten childhood friend. He doesn’t know what the future holds, but one thing’s for sure: his life will never be the same.

Also read: Masterlist

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 5: Fear and Loathing in Hawkins

(( Before I begin, I want to say that I found nowhere Billy’s canon birthday, so I’m just using my best friend’s as a reference.

“You did it, babe! You did it! Congrats!” I jumped up and down, hugging Billy as he got 87% for his 5th test and his grades kept getting better and better. “At this rate you’re gonna get an A, not just a B!” I grinned widely, taking his test and putting it in my archives portfolio. “Say, are you tryina steal my scholarship, love~?” I teased with a poor excuse of a smirk. “I did it thanks to your help, Kitten. And thanks to you, we got an A+ at the project, so there’s only the exams to take and we’re settled for life.” he chuckled, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Do you…Do you wanna go back to Cali? It is one of the states we can study in with our scholarship, and the Uni is super close to the beach.” I jumped on the desk, dangling my feet back and forth, imagining how it’d be. “If that gives me an excuse to see you in a bathing suit, then sure thing.” he laughed, sitting down on the chair in front of me and putting his head on my thighs. “So soft…” he muttered, closing his eyes. “I’ve never been to the beach before. Could you teach me how to swim?” I asked, my eyes gleaming with stars imagining the cool water and the hot sand. “Anything for you, babe. It’ll be fun, I assure ya.” he smiled, most likely imagining as well. “Well, there’s only like half a year until we go there. It’s already April 1st and the exams are in June…Have you thought about what you wanted to study?” I asked, playing with his hair soothingly. “Mhh…I was thinking of Engineering…I’m no genius like you, babe, but I ain’t stupid. I think I could handle that.” he muttered, almost as if he didn’t want to think about the future. “That sounds lovely! Engineers are very well paid and nicely seen in society! We’ll be so cool together!” I clapped a bit in excitement, earning a chuckle. “You’re so adorable when you’re happy.” he smiled slight, looking up at me.

Things were looking promising for us and everything seemed like a real life Nirvana…But as usual, the good stuff doesn’t last too long and there’s always something that completely ruins everything and reminds you that life is cruel and maybe you shouldn’t trust anyone…Maybe not even yourself.

—

When I went to put some books in the locker, I notice something shiny, which proved to be Billy’s ‘K’ necklace that I gifted him at Christmas, only, the latch was broken. I wonder how did it get here…? I thought nobody else knew my locker combination. I put in the necklace in my pocket and closed it, making a mental note to change it soon before anything weird happens again and I walk to my next class. On the way there, I see Billy on the bench with two girls on either side of him, shamelessly flirting and he seemed to be enjoying it. Huh…

“Hey…Billy…” I go in front of him, ignoring the glares from the girls. “How are you?” “Pretty damn good, to be fair.” he smirked up at me. “Why you askin’?” “Uhm…I found this in my locker. Thought you might want it back…But the latch is broken.” I explained, showing him the necklace, and yet, he was barely paying any attention. “Oh, yeah, I took it off for Basketball practice today and then forgot where I put it. Can ya repair it for me?” he asked, leaning back on the seat. “Yeah…Sure. See you later.” I muttered, walking away to the class, holding the necklace tightly in my fist, a very dark feeling overflooding my heart.

Just…What the hell is going on…?

This kept repeating more and more with each day, sometimes outright ignoring me, or giving me empty answers, going to stay with his 'friends’ and so on…And I kept asking myself what did I do wrong. I kept trying to call him every night, but he either ignored it, or picked up the phone and then closing the call the next second. And trying to talk to him at highschool seemed to be close to impossible nowadays… But at least Nancy, Jonathan and Steve were okay with me staying with them, and they made me feel slightly better. After all, it was nice to have friends…I guess.

I kept myself busy with studying and I didn’t even realise that I didn’t speak to the kids in quite a long time. It’s just…Everything was making me get in such a Vertigo state that I forgot that I was alive.

It all just felt like a never-ending nightmare from which I found no escape… Until April 12th. Billy’s birthday.

It was a fine Friday and I was going to put his gift in his locker, then give him the necklace I managed to repair. I was looking down, walking down the corridor, holding the neatly wrapped package in one hand, while in the other I gripped the necklace really hard, until I saw a sight that made me wish I wouldn’t have woken up that day.

Billy and Tina were making out like there was no tomorrow, her pressed on his locker.

My face was shocked, but my heart felt stabbed and betrayed more than Caesar with Brutus. I let out a breath of amusement and disbelief, making him realise someone was there, and upon seeing me, he pushed Tina off him and tried walking towards me. I just shook my head in disgust, throwing the package in the nearest trash room and letting the necklace fall to the ground, not realising that I kept gripping it so hard that the sharp edges broke skin and let a few droplets of blood escape.

“Don’t even dare get closer to me. I don’t want to ever see you again. You’re nothing more than a liar, and fuck, your asshole of a father was right about you. Hell, maybe everyone was right about you. You’re just a fucking jerk and a whore with no morals or cares in this world. I regret the day I got to talk to you. I was so wrong to trust someone again…” I gritted my teeth before rushing out of the building, wanting to drive back home already. “Wait! Kitten, wait up! I can explain! It’s not as it looks like!” he tried to yell after me, but I turned around with such a poisonous glare, despite tears already escaping my eyes, that it made him rooted to the spot. “Explain WHAT, Hargrove?! That you cheated on me when you promised you’d never leave me? That you betrayed me, when you promised never to hurt me?! Really? What about 'Respect and Responsibility’? What about 'I’m a man of my words’? Are all of those lies too? Tsk…You’re just a spoiled brat, that’s it! Never speak to me again! And don’t call me Kitten! My name is Katrina Black, a name you will never get to speak again in your life!” I sneered at him, about to leave, but then I remembered the accessory around my neck, which made my roll my eyes in annoyance and go in front of him. “Oh, and one more thing…Give this to your next hook up, so they’ll feel good that you claimed them.” I growled, ripping off the necklace from my neck and hitting his chest with it. “Wait, don’t do that, you’ll get hurt!” he tried to say before seeing me rip the necklace, but it was too late. “Not more than what you did to me.” I said in a low voice before getting on my motorbike and stopping by the nearest market on my way home.“Happy Birthday, fuckass!”

As soon as I got home, I changed in only my AC/DC Tshirt and went to sit on the bathroom floor with the cassette next to me, putting music at max volume and staring at the many bottles of vodka and cigarette packs surrounding me. Well…Here goes nothing…

5 hours later, my head was spinning like crazy, the bathroom was smokier than London’s great smog and I kept screaming the lyrics to the songs that kept playing on repeat, not even realising that anymore, nor that tears kept wetting my face. I was a mess because honestly, I really couldn’t take this betrayal. I hate liars so much…

After I finished the 2nd Vodka bottle, I got up somehow and wanted to get a 3rd, but the phone ringing in my room made me groan in annoyance as I gripped the walls and fell on the bed, picking up the phone.

“Ye…? Who dere?” I slurred out, not even sure what I was saying was coherent or not. “Hey, Kat? Are you alright? I heard what happened today with that jerk and…Well, he went livid. He kept beating up anyone who dared to say anything about you…It was quite the sight.” Nancy’s sweet and worried voice called out, making me sigh. “Ye, ’m fine, j'st super drunk. Fuck tha’ asshole. He ain’t worth shit. F'kin cheat'r.” I managed to blurt out, making Nancy sigh as well. “Do you want me to come over and take care of you? Or I can call Jonathan or Steve if you feel more comfortable with them? I know you and Max were very close, but at this hour, I doubt she’d be able to come over…” she tried to suggest, but I only shook my head, forgetting that she can’t see it. “’S fine, Nance, thanks a lot fo’ worryin’ 'bout me. Appreciate it. I’ll be fine, ’m jus’ super pissed off. T’ll go 'way soon.” I declared, clearing my throat. “Okay, Kat…I hope you know what you’re doing. Please take care of yourself…Sweet dreams.” she told me before she hung up, making me groan as I put back the phone and went to get the vodka bottle and sit back in the bathroom. “Mhh…Wonder how long till I pass out…” I muttered, forcing myself to open the 3rd bottle.

—

It was now Monday, and please, nobody ever leave me next to alcohol and cigarettes 'cause I swear to God I’m gonna go crazy. I puked so much that I thought my guts were out and my lungs exploded from the smoke. And the fact that I’m still exhausted like hell was understandable.

Everything went as it usually did, classes and then lunch, where for some reason or another, Billy decided to sit down next to me, making me groan and leave without a word. Of course he followed me to the courtyard, where he just had to stop me and spin me around to look at him.

