#me drawing hands like i only wanna draw rough and ugly hands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday Wednesday Thursday (Part 1) Thursday (Part 2) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself.

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win.

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!”

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them.

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points.

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders.

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed.

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough.

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once.

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed.

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation.

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out.

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history.

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test.

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test.

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them.

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain.

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match.

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump.

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down.

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did.

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly.

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them.

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly.

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home.

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out.

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot.

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!”

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually.

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp.

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders.

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations.

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all.

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better.

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you.

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest.

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears.

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.”

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient.

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back.

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang.

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway.

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

2K notes · View notes

goldenshoyo · 3 years

Text

Cruel - Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Semi-public sex, cunt slaps, face slaps (1), finger sucking, degradation, praise, car sex, size kink!, jealous Omi, edging, overstimulation (but in theory sorta, at the end), "daddy" and "bunny" used! As always, please let me know if I missed any!!

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi is not a very jealous man, but sometimes his teammates can get under his skin.

Word count: 3k

Author note: This was a commission! Therefore, the reader has some body descriptions (being shorter and smaller than Kiyoomi). If you're interested in commissioning me, please dm me!

Nervous was the understatement of the year. While you had met a few of Kiyoomi’s teammates before, usually just saying a quick “hi” and “bye” before he drug you away from them, nothing to this degree. Atsumu had requested that his twin allow the team to have a party at his onigiri shop to celebrate a big tournament win for the team when they got back to Tokyo. Excitement was definitely there, but nothing would stop you from feeling the heavy rock in your gut or the anxious beating of your heart.

Well, nothing but Kiyoomi’s warm hand in yours. He smiled at you before slipping his black mask over his pretty face.

“It’ll be fun,” he assured, and you wondered if he actually felt that way.

He hated these gatherings, probably more than anyone should. Not for the fact he was antisocial or that he didn’t enjoy his teammates. He just didn’t want them flocking to you and making you nervous. However, it had been several months of him turning these things down and opting to spend his days off with you after games. The team was irritated with him for it, and he knew that this one party would make up for all the times missed.

Or at least he hoped.

“I think so too!” You say back cheerfully, adjusting your dress underneath you on the seat of his car. The leather was sticking to your thighs where your sundress rode up.

“You could have worn something more-“

“Think about what you’re about to say.” You warn, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “I like this dress.”

He does too, he wants to tell you. But so will the other members of MSBY. He chooses to not say anything, knowing you would only laugh at his comment or say something smart back. He loves that about you, even if he doesn’t tell you that often. He enjoys watching you get frustrated, furrowing your brows, and pouting your lip. It’s why he always teases you about what you wear. Not that he’d ever actually make you change, well, to an extent he thinks.

“Why are you so in your head?” You ask him as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“I didn’t realize I was,” he answers honestly.

You intertwine your fingers with his on your lap as he drives, listening to the soft sounds of the radio in the background while he takes you to the infamous Onigiri Miya you’d heard about a few dozen times. You knew Kiyoomi liked to pretend he hated Atsumu, but he was probably his closest friend, no matter how much he protested that fact.

It’s a shame this would be the first time you actually got to speak to him or anyone else on the team for that matter. You thought it was definitely cute that he was protective of you, but you were beginning to feel like he was keeping part of his life from you. When you brought it up to him, he apologized profusely, promising to take you to the next event.

“-----,” Atsumu’s shit-eating grin appeared for the hundredth time that night. “Tell me again, am I saying that right?” His hand caresses your shoulder and you still, shocked he’d carelessly do this despite you sitting on Omi’s lap.

“There’s not another way to say her name, Miya.” Kiyoomi glares at him from above you. It amazes you that even while sitting on his lap he seems so much larger than you. Thinking about it too much stirs something inside of you that you’d rather save for when you have him alone. So, you push it away. “Stop touching my girlfriend and go find yours.”

He throws his hands up, another laugh vibrating from his chest. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop teasing you Omi Omi.”