“First of all, what the hell do you want?! Secondly, who gave you the right to TOUCH me?” I yanked my wrist from his hand and glared at him. “Can we please talk?” he tried to say, but I only tsked in annoyance and looked away. “Why would we? We have nothing to talk about. You fucked up, it’s all on you. I’m leaving.” I shrugged, ready to leave, but he stopped me again. “I…I’m sorry. I fucked up, you’re right. I hurt you, I broke my promises and I did exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do. You didn’t deserve any of that.” he confessed, looking at me. “Funny you should say that…Considering that you’re almost quoting what I said a few days ago…When you were too busy fucking Tina.” I scoffed, giving him a sarcastic smile. “Yes, I know, I fucked up, and I can’t ever ask you to forgive me. I deserved the phone call from two days ago where you cursed me into oblivion-” he started, making my eyes go wide in shock. “I did WHAT?!” I asked in horror, making him look confused at me. “You…Don’t remember that? It lasted for about an hour. You were crying, cursing and insulting me. It really broke my heart…” he muttered, looking away, but my face of horror was still there. “Fuck, I must have been really drunk to remember talking to Nancy, but not calling you to randomly curse you…Great.” I slapped my face in annoyance. “You hate alcohol.” he stated, but I only shrugged. “I hate cigarettes too, but that didn’t stop me from going full auto-destruct mode for 3 days before getting back to normal when I didn’t care about anyone. Bye, Hargrove, I have nothing more to say to you.” I turned to leave, but for the millionth time, I got stopped. “On the phone…You said…You said that you loved me. Did you, really…?” he barely breathed, making me stop dead in my tracks. “What, you thought I’d stay with you out of pity or something? 'Cause I felt lonely by myself? OF COURSE I DID, DUMBASS! Use that stupid brain of yours once in a while and maybe you’ll answer your own questions!” I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “You…You also said you wanted to beat the hell out of me…So, you deserve to let your anger out on me. Do what will make you feel better.” he said in resignation, looking at the ground with a pitiful look. “I deserve everything and I will take anything. I hurt you…And I really suck.” he said in such a godamn pitiful voice that in made anger boil in me like never before. “What the FUCK do you want?! Do you want my pity? Do you want me to forgive you? THAT’S NEVER GONNA HAPPEN! You just want to fuck, that’s all you want! I was always just another girl on your stupid list, just another name and another challenge! I HATE YOU!” I turned to slap him, but…But just as my hand was about to collide with his face, I stopped and I started shaking and crying. “Fuck’s sake…I can’t do it…” I muttered with a sigh as I gritted my teeth in annoyance. “You can’t hurt me even now, after how much I hurt you…You still love me, and all I did was throw away your love like a spoiled brat…The truth is, I…I realised my feelings for you…I realised how much I care about you, and it was all so foreign and intense that…I got scared. And I tried to make those feelings go away by doing the same things that have been shielding me for all these years.” he explained, holding my hand as he made me touch his face, leaning into my touch. “Shut up…J-Just…Shut up! I don’t want to hear any more excuses! We’re done for, anyway! Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t possible trust you again. You…You just…You can’t even imagine the damage that you’ve done to me.” I shook my head, feeling my heart in pain like never before, making me take back my hand and jog away, having spotted Nancy and Jonathan going in the highschool to their next class. I needed a distraction, and studying/doodling always helped. “Hey, Kat, how are you holding up?” Nancy asked worriedly, hugging me. “I’m fine, all cool. Ready for Physics, I guess.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Oh, I remembered. Next weekend there’s gonna be some charity party or something at our highschool and all students are asked to sign up and participate with anything interesting they’ve got. Mostly singing, as far as I know, but it works. Wanna go? I have to go there to take pictures for the event, so I can get you girls really good seats.” Jonathan suggested, making me and Nance look at each other and smiling simultaneously, and clearly agreeing. “Sure, that should be fun, right? I’m looking forward to it.” I smiled at them, feeling quite better, as if I finally belonged somewhere. “Hey, guys, hold up!” a familiar voice called out, making us 3 turn around and spot Steve. “Hey, so, uh…This weekend our basketball team has the 2nd last match and I wanted to ask if you’d come cheer on us. It will help a lot if I were to see some familiar faces…” he chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t know, Steve…With that git, Hargrove there, Kat might feel bad…” Nancy mumbled, looking at me, but I only grinned at them. “Nahh, who cares about him? My friend needs support? Then, Harrington, I will be there to support you. Just…Don’t steal my book again, please.” I winked at him, making the both of us laugh. “Thanks a lot, Kat, I really appreciate it. Jonathan, Nancy? Are you coming?” he asked as he put his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, sure, man, why not.” Jonathan shrugged and we all agreed and made plans for these two following weekends.

Should be fun, huh?

—–

“Okay, Steve, so like, how do you want me to cheer? 'KING STEVE!’ or 'GO! GO! HARRINGTON!' ? ” I laughed as I rubbed his shoulders, the anxiety radiating off him. “That’s bloody awful, Kat, what the hell.” he grinned in disbelief, making me laugh at his reaction. “Okay, okay, I’ll just read my book until I see everyone screaming and I will do the same, how does that sound?” I tried to hype him up for the match the best I could. “Just…Just act natural and do what you want, okay?” he rolled his eyes and shook his arms a bit. “I have faith in you, Steve. GO FUCK THEM UP!” we high fived and I jogged on the bleachers, almost missing Billy’s lingering eyes on me and my friendly actions with Steve…Almost, being the key point. “Think they’ll win?” Jonathan asked, making me shrug. “I honestly have no idea what this game is about, but for everyone’s good, I hope they do.” I declared, paying attention to the game as soon as the first whistle blew.

It was a bit difficult properly paying attention and following the game since I honestly had no idea what was going on, but what I noticed was that Billy wasn’t really the same, while Steve was energetic like never before and managed to easily score like 4 times.

The points were tied and our team scored very rarely, which made me mess around a bit with the game, making sure Steve scored every time he threw the ball in the basket, or that the enemy team would randomly trip.

Hey, we won, what a surprise! Time to celebrate!

“KING STEVE! KING STEVE SCORED A GAZILLION TIMES! GO, KING STEVE!” I laughed as I jump-hugged him as a congratulations, but he only shook his head, grinning. “Thanks, Kat. Thanks a lot for the help.” he smirked, looking at me with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What ever could you mean by that, Harrington?” I chuckled, looking away. “I’ve been around you, El and a bunch of monsters enough to know when the ball moves anti-Physics law.” he laughed, ruffling my hair. “Jerk, not my hair! And come on, you played really well! What I did was just a bonus!” I tried to fix my hair a bit. “Hey, seeing the enemy team fall like idiots made my confidence boost like never before. I’d have laughed like an idiot if we weren’t mid-game. Come on, I’ll treat you to ice cream.” he proposed. “Oh, I won’t refuse free ice-cream! Go take a shower and I’ll take Jonathan and Nancy to the car, okay?” I asked, earning a nod. “Nancy! Steve is getting us free ice-cream! Let’s go!” I waved the two over, completely ignoring Billy coming over and looking crestfallen. “Did you just call him King Steve?” Billy’s soft voice asked from behind, making me turn at him with a bored look. “Yeah, I did, 'cause he won the game.” I shrugged, waiting for Nancy and Jonathan to come over. “Do you like him?” he asked again, his voice barely audible, somehow heartbroken. “No, we’re just friends…Not that it should concern you in any way. You see…He’s not a fuckass like you…Well, not anymore, that is. Bye now, free ice cream is waiting me and my friends.” I smiled fakely at him before hooking my arm to Nancy’s and going towards Steve’s car, where I got so much ice cream that I thought my brain would freeze, making the other 3 laugh at me.

We had such a nice time together, celebrating Hawkins’ victory and not having any worry in our heads… Except, maybe, the fact that Billy’s broken voice kept echoing in my head, making my heart cry…Stupidly weak heart…

It’s been already about 3 weeks without letting Billy talk to me more than necessary and I hate to admit to myself that it just keeps hurting more and more seeing him going down the way of self-destruction like never before. But tonight I was supposed to have fun with my 3 friends, right? Watch random students pretend they have talent and everyone to make fun of them 'cause they can’t sing, dance, or do anything really.

One guy completely butchered one of Michael Jackson’s dances, a girl hit all the wrong keys while playing a Beethoven piece another guy sounded strangled while attempting to sing “Stayin’ Alive” by Bee Gees… Okay, I mean, some of them were actually pretty good, I won’t deny, but I and Steve loved to make fun of the fails…It was just TOO hilarious!

It was all nice and giggles, until a very familiar instrumental started playing in the background, making me gasp in shock. “No…Way…” I barely managed to breathe out before snapping my head in the direction of the stage…

And there he was.

Billy Hargrove stood on the stage, holding the microphone with both hands, looking down, before up to scan the audience, before somehow managing to spot me, and we connected, neither of us daring to break the eye contact.

And he began to sing, in a soft voice like never before, earning hundreds of cheers and screams of excitement and adoration.

But I knew better than anyone else what this meant.

He wasn’t here for charity, or to impress anyone with his singing skills…

He was here to apologise.

He was here to try to reach my heart just like he used to before, and try to win me over again.

Time, it needs time to win back your love again I will be there, I will be there

His voice was sweet and warm yet sorrowful, like that of an angel, and I could feel dry sobs threatening to escape. “Kat, are you okay? What happened?” Steve asked, concerned at my sudden change of behaviour, but I wasn’t sure I could trust my voice much. “He…He’s…Apologising…And saying that he loves me…” I managed to choke out before covering my mouth, trying to control myself.

Love, only love can bring back your love someday I will be there, I will be there

He didn’t break eye contact even for a split of second, and I didn’t even realise tears were already going down my face until Nancy pulled me into her arms and offered me her napkin.

Fight, babe, I’ll fight to win back your love again I will be there, I will be there

“Go closer, it’s going to be okay. It will be okay, Kat.” Nancy reassured me, patting my head, but I was a bit scared that my legs would fail me from the intense emotions bursting in my heart.

Love, only love can bring down the wall someday I will be there, I will be there

Clutching my heart, I took a sharp breath and stood, holding the banister with dear life, afraid that I might collapse, as he started smiling, seeing me approach.

If we go again all the way from the start I would try to change the things that killed our love Your pride has built a wall, so strong that I can’t get through Is there really no chance to start once again?

I’m loving you

I quickly managed to climb down the stairs and started walking towards the stage, and as soon as those last words were so lovingly dragged out, I started crying, hugging myself as my heart was completely weak for him and him alone, and he extended his arm out toward me slightly, proving once again that he was trying to reach out me and my heart.

Try, baby, try to trust in my love again I will be there, I will be there

I started smiling and looking at him with such adoration on my face that it seemed to give him some sort of confidence as well to keep on going.

Love, our love just shouldn’t be thrown away I will be there, I will be there

I couldn’t contain myself and I started mouthing the lyrics to the song along with him, which made him put his hand to where his heart would be, in a way to match my action.

If we’d go again, all the way from the start I would try to change the things that killed our love Your pride has built a wall, so strong that I can’t get through Is there really no chance to start once again?

I nodded at him with a soft grin on my face, telling him that yes, I forgive him, and that I could feel he was being genuine with each word he’d sing and each emotion he’d express so openly.

If we’d go again, all the way from the start I would try to change the things that killed our love Yes, I’ve hurt your pride, and I know what you’ve been through You should give me a chance, this can’t be the end

By this time, I wasn’t sure if I just wanted him to stop singing so I’d be able to hold him close to me, or if I wanted him to keep singing because oh god, it did so many things to my heart that I couldn’t believe it was me who felt all these things.

I’m still loving you I’m still loving you I’m still loving you I need your love I’m still loving you

Still loving you, baby

He kept singing, so much force and emotion in his voice, that I started wiping the tears from my eyes as I kept repeating the same lyrics with him, confessing our undying love for each other over and over again.

Still loving you I need your love Still loving you I need your love, oh Still loving you I need your love, oh I need your love I need your love…

The song ended soon, making everyone stand up and cheer wildly, but he only had one thing in mind- He did a fast bow before walking down the stage and throwing his arms around me and holding me close to his chest, as tight as he could without leaving me breathless.

“I love you so much, Kat. I’m so sorry for letting trauma get the best of me. I was weak, I was a shithead and I hurt you. I was scared. I didn’t even realise that I turned back to my back habits until I saw you again…When I got the courage to actually look AT you, not THROUGH you. I don’t know what I was so scared about…What I still am so scared about…Maybe I am afraid that I will turn into my father and I will drive you away, like it made my mum leave me…I’ve been so afraid of fucking up…That I did without realising…I’m sorry, Kat, I really am. And I love you with all my heart.” he confessed, letting only one stray tear fall down his cheek, his eyes red from trying not to let his emotions get the best of him in front of the whole highschool. “I love you, Billy. I forgive you…And…Call me Kitten. I’m not leaving you.” I smiled softly, wiping away that tear before kissing him gently, before pulling away, earning a happy, almost choked out laugh from him. “I really don’t deserve someone like you…” he shook his head, but I paid that no mind, and instead, I trailed my fingers down his face, down his neck and to his chest, touching the 'K’ necklace that shined so beautifully. “I thought you’d throw it away.” I managed to say barely above a whisper. “No…Truth it, I started hyperventilating that day in the locker room, alone, thinking about everything going on, and I was suffocating. I tried to take it off carefully…But that didn’t work very well. I’m sorry I lied…I was embarrassed to tell you the truth.” he admitted, biting his lip. “It’s okay…I forgive you. I wasn’t expecting you to do what you did today…I…I never realised I could feel so many things at once…I thought I was gonna faint or something…It’s…It’s so weird…But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I appreciate the effort and sentiment you put in everything…Even if it took you quite a long while.” I let out an amused breath, making him take out something from his pocket…The 'B’ necklace. “Do you…Do you want it back…? I fixed the latch.” he asked softly, putting it on as soon as I put my hair on the side. “It’s funny, don’t you think? We keep breaking things, but we repair them for each other. We’re a bunch of idiots.” I laughed, making him put his forehead to mind. “Maybe from now on we’ll only fix each other and nothing bad will happen. I know I promised before, but this time, I am a new man and I am not afraid to brave any storm, if I have you by my side. Will you have me back…Kitten?” he smiled at me, making me roll my eyes. “I just said I will, silly! It will be as if none of these bad things happened. And we will be happy. We…We ARE happy.” I grinned, but he shook his head. “No…I hurt you, you shouldn’t forget that. It was my fault. Instead, I will make sure none of that ever happens again and I will focus solely on your happiness…Because Kat, if you are happy, I am happy, and that’s all I need from life. I love you.” he confessed once again, making me bury my face into his chest and hug him tightly. “Billy…Y-You’re doing that thing wh-where you’re stirring t-too many emotions i-in my heart a-and I can’t take it. C-Can you, like, s-slow down? I-I-I’m feeling faint.” I stutter out, hiding my face in his shirt, making him chuckle in amusement and kiss my head. “Oh, baby, you have no idea what YOU do to me every time you’re being so cute and adorable…And only I can make you so flustered. It’s doing lots of things to me and you’ve no idea.” he smirked lightly, but before he could say another thing, he started groaning in annoyance. “Who the fuck thought singing this stupid song was a good idea? Fuck The Police and this song.” he grumbled, making me laugh at his reaction. “Hey, Billy…I’m SO not kissing you on this song!” I grinned in amusement, barely managing to stifle my giggles, both of us having the throwback from the Snow Ball where everyone kept kissing on The Police’s “Every Breath You Take.” “Got me there, babe. And as if the song wasn’t stupid enough, his voice makes it even worse…” he pouted, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I had no idea that was possible…Until now.” I declared, holding him close to me and swinging back and forth to the soft and somehow broken rhythm of the music.

—-

“Billy! Hey, Billy! I’ve got news!” I ran to him, panting, out of breath since I had 0 physical endurance. “Huh? What happened?” he straightened out on the bench, not paying any attention to his stupid buddies anymore. “The exam results JUST appeared! And…Well, hope you don’t mind, but I peeked a tiiiiiny bit at yours before I even looked at mine and…Haha, don’t be mad!” I grinned sheepishly, making him roll his eyes and let out an amused breath. “Okay, Lady Scholarship, I’m sure you got all the good grades and snatched away the Studies Scholarship, right? How much did you get at Biology? 100%? ” he asked with a knowing smirk, making me blush at the confidence he had in me and look down, nodding, the grin on my face never faltering for a second. “That’s my Kitten! See, I told ya! You really need to trust yourself more, you’re a smart babe!” he got up to hug me tightly and kiss me on the lips with much passion. “Okay, okay, enough of this! Now, sit down and let me tell you about your results, okay?” I made him sit down again, trying to look as passive as possible. “Fine, babe, shoot.” he kept bouncing his leg up and down, trying to relax himself, but to no avail. “So, uhm…You got all the good grades…But uhm…At Biology, you didn’t get a B…” I trailed off, making his face fall into complete horror, before realising the smirk on my face that I couldn’t stop. “You got an A, babe. You got 97%! The Scholarship is yours!” This made him and everyone around his jump on their feet and roar in happiness, clapping and cheering for 'King Billy’, he bent down to my level and kissed me with so much passion that I thought my face would be worse than a tomato and that my heart would leap out of my heart from embarrassment, shock and all other emotions at a time. “WE’RE GOING TO CALI, BABY! WHOOOOO!!” he screamed as loud as he could to the sky, feeling like nothing else could go better for him in life. “Yessss! It’s gonna be so cool!! We did it, Billy! We really did it!!” I cheered with him, making him pick me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. “We’re gonna move in together, and it’s gonna be just us and nobody else to pressure or fuck with us. I’m so not letting you go, babe. The things you do to me, Kitten, you’ll never understand.” he smirked as he whispered that against my lips before shamelessly making out with me in front of everyone which made me blush like I was gonna die in the next second, but, well…They’re not gonna see us ever again so…So I just put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me and smiling into the kissing. “You’re gonna be the death of me some day, honey.” I said in between kisses, softly and playfully biting his bottom lip, making him smirk widely. “Oh, Kitten, you naughty girl, you’re doing things to me and you are fully aware of that. You’re so lucky I love you.” he confessed before capturing my lips again, with just as much fire as before. “Oh, yeah, I really am lucky~.” I giggled softly, trying to tune out any new person passing by.

—-

“So, uhm…First of all, I wanted to thank all my teachers for being incredible moral, emotional and intellectual supports for me all these years of highschool…I want to thank my friends, Nancy, Jonathan and Steve, for being there for me when I needed them the most…I want to thank a bunch of 13 year olds for accepting me as their Party Nerd Leader…I want to thank my boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, who loves me so much and whom I love endlessly…” I trailed off a bit, looking at Billy, who already did his diploma acceptance speech, as a Scholarship winner, and I smirked widely. “And also, I want to thank all of you for being a bunch of dumbasses and for letting me steal your Scholarship and Loverboy so easily from right in front of you! You suck, guys! Toodles! See you in Cali!” I laughed, taking the diploma from the hands of Mrs. Green and I ran off the stage, jump-hugging Billy and kissing him deeply. “Now, babe, THAT is what I call a real badass speech. I’m so proud of you for showing them who’s the real Queen here.”  he smiled proudly at me, kissing my forehead. “WE’RE GOING TO CALI, BABY!” I couldn’t stop radiating with glee, just like a sunshine, and before ending the Graduation ceremony, we all threw our caps into the air and cheered that highschool is finally over.

And the best thing?

Well…

HARRINGTON IS TREATING US TO ICE-CREAM AGAIN!

Success~!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

[nanoland]

posting this again in a shameless bid for attention (the usual 2-3 people who already give me plenty of attention pls ignore and also i love u <3)

(Also on AO3.) 

Clean Hands, part 4

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel

Warning: Demon deals, violence, mention of abuse and torture. Also: Crowley is an abuse + addiction survivor and also a cold-hearted arsehole with very little respect or empathy for abuse + addiction survivors, and this story is written from his POV. 

0

What was there to be done when you were enamoured of a man who hit you?

Leave him! the whole world cried back in one voice.

Which was a bit like telling someone trapped in a burning car to get out of the car. Yes. Quite. Thank you. Fully agree. But what if, for a moment, you assumed I wasn’t as stupid as a fucking dog?

That, incidentally, was one of a handful of ways the world had worsened since Crowley last drew breath.

Back in the fourteenth century, the women in the marketplace had noted his black eye and torn dress with immediate understanding. Instead of insisting he pack his bags and walk out of the house belonging to his wealthy shoemaker husband, the father of his child, the man on whom his safety and good reputation and continued ability to eat depended, the man he, for some fucking reason, still loved, they’d actually tried to help.

Sybil had given him willow bark for the pain. Rose had engaged him in long, rambling conversations, stretching the minutes until he had to return home. Jane had walked across the village and rapped on his door every evening she could, always armed with solid excuses, just when the bastard was well and truly in his cups and looking for something to damage.

If ever analytical minds were to try to account for Crowley’s misanthropy and sadism, they couldn’t honestly conclude that either was due to his never experiencing true, heartfelt human kindness.

Yes, Sybil and Rose and Jane had all thought he was a woman and addressed him accordingly, and it had hurt. But that wasn’t their fault. He’d not had the courage to tell them otherwise.

Crowley didn’t regret much. Regret, in this game, was a slow-killing poison.

Still, he did occasionally wonder how things might have turned out if he’d accepted Jane’s invitation and fled with her to London that one warm night, rather than hanging in for years until he finally snapped and beat his husband’s skull into tooth-sized pieces with an iron kettle.

Returning to the present:

As Crowley watched Dean’s fist barrel towards his face, and not for the first time, he reviewed the pros and cons of incinerating him with hellfire.

When fist and nose were one millionth of an inch apart, he teleported across the room.

“Squirrel,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with you.”

Dean charged and took another swing at him. “Fuck you! He worked so hard! Clean for four years, you piece of shit!”

This time, Crowley reappeared sitting on top of the dead man’s wardrobe, where Dean couldn’t reach him. “Good for him. His family and friends won’t remember him as the thieving, lying wretch he was ten years ago when he sold his soul for a pound of meth. They’ll probably give him a nice funeral.”

“Why couldn’t you make an exception? Just once?”

“That’s not how this works, Dean! It wasn’t even my deal! The contract is in the hands of a relatively inexperienced subordinate and honestly, I’m glad that she pulled it off. She’s got potential. This is her first real win. It’ll increase her standing in Hell and make her more powerful, which will be useful because some older demons have taken to bullying h-…”

“I don’t give a damn about your minions,” he snarled, picking up a lamp sprinkled with blood and throwing it at him. Crowley ducked. “Every last one of you can take an angel blade to the face, for all I care. You’re fucking parasites.”

Evenly, Crowley replied, “Yes. We are. You know that. You’ve always known that. Why are you having a fit about it now? Good people get dragged to Hell all the time.”

Dean stared down at what remained of Martin Booke, now that the hellhounds had left. “He worked so hard. Christ. You could have made an exception. He came to us and I swore I’d help him out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have cocking well done that, should you?” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands.

Eyes wet, Dean sneered at him. “Parasite. Get out of my sight before I wring your evil neck.”

Crowley left.

Upon arriving back in Hell, he went to the Admissions Department.

The soul of Martin Booke was sitting in one of the cheap blue plastic chairs, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably still reeling from the trauma of the hounds ripping his throat out, though no damage was evident on his form now.

“Mr Booke,” Crowley said, sauntering up with his hands in his pockets. “Could you come with me, please?”

A door appeared in the nearest wall and swung open silently.

Once they were both standing inside Crowley’s office, it swung shut and dissolved into nothingness.

Moving to his liquor cabinet, Crowley said, “I hear you’re a Harvard man.”

“Um… y-yeah. Yes. I was.” Thin voice. Midwestern accent.

“Promising career ahead of you before things – ah – went awry.”

Booke swallowed. “Tom. First boyfriend. Got me into meth. Got me into a lot of stuff. I figured it was okay because we were gonna be together forever and as long as I had him, I’d be fine. Then he went and died and I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Smiling thinly, Crowley said, “Isn’t romance grand? As it happens, you may still get your happily ever after. Thomas Abbott is currently waiting in the eternal queue – which, ordinarily, is where you’d be headed.”

“Yeah. Dean told me. Although… um…”

“You have a question? Spit it out. Cowards bore me.”

“Dean said that when you sell your soul, you go to Hell and demons torture you until you become a demon. But he also told me about the queue thing. So that’s confusing. I mean, queuing sucks but it’s not torture.”

Crowley poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down behind his desk. “Clever boy. Yes; when I became King of Hell, I restructured things. Most of you end up in the queue. The hot knives and whips are a speciality service and, as such, are reserved for our elite clientele. The pedos and Nazis and so forth – and, of course, anyone who pisses me off too much. As for the process of becoming a demon; that doesn’t actually require torture. I know! Surprised me too! We always thought it did, back when Lilith was in charge. Then I started running some tests and it turns out that becoming a demon is a bit like catching a virus; it’ll happen to anyone who hangs around other demons long enough. Everyone in the queue will have black eyes by the end of their first century.”

Booke took off his glasses and nervously rubbed them on his sleeve. “You said that ‘ordinarily’ I’d go to the queue. So am I an – uh – ‘elite client’?”

“Hah! No. Your little life was staggeringly boring and barely impacted anyone in ways either negative or positive. No, the reason you’re here is Harvard. See, I had a snoop and it seems that before you dropped out, you were getting bloody good grades.”

A wistful smile. “I guess. Had big dreams, once.”

Sipping his bourbon, Crowley said, “On track for a Master’s in aeronautical engineering, I believe.”

“Yep. I wanted to work for NASA.”

“Cards on the table, Booke: I might have a job for you. There is, at present, space in one or two of our departments for a man with your talents. But first I need to ask a question.”

He cocked his head. “Um. Sure? Anything’s better than what I was expecting. Shoot.”

“Do you know how to crash a spaceship?”

[prettyboyxshea]

6/3 - Shelliot

@switchysmythe

Shea and Elliot have their first fight, and it’s a big one.

Shea lie in Elliot's bed, just wearing his panties and one of the other's shirts. He kept resting his head to the other's shoulder, content in the feeling of safety that this brought. "Do you think I'll ever get claimed?" he asked softly, staring up at the ceiling.

Elliot was content, just laying there with Shea. He’d become a permanent fixtures in Elliot’s life and it was nice. It was something he hadn’t had before. At the question, Elliot looks sideways at the submissive. “What’s brought this on?” he asks. Elliot doesn’t let himself think about claims yet but he wasn’t ignorant to the fact other people thought about them a lot.

"I just wondered," he said with a shrug, as though it didn't matter in the least, even though it truly did. He'd taken the class for those meant for auctions and knew that his future wasn't set in stone, with Elliot or anyone else. "Do you ever think about it, Sir?" he said quietly, not wording the question he was truly asking. [i]Do you ever think of me?[i]

Elliot was silent for a few moments, not really sure what to say. Sure, it came up in his mind but he never really let himself think too much about it. “Not massively, no,” he admits. He knows he’s going to need to, soon probably, because it’s the whole damn reason they’re here. “How often do you think about it? Or worry about it?” He knows it’s probably worry.

Shea didn't want to admit how often the fears filled his thoughts, but Elliot was right there, grounding him. He slowly turned on his side to face Elliot, wanting to see his face. "All the time," he finally spoke, "No one's ever wanted me and you do. But is it just for now? For fun... like I'm a fling?"

He hears Shea move in bed before he looks over at him. He’s still laying on his neck but he turns his head to look at him. “All the time?” he repeats. He couldn’t ever imagine worrying about something so much. At the question’s he closes his eyes for a moment. They’re big questions to him. “All we have is now, the present,” he says as he opens his eyes again. “And this is fun but you’re not just a fling. I don’t like flings spend almost every waking minute with me.”

Shea nodded his head, feeling disappointed that Elliot wouldn't say more. He turned into his back, no longer laying against the Switch as he stared up at the ceiling. The sex was great, but there had to be more than that for him. He felt that if that part ended, Elliot wouldn't have a reason to keep him around anymore, considering all the other prospects he had. "I understand," he finally said just to say it, just to appease the other.

Elliot sighs quietly when Shea turns away from him. He wasn’t good at this, at talking about his feelings or the future or what he wanted. He didn’t know how to put things into words. “Shea, come on,” he says as he sits up, leaning against the head of the bed. “I want you, okay? You know I do.” He doesn’t mind telling Shea, doesn’t have an issue with reminding him when he needs it but he’s not sure what Shea actually wants from him.

Shea turned his head to look at Elliot when he moved, watching him for a few moments before staring at the ceiling again. "You want me in your bed, Sir," he sighed softly, "You want to fuck me, but you'll get bored of that. You will and then we're back to square one. No claims. No potentials. Nothing."

“When have I ever said I just want you in my bed?” Elliot asks. He wants to know why Shea thinks this, where he’s pulling it from because Elliot was sure he hadn’t been giving that impression but maybe he was wrong.

"Everytime we're together we have sex," Shea shrugged his shoulders, "I just figured that it's the way you wanted it, so that's what I do. I make you horny, we fuck and then you go out and fuck someone else." He knew he was being cruel but it was that point when Elliot didn't want to commit and Shea wanted him to, badly.

Elliot was trying really had not to get pissed off but it was quietly brewing. “So, you’re just assuming and then putting that all on me as if it’s my fault?” he asks, keeping his voice level. “I never said I just wanted to have sex with you. You assumed. And yes I go out a lot, I probably always will because it’s what I like to do. I...” he trails off and sighs. “I always come back to you, don’t I? You’re the one that stopped at Ryder’s so you can do that but I can’t and you’re the one who said you’re in...” he stops himself feeling himself getting pissed off. “I don’t want to argue.” He says instead as he gets out of bed.

Shea couldn't get a word of argument in with the way that Elliot was speaking, just as he'd expected him to react. It ached to know that he'd learned that much about him and now it was going to end. It always did. He swallowed back a sob as Elliot exited the room, but he didn't go after him. There was no point. it was inevitable that this was going to be this way. Instead he curled under the covers, able to smell the Switch's scent as silent tears began to fall, wetting the pillow beneath his head.

Elliot was frustrated. He had to control his breathing, stood in his kitchen. He didn’t want to butt heads with him, that was the last thing he wanted. He stands in the kitchen for no longer than ten minutes before he’s heading back to his bedroom. “Do you still love Ryder?” he asks. He wasn’t going to mention it, ever, to be honest, but he wasn’t going to stand here and act like he was in the wrong with what their relationship was.

Shea was still curled into a ball, the blanket hiding his face as he heard Elliot enter the room again. He didn't wipe at his face, so it wouldn't be obvious he was crying. Waiting until his throat was clear enough for him to speak through his quiet crying, he said evenly, "No. I'm not." He stayed in the same position, feeling so lost without the Switch at his side, "I loved him once. Never really told him. But he never felt the same."

“Do you even remember telling him you were in love with him during the punishment?” Elliot asks. Was the fact Ryder didn’t want him back the reason he fell into Elliot? Was he second best to someone Shea actually wanted? He hoped he wasn’t. He can’t be second best to someone. He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh. Maybe he was being hypocritical, he was still sleeping with other people, he was sure Shea was too. But then again he never put Shea after them. He was always first in his mind.

"Yes," Shea croaked, closing his eyes tightly as though it would keep him from crying harder. Elliot wasn't making this end any easier, and he didn't know what to do. Normally the other would just leave and that was that, but Elliot was still there, arguing with him. "I slept with him one night before the punishment," he admitted in a soft voice, "But it wasn't the same, because I kept comparing him to you. I kept thinking of all the things you do better than him. Okay. That's it."

This is why Elliot didn’t do feelings, they were always so damn messy and stressful and he didn’t think that was the case between him and Shea. He was obviously naive to think they were any different. “I told you before we even started any of this, I don’t do second best,” he tells him. “I’m not being second best to him, Shea.” He deserves more than that. “Okay? So if I am second best, tell me now. Don’t let me get in deeper and then spring it on me.”

Shea sat up with a start, growing so frustrated with Elliot for dragging this out. "I just fucking said it. You were better. You are number one. I don't want him. I want you. Only you. That's fucking it. So get over him, because I have." He wiped at his face and threw himself back down into the bed, pulling the covers over his head.

Elliot scoffs. “You are so not allowed to be pissed off with me right now,” he says. He’s not shouting but he sounds pissed off. “The punishment was like not even a week ago and that’s when you said it, Shea, so excuse me for being worried about it. How would you like it, hm? If you heard me say that to someone?”

"Yes, I am," Shea yelled through the blanket, "You're supposed to be dumping me and instead we're yelling about some guy I don't have feelings for. The dream I had was from months ago, back when I first returned to the institution. It was a past thing, not a present thing, Sir. So shut the fuck up and dump me and we can both move on like normal people."

“How can I dump you? We’re not even together!” Elliot argues back and regrets it instantly because he didn’t mean it the way it came out. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” he says letting out a heavy sigh. Again, this is why Elliot didn’t talk about emotional stuff, he wasn’t very good at it. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he adds knowing he can’t really take it back and the state Shea is in he doubts he’ll even accept his apology. “Can we just... not argue? I don’t want to argue.”

He heard the words Elliot said, so harsh and beyond anything he expected, and he couldn't understand anything else the Switch was saying. He was beyond hurt and he climbed out of the bed and ripped off Elliot's shirt and searched for his clothing. "I'm going back to my room," he said, voice muffled through the tears and he didn't try to hide them. There was no time for that as he roughly pulled on his jeans and boy clothes, the things he should've been wearing all the time. He wasn't a pretty girl and he couldn't be Elliot's, no matter how he thought he had been.

Elliot felt even more guilty as the scene unfolded in front of him. As soon as the words left his lips he knew they would affect Shea badly. “Please don’t,” he practically begs. He doesn’t want Shea to leave, he doesn’t want things to end between them, that’s not even on the list of things he wants. Nowhere close. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. Please just don’t leave angry.”

"We're not together. I shouldn't call you Daddy. I can't be your pretty girl," Shea sniffled as he finished dressing. He wanted nothing more than to be in Elliot's arms again but he couldn't, "I wanted to be with only you. But I misunderstood what we were doing. I'm the stupid one. So I'm going and I won't be back."

“You haven’t misunderstood,” Elliot argues. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you! You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” He just wanted to rewind this whole argument, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They weren’t supposed to be arguing over something that shouldn’t even be an argument.

"Why don't you want me?" he asked him, crying even harder now. "It's the same thing over again. I move on and find someone else who doesn't want to have me. This is me being honest with you. I want you. I have ffeelings for you. Things that mean more than claiming and shit."

“I do want you!” Elliot says, voice a little calmer than before. He’s tired, he doesn’t want to shout and argue. “I do! I just... Shea, it’s a lot, and it’s new and I just want to take it slow, that’s all. I’m not saying I don’t want you and things are going nowhere because I don’t know where this is gonna go, but I like you. I like us.”

"But we're not together, right? I'm just a notch on your bedpost, another boy you like to fuck," he shouted, uncaring that Elliot was talking calmer. He found his school bag and pulled it close to his chest, just for something to hang on to. "I was stupid enough to think that I was your boyfriend. how fucked up is that?" he asked him, "And here you are, unwilling to even commit to that. So fuck you."

Elliot didn’t know what to say to make Shea actually hear what he was saying. “We talked about what we were, I thought we were on the same page,” he replies because he did think that. He thought they were just moving together knowing where the other stood and knowing there was something between them past just sex. “I’m not unwilling,” he argues. He’s just scared but he doesn’t think Shea will hear or understand that in this moment.

"I thought I was your boyfriend," Shea said, voice defeated now and he couldn't even look in Elliot's direction, "I didn't realize we were still stuck in grade school. You can't even call me that, so I can't trust that you're going to change your mind. Me sleeping in your bed at night is only going to happen if we're together. Actually together." He sniffled and looked towards the front door, "I never cared that you kept fucking other people. I knew your stance on that, but I thought that I was yours. And I'm not. And now you can't even dump me because we're nothing. I guess we never were."

Elliot rubs at his eyes once Shea has finished speaking. He didn’t think he was being entirely fair about the situation, Elliot had never done this before, he thought he deserved some leeway about that but apparently not. “We’re not nothing, and I don’t think that’s fair of you to say that.” He really doesn’t know what to do to make this better or easier. He wants a fucking drink, though, he knows that much. And Shea apparently doesn’t trust him. It makes his stomach turn. “I’m sorry,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do or say. Shea won’t listen and asking him to stay hasn’t helped either so he’s lost.

Shea couldn't speak anymore. He went around the dorm, picking up every item he could find that belonged to him. He didn't say anything else as he left quickly, still crying and unable to believe he'd been so incredibly stupid.

[enchantment1385]

OC Interview Meme

I was tagged by the gorgorgus @heraldofwho , the great @dickeybbqpit and the wonderful @dinah-myles  Thank you, you darling people! 

1. What is your name? I will answer to, Commander smexy, Captain awesome, “Oi!”, or begrudgingly  Hero of Ferelden... I bet if i’d made Alistair king he’d have given me a better bloody name... 

2. What is your real name? Jereth Amell... I have a middle name too... But the blight will take me before I tell you what it is.

3. Do you know why you were called that?  Not a bloody clue. 

4. Are you single or taken? I’m banging the divine. He says while doing finger guns.

5. Have any abilities or powers? You have HEARD of me, right? I killed a dragon! And not just any old dragon, a mind controlling, blight infested, BIG bastard! Makers shiny arse, I was sore after that fight... Sodding thing fell on me when I poked it with the sword!

6. Stop being a Mary Sue If that’s code for ‘awesome’, that’s just plain impossible I’m afraid. 

7. What’s your eye colour? He goes cross eyed trying to look at his own eyes. Well, they were blue, but this many years after my genlock cocktail, they’re a bit grey... But I’m gonna fix that! ... I think...

8. How about your hair colour? Are you saying I’m going grey?! Cause... That’s just some dead stuff that didn’t wash out last time... 

9. Have you any family members? Got mum and dad, but I haven’t seen them in years though. Bastard templars swooped me off to the circle when I was a kid, see?  Oh! And apparently the bloke who became Kirkwall’s champion is my cousin!  Ha! Small bloody world, huh? I bet the chanty are shitting their small clothes over 2 mages saving their ass--- Oohhh.... Jus .... Just scratch out that last bit...

10. Oh? What about pets? Unfortunately, we lost Barkspawn a few years back. Gotta say that was a bad day. We all ended up getting trashed at the keep and playing fetch while we cried. It was surprisingly soothing. Good news is I recently got, Gen. Blightballs! He’s a good boy. 

11. That’s 🆒 I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like. Spiders, morrigan, the blight, morrigan, caves, morrigan, the cold, too much heat, The fucking deeproads, morrigan, making decisions, walking, hills, bastard trees that don’t do poetry, most Templars, spells backfiring, stepping in dog shit, annnnnd cauliflower. He takes a sip of drink.  To be fair, morrigan ain’t all bad... She’s just a very special type of psycho. 

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?   Uuuuuhhhhhhh.... He looks totally confused and scratches his chin. You know what they don’t tell you when you join the wardens, apart from EVERYTHING?  No one ever mentions how becoming a warden will destroy life’s simple pleasures, like sleep for instance. I used to like a good kip, but now, not so bloody much. Imagine the most bloody weird cheese induced dream you’ve ever had and magnify that shit by infinity and you’re close to an average night.  Food is still good, so I guess eating? And playing with Blightballs, of course. 

13. Ever hurt anyone before? Can I count myself? Because if so, definitely. Regularly even. 

14. Ever… killed anyone before? Oh, probably. I don’t really pay much too much attention in fights if I’m honest.  I find if I don’t even know my own tactics, no enemy can find a weakness when they fight me either.

15. What kind of animal are you? A mabari! I’m strong, proud, cute, and I occasionally piss up against a wall. 

16. Name your worst habits. Personally, I’d say none, Nate doesn’t like it when I name my belly button lint , especially at dinner, but he can be a real bloody killjoy at times. 

17. Do you look up to anyone at all? Sten? I had to look up to him. He was a right big bugger. And Shale too. 

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual? I like to bury my head in breasts... So straight, i guess... But if men had boobs, I could be swayed... possibly. *nods*

19. Do you go to school? They shoved me in the circle who... Tried to teach us some stuff?

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day? I got a kid...Apparently... Morrigan buggered off through a mirror. Sigh. Then all of a sudden in MY fault for going missing! I’m not missing! I know exactly where I am!

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls? Hero. Of. Ferelden, dude. What do you think?  Of course, I haven’t let any of that go to my head... I was already handsome and charming. 

22. What are you most 😨 of? Pfftt. Blight spiders? Ghost wizards? Ghost spider wizards of blight? 

23. What do you usually wear? The same bloody thing I’ve been wearing for a decade now. So bored of mages armour. I suggested something a bit more fancy, but they others didn’t go for it. I guess I do love the shiny griffon though. I’ve named mine. 

24. Do you 💛 someone?  Yup.

25. When was the last time you wet yourself? What day is it today?

26. Well, it’s not over yet! Why do the good things in life never go on and on like this... *drags hands down his face.* 

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class) I’m chaos class. Yeahhh. Take that. *folds arms and looks smug*

28. How many friends do you have? I dunno... I never counted them? Was... Was that required?

29. What are your thoughts on pie? Fuck - Yes. More pie! Pie for everyone! Hero of pie day! 

30. Favourite drink? Whatever that stuff that Anders and Oghren cooked up a few years back. We called it - The kick in the tit.  .... We were all still suffering the after images of the ‘mother’ and her many, MANY nipples. The name seemed fitting. 

31. What’s your favourite place? In a tavern, with ann ale in hand, in front of a fire, with my head shoved between a pair of boobs. 

32. Are you interested in someone? Huh? Sorry, I wasn’t listening. I was still back at the tavern...

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy? Huge and girthy of course! I’m a living legend. 

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean? None. I jumped the out the window a few times in the tower to avoid the pissed off Templars who I’d spent a week winding up, so I’m done swimming in sodding lakes for one lifetime!  And have you seen the ocean? Do you have ANY idea about what crazy shit live in there? Cause 10 years ago I’d have put money on the fact Big ass dragon didn’t live underground. But I’d have been wrong, and then I would have lost 20 silver to my fellow warden. ... What was the question, again?

35. What’s your type? When I was single? The ones who said yes.

36. Any fetishes? The thing with the pirate wench and Leliana was pretty much it. *happy sigh* It’s good to be me. 

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive? I do whatever Leliana wants, because I’m scared I won’t wake up the next morning otherwise. 

38. Camping or indoors? Indoors.  When I’m done on this trip I’m burning every sodding tent I ever see. I am DONE sleeping on the floor. 

39. Are you wanting the interview to end? Yes, I’ve eaten the free biscuits you gave me and I need a piss. Sorry - pee. 

40. Now it’s over! Great... Which way to the latrine? 

Tagging: @keeperscompanionsdai @dreadhobo @goldfishfiasco @sassylavellen @gugle1980 @fade-footprints @tessa1972 @john-cousland @ielmoe @inquisitorsmabari @long-liv-prairies

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Frat Boy: Two Years Timestamp

Summary: Dean has a surprise for reader as they start to think of life after grad school...

Frat Boy Masterlist

Pairing: AU student!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Takes place approximately two years after Part 20 of Frat Boy...

“Dean,” you mumbled, shoving on his arm. He grumbled and tightened his hold on you. “Dean! You have to let me out of this bed!”

“Uh, no I don't,” murmured Dean, smiling against the back of your neck. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Frat boy, I have class in an hour,” you said, knowing well enough that you weren’t leaving unless he let you. “If I don't get in the shower in the next five minutes-”

“You have to turn in your midterm project, sweetheart, no need to get all dressed up. You can throw on a pair of sweats and my shirt and we get to stay in bed another half hour,” he said, nuzzling the back of your head. “I’ll stay right here while you’re gone and then you can just come to back to bed.”

“Did you honestly forget you have your-”

“Oh shit,” said Dean, scrambling up and out of bed, rushing over to the closet and picking through his clothes, spinning around like a madman. “Fuck, I already had to cancel once because of class. He's going to be pissed at me if I do it again.”

“First off, it's Sam. Second, why don't you tell me what you two are up to?” you asked. Dean smiled but shook his head, pulling on yesterday’s jeans, fumbling with his belt. “You know you aren't allowed to do wedding stuff without me.”

“It's not wedding stuff. Just...stuff. A surprise. You love surprises from me,” he said, grabbing a shirt from the floor, quickly dropping it when he remembered he’d cleaned up last night using that. “Washcloth. Next time washcloth.”

“Your surprises are typically not things I would want Sammy around for,” you said, stretching as you got out of the warm bed and padded over to the closet. Dean nodded but kept his mouth shut, silently teased you with a smug grin. “You know what would be a good surprise? A dog.”

“No! We barely can handle planning a wedding. We eat takeout half the week. A living creature is not something we are capable of caring for,” he said. You scoffed and he crossed his arms. “Do you remember the goldfish?”

“You mean the goldfish you won at the carnival and was half dead by the time we got home? That one?” you asked, Dean pursing his lips.

“We aren't getting a dog,” he said. You pouted and he rolled his eyes. “When we get an actual house-”

“This is a house,” you said with a big grin.

“This is a tiny ass one bedroom house that barely fits all our stuff. Not to mention it doesn't even have a driveway for Baby,” he said, resting his hands on your hips. “We haven’t even decided where we want to live yet.”

“Well Sam accepted that job near your parents place after he graduates and Bobby wants to hand over the business to you, which you’d be perfect for, and I will find something around there. I want live near where you grew up Dean,” you said. Dean shook his head and you sighed.

“You’re getting your masters for a reason, Y/N. You didn’t spend all that money and work that hard to work at Starbucks,” he said, resting his forehead on yours. “Where ever you get a job, we’ll go.”

“I want to be near my family,” you said, moving his hands off you, tired of having this conversation over and over with him. “I got to shower.”

You heard him come in once he heard the curtain shut and the water come on, quietly brushing his teeth and probably grabbing your brush to fix his hair.

“Are we having a fight?” he asked. You tilted your head back and got a face full of water, cursing under your breath as you wiped it away.

“No, Dean,” you said softly, poking your head out, Dean’s concern about being late for Sam replaced with his guilty face. “I just…”

“I bookmarked a few jobs I saw last night near here at a research place. You’d make a lot, even starting out. But it’s far from home so I didn’t bring it up but...it’s your life, your decision,” he said. He put on a smile when you frowned.

“It’s our life,” you said, his face softening. “Dean, we could live in a cardboard box and I wouldn’t care. Money is important but it’s not the purpose of living. You, my family, that’s what I want, baby. We have to sleep in your childhood bedroom, I got to work at Bobby’s...alright then. I’m game. I want to go home. If you don’t, that’s okay and we’ll figure out where to go but I love you way more than I ever will some job, even a dream one.”

“I did a dumb again,” he said, running his hand on the back of his neck. He shrugged and grinned.

“No, no dumbo here,” you said. “A caring dork? Yes, for sure. No dumb though.”

“You know I’ve spent two years wondering why you said yes. Who knew being a complete and utter fool was the way to stealing your heart,” he said.

“A complete and utter fool that is about to blow off Sam again,” you said, Dean’s eyes wide as he spun around and booked it out of there, shouting an ‘I love you’ at you as the front door was slammed shut. “Frat boy, what am I ever going to do with you…”

“Y/N,” said Dean, smiling when you heard him come inside the house a few hours later. “I got a surprise.”

“I made you a pie,” you said, pointing into the kitchen, Dean’s brain distracted long enough for you to grab the bag out of his hands, peaking your head inside. “Did you buy flavored lube?”

“Yeah,” he said as you gave it back. “No, that isn’t your surprise either.”

“I would hope not,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “Was Sam with you when you bought this?”

“Hey, I saw him buying some too. I think Ruby’s got a little streak in her like yourself,” said Dean. 

“You think Sam and Ruby are up to what we were back then?” you asked, Dean grimacing for a moment. “What flavor did he get?”

“Vanilla. I’m pretty sure Sam’s got some learning to do on the sex front,” said Dean, a laugh pulling itself from you as you grabbed a plate for him. “What?”

“This coming from the guy who’s virginity I took,” you said, Dean scowling at you, throwing his arms over your shoulders while you cut him a large slice. “I was your first everything, Frat boy.”

“Oh, we got kinky pretty quickly,”  said Dean, nipping at your jaw. “Still are.”

“Yes, chocolate flavored lube. You’re an absolute mad man,” you teased, Dean biting at your neck playfully until you were spinning around to give him his pie.

“I did enjoy that time with the chocolate syrup at the cabin,” said Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Which is part of your surprise. We’re going up tomorrow for the long weekend.”

“Alright. Sam riding with us or-”

“No, Sam. Just us,” said Dean. You leaned against the counter and gave him a smirk. 

“Well then you should have bought more lube,” you said, Dean rolling his eyes.

“I don’t need it, I get you wet like that. It’ll be fun. We haven’t been in a couple of months,” said Dean.

“No arguments from me.”

“I didn’t realize your parents were coming over,” you said, spotting their car in the driveway. You climbed out and grabbed a bag from the trunk, Dean getting his own out but staying quiet. You had a feeling of what he was up to but not until you were inside exchanging hugs with your soon to be in-laws did it hit you. “You bought the cabin, didn’t you?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to surprise you?” asked Dean, sighing but still wearing a smile. “Yes, I did.”

“Dean mentioned over the summer you guys were thinking of coming back to the area once you both graduate. We don’t really need both houses now that the boys are grown up,” said John. “Plus now we get to visit and don’t have to clean anything!”

“It’s not official yet,” said Dean. You wandered around the kitchen island, looking over everything as you felt the gaze of all three Winchesters on you. “I wasn’t going to buy a house without you.”

“Oh course at a family discount,” said Mary. “There’s no problems with it. You get the shed with the kayaks, the diving dock, furniture too if you want.”

“Everything will stay in my parents names until we have jobs. It’s a good size house and we can update things here and there as we go if you want but I know you love it so I figured it’d be a great place to start this part of our lives,” said Dean.

“I want to put up a fence,” you said, looking out the back window. “Not yet or even a huge one but you know when we have kids so they don’t wander in the lake back there.”

“We did the same thing when the boys were little,” said Mary. “Then we took it down when they got older.”

“We can have a fence. A dog like we talked about too,” said Dean with a grin.

“What was the secret stuff with Sam about?” you asked, Dean blushing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“The cabin was supposed to go to both of the boys. Dean wanted to be sure Sam was alright with you two taking it,” said John. 

“I told him he’s allowed to visit as much as he wants,” said Dean. “Not that I thought you’d mind.”

“No, I want Sammy to come over just as much as he does now. The apartments he was looking at for next year are only a fifteen minute drive,” you said. You walked over to the back door and looked outside at the changing leaves, remembering how nearly three years ago that backyard was where you thought you were a simple bet to Dean. You remembered his promise that he was telling the truth and that walk that night and the way the stars looked when you lay in your tent realizing how wrong you were.

“Y/N,” said Dean, suddenly by your side and enveloping your hand in his. “If you don’t want to live here, we don’t have to. It’s completely your choice.”

“You told me you loved me here. It’s perfect to start a family,” you said. You felt Dean nod back over his shoulder, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Do your parents want to stay for lunch?”

“I’m sure they’d love to but they’ve got a date apparently,” said Dean. You turned around and saw Dean’s parents talking quietly, both laughing at something and closing their mouths when they caught your staring. “We’re taking the house guys.”

“We figured as much,” said John. “We’ve got to run for our reservation but we’ll see you two at our place for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah, go have fun on your old people date,” said Dean, shoving them out.

“I still got some moves,” said John. “Dean got it from somewhere you know.”

“Dad! Leave! Now!” said Dean, closing the door after his parents scurried out. “Jeez, I’m glad we only have to deal with the one set.”

“I’m pretty sure my parents with yours would have been the death of us,” you said, looking around with a big smile. “I think they would have liked how my life ended up. A home and a big family that loves me.”

“They’d be proud of you,” said Dean, pulling you into a tight embrace. “I am, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but you’re supposed to be proud of me,” you said, Dean blushing again. “You like me or something Winchester?”

“I’ve kind of got this major crush on you,” he said, taking both your hands in his and swinging them lightly. “I’m sort of deeply in love with you and your sass.”

“My sass?” you teased, Dean cocking his head.

“Your sass...that ass,” said Dean, bending down and picking you up. “I think a home welcoming is in order.”

“Did you bring the chocolate?” you asked, Dean humming. “Let me freshen up and then you can have a taste.”

“Yes mam.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” said Dean with a pant, almost giggling as he collapsed on the bed next to you. “You and that throat of yours is going to send me to an early grave.”

“Did you say something? My brain is mush after not one but two orgasms in the span of twenty seconds. I don’t think I can walk straight anymore,” you said, Dean spinning his body around and pulling your body in close. “Good ole 69. Never fails.”

“Damn right it doesn’t,” he said, laughing to himself. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Less than two months away, Frat boy. I’m so glad I went to that party. I didn’t even want to since I figured some drunk frat guy would hit on me and I’d have to turn him down,” you said.

“I had like two shots before I got up the nerve to talk to you, that was it,” said Dean. “You in skinny jeans is intimidating, sweetheart.”

“You in a black tee is intimidating,” you said.

“Oh, so me every single day then?” said Dean, flashing you a smile.

“Ah, shut up,” you said, burrowing your head into his chest. “Love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart,” he said with a hug. “Honestly, do you want to live here?”

“Yeah, it’s always felt like this magical place to me, our private paradise. I can’t wait to have that all the time,” you said.

“How about after graduation and we settle down into our jobs and into the house, we get a dog next summer? Something big and tough to take care of you if I’m not around,” said Dean.

“Or we could get a little cute adorable fluff ball,” you said, Dean pursing his lips.

“Or we could get both,” he said, your eyes lighting up. “Good practice for a few years from now.”

“Perfect,” you said, kissing his nose. “A tiny ball of cuteness and a big ball of cuteness.”

“I thought I said tough,” said Dean, your head shaking.

“No, you said something big and fluffy,” you said, Dean wearing a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure I said big and tough, little missy,” said Dean. 

“Big fluffy things can be tough and protective too,” you said.

“Oh really?” he asked.

“You are,” you said, Dean rolling his eyes. “You really are though!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Come on, we got to clean up. We have a hot date in an hour.”

“Wait, is today...” you asked, Dean smiling to himself. “Three years since we met, isn’t it.”

“Yup. So wash up, put on that backless little black dress of yours and prepare yourself for the best night of your life,” he said. 

“Best night of my life? That’s a tall order,” you said, Dean raising an eyebrow.

“Want to bet on it?” he asked.

“With you? You’re on.”

[official-negan-blog]

Affection

Summary: You crave affection and intimacy and your cravings are often directed towards Negan, which drives him crazy. One day you especially irritate him and he satisfies your cravings.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, sex, depression

Note: I thrive off of your ideas and I also thrive off of your feedback! Do y’all have any smut/kink ideas? I don’t want to get repetitive!

You irritated the living shit out of Negan. Since he found you and brought you back to the sanctuary, you followed him around like a puppy, always tugging on his arm and bugging him, constantly trying to snuggle him and to feel the coldness of his leather jacket against your cheek. 

The truth is that you hand’t experienced physical or emotional affection from anyone since the world ended, and you craved it so much and you really sought out those cravings in Negan. You didn’t really care that you were met with annoyance and reject.

You thought he was wicked handsome, too, and at night you often dreamed of having sex with him. You often wished you were a wife, but in your fantasy world, you were his one and only wife.

When he was out somewhere, you always waited at the sanctuary entrance for him like a puppy waiting for its owner to return after a long day at work. When he got out of the truck you ran up to him, giggling.

“Negan!” you squeal, wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzling your nose into his chest, smelling the sweet scent of old spice.

“Oh fucking hell, doll. Do you ever do anything other than fuckin’ follow me around? Now beat it, I have important shit to take care of.”

“But Negan! I haven’t seen you in two whole days!”

“Wow, two whole days”, he says sarcastically, “Such a long fuckin’ time.”

You giggle and tighten your grip around his waist before he finally reaches behind him where your wrists are to pry you from him. You struggle not to let go but your strength is no match for his. You make a huffing sound and pout.

“Go get back to work, Y/N.” 

He nudged you along with Lucille against your stomach.

“But where are you going, Negan? What important stuff do you need to take care of? Can I help?!” you ask enthusiastically, hoping you can talk him into letting you stick around.

“I need to go find my wives and take care of these fuckin’ blue balls. Now GO.”

He nudged you harder with Lucille and you finally went back to work in the gardens. Everyone in the sanctuary secretly thought you were crazy for being so obsessed with him. Even the Saviors gave you odd and uncomfortable looks when they saw you hang onto him.

You didn’t like the people you worked with in the garden. They were always so rude to you but you did your best to ignore it most days. On particularly bad days, you couldn’t, and you would disappear to go cry privately. 

Today was particularly rough, the only good thing being that you got to see Negan for a few minutes. When you got back to the garden, you got yelled and cursed at for leaving the work grounds for several minutes. Negan would get annoyed with you too, but he never raised his voice at you or cursed you out, despite his general potty mouth. 

When you finished for the day, you run out of the gardens as tears that you held in for half the day finally stream down your cheeks. Somehow, you find yourself at the door of Negan’s office. You barge in without even knocking and see him leaning against his desk reading something. 

“Fuck, not you again. Didn’t I get you to fuck off earlier?” he asks, clearly pissed off.

You run over to him and throw your arms around his neck, and, as per usual, he pushes you off of him.

“Fuckin’ damn it! Why the fuck do you keep being so goddamn annoying? Usually when someone repeatedly disobeys me, I beat the shit out of them, but I can’t fuckin’ beat the shit out of someone that’s constantly trying to give me hugs!” he says exasperatedly. 

You back up from him and wipe your tears away, eyes still red from crying.

“I’m sorry”, you croaked, noticing that some of your tears had stained his leather jacket. 

You pull yourself together and smooth down your hair and walk out of his office. As you open the door to leave, the door suddenly slams shut again, his hand against it. You jump from the unexpected slam and his sudden appearance directly behind you.

“Fuck, doll. I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore. You’re annoying as hell, but I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout slipping my dick in your cunt for a very very long time. I imagine it’s fuckin’ tight, hmm?”

Your breath hitched and you suddenly forgot that you were crying moments ago. Instead, heat begins to pool between your legs as you grow wetter and wetter.

Negan runs his large hands along the curve of your hips and leans in, planting light kisses on your neck and then gently sucking at the skin, leaving a trail of small red marks. You stay frozen, still facing the door, trying to take in what’s going on.

You bite your lip as he reaches around you and unbuttons your jeans and pushes his hand in, underneath your underwear. You give a whimper of approval as you struggle to keep your balance, pressing your hand against the door. You begin to grind your hips against his fingers as they run between your folds.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, doll. How long have you been wanting me to have my way with you?”

“A really long time”, you say breathlessly. 

“Well, why didn’t you just say so, doll? I would’ve dicked you down a long ass time ago if you just asked.”

“I was too scared”, you admit, shyly.

He pulls his wet fingers from you and you whimper at the loss of pleasure.

“Oh, don’t you worry, baby girl. You’ll get a lot fuckin’ more.”

He unbuttons your shirt, still standing behind you, and slowly pulls it off, tossing it to the side. Next, he unhooks your bra and tosses it in the opposite direction, not interested in the slightest where your clothes land. 

Come here, Darlin’”, he says gently, turning you around to face him. Suddenly, he aggressively picks you up and pushes you against the door, grinding his hips into you as his hard-on becomes more and more noticeable. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist.

He reaches up and places his hand around your throat as he swirls his tongue around your already-erect nipple. You moan loudly and grab onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder.

He moves you over to his desk, quickly clearing it, papers and pens landing on the floor. He lays you down and pulls your bottoms off, pushing apart your legs as far apart as they can go, essentially pulling them into a split.

“Shit, Doll. I didn’t know how fuckin’ flexible you are.”

He immediately inserts his middle finger into your dripping entrance, not wasting a second in pumping in and out of you. You gasp loudly at the sensation, not having had a sexual encounter since before the world ended.

“That little pussy is tight as fuck. I only have one finger in you and your cunt is squeezing it.”

“Oh, fuck, Negan. That feels so fucking good.”

He adds his ring finger and immediately curls them upwards. 

“Oh god! Yes!” you cry out, arching your back and bucking your hips.

“Is this what you like, doll? You like being finger-fucked on my desk by big bad ol’ Negan?” 

You groan loudly at the sensations, unable to respond as pleasure clouds your mind. He slaps you across the face and then wraps his hand around your throat.

“Answer the fucking question, doll.”

“I like it, Negan! I like it so much!” you manage to get out. 

Right as you near the edge of your orgasm, he stops and pulls his fingers out. You cry out in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy, sweetheart.”

He immediately unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants and underwear, taking his place on his desk chair, his large twitching member sticking straight up. 

“Come here, hon. I want you riding me.”

You go over and crawl onto his lap, facing away from him. He wraps his hand around your throat again, using his other hand to guide his member into your tight entrance. 

“When was the last time you had a man’s cock in here?” 

“Uh, a long long time ago”, you whimper.

“A boyfriend?” his pressing questions are hard to answer as he continues to fill you up.

“Y-yeah.”

“Much older than you?”

“Younger than m-m-me.”

“Oh, Doll, no wonder you’re always so fucking annoying, constantly begging for my attention. You just need an older man to take care of you and give you what you need. This pussy needs to be fucked by a real man.”

You moan at his dirty talk and he fills you to the hilt. You begin to bounce up and down on his cock, using the armrests on the chair as support. He begins thrusting up into you at an extremely fast pace, you being unable to keep up with his movements. 

He reaches down and begins to rub your clit, doubling your pleasure, You rest your head against his shoulder as your eyes glaze over from the delicious sensations.

You feel yourself nearing your orgasm again and begin to call out his name repeatedly. 

“Cum for me, baby doll. Cum all over my cock”

You unravel immediately as your entire body shakes against him, your walls gripping his cock tightly. As he rides out your orgasm, he doesn’t slow down at all, and you suddenly become sensitive from overstimulation. 

You could barely keep up with him. 

“Negan, wait--” you grunt.

“Oh, doll, I’m not fuckin’ finished with you yet.”

Soon, your second orgasm begins to poke through all the overpowering sensations and you clamp down on his cock again, this time squirting all over it.

“Fuck, that’s hot”, he growls, cumming immediately after his remark.

He pushes you off him and cums all over your back, groaning as thick white ropes run down your lower back like stripes. You both let out rapid breaths as your heart rates begin to slow back down.

He grabs some tissues and gently cleans off your back before throwing it into the trash bin. The two of you quietly get dressed and he sits back down in his chair, exhausted. 

You stand there and look at him with puppy eyes, hoping he’ll notice. He sighs in response, immediately picking up on what you want.

“Yes, sweetheart, you can sit in my lap.”

You immediately go over to him and crawl into his lap, laying your head on his shoulder and absentmindedly fiddling with his jacket zipper as you yawn, equally as exhausted as him. 

He wraps his arm around you for the first time ever, and even goes as far as to kiss the top of your head. Your face flushes with happiness and you smile to yourself. You fall asleep in his arms and he doesn’t want to move, afraid he’ll wake you. He spends the next hour with his nose buried in your hair, breathing in your own wonderful scent, resembling fresh strawberries.

“Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn’t let myself develop feelings for her.” he mutters to himself. He looks down at you, watching you rise and fall over his breathing chest. He begins to smile to himself  and caresses your cheek. Maybe actually loving someone in this world wouldn’t be so bad. 

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