As he walks away, you smile down at your boyfriend, and he seems to relax. “Your friends are nice.”

“He’s not my friend.” He huffs looking away from you.

You know better. It’s honestly sort of adorable the way he always denies it.

“Yo!” Bokuto’s booming voice catches your attention as he runs towards you and Kiyoomi. “Osamu said something about a karaoke set, you have to come over here with us -----!”

“I-I don’t know about that,” your fingers dig into your palm as you look to Sakusua. “Would you want to?”

“I can come watch if you want to, bunny.” His fingers slowly stroke your thighs, and you flush; unable to think straight whenever he’s touching you and calling your favorite name.

“Okay,” you stand up going with Bokuto as he drags you towards the front of the Onigiri shop where the others have begun to set up the karaoke machine.

“I’ll sing with you since I know Kiyoomi would rather die than let loose with a song. Anything you like to sing?”

“Oh, uh,” you think. “I’ve never actually done this. So just pick something easy.”

“I guess,” he starts sifting through the catalog that’s on the machine, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun it is!”

You laugh taking the mic he hands you. It’s so ridiculous he would choose it, but you know he’s doing his absolute best to help you feel comfortable around him and all the others. The entire event was bigger than you expected, everyone either bringing a partner or friend, sometimes both. However, even with all the people around Bokuto is making it easier to loosen up and realize no one actually cares about what you sound like; hell, most of them are too deep in conversation and laughing to even watch closely.

Kiyoomi is the exception, as always.

He’s removed his mask from one ear, letting it dangle from the other while he watches you. A small smile creeps on his lips when you make eye contact, and you can’t help but giggle through the lyrics. His smile quickly turns to a frown when Bokuto throws an arm around your shoulder as you finish the song and he laughs, smooshing his face up against yours to belt out the lyrics. You giggle, pulling away not sure you like the sudden closeness, and the song ending is a perfect excuse to put down the mic and heading over to Kiyoomi.

“That was quite the little show,” he says, his tone stern and unforgiving. “Especially the little bit at the end.”

“Omi,” you whine, placing your hand on his firm chest. “He was just being silly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs before pulling his mask back on. “Let’s go. I’m ready to be home.”

“Omi!” You say more firmly. “I’m having fun!”

“Would you like to go home with one of them, then?” His eyes are intense, and you feel suddenly smaller than usual as he peers down at you.

He’s good at that, making you feel small. Even if you love it most of the time, it’s not just that. You want him, desperately, right here and now. You want to stay longer and spend more time with his friends, but he’s making it hard to focus with his deep voice and intense eyes that make you want to jump him here.

“No! Only you,” you tell him and lean up and place a soft kiss on his chest. “Let’s go, I guess,” you make sure to make your displeasure unknown even if you’re only thinking about getting him out of his clothes as soon as you are home.

You can’t exactly be sure, but you think he smiles under his mask. His eyes soften like they usually do when he smiles at you, so you assume you’ve made him happy. He says a few quick goodbyes, even making sure yours are faster than his while he pulls you away. To your surprise, he opens the back passenger door of his car.

“I am not riding in the back like a kid,” you tell him frowning. “You can’t be serio-“

“Get in the fucking car, -----.” He rolls his eyes again, and you slide in with a pout on your lips. Kiyoomi slides in beside you, pushing you down against the back seat. “I can’t wait another minute,” he growls in your ear while his fingers unhook his mask from his ear.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too widely. “Daddy,” you whine as his fingers tease you through your thin dress.

It’s cruel, and you know that’s exactly what he intends.

He could easily hike the dress up just a few inches to have easy access to your core, but he won’t. He loves teasing you too much. The way your body reacts to even his slightest touch makes him dizzy, and he wants to feel drunk on you tonight. Even if you don’t know it, he thinks, Bokuto got to him in a way he can’t understand.

He thought Atsumu would be the one to bring out the ugly jealous side of him, but no, to his surprise it was the one man he never thought could do it. Honestly, he’s a little ashamed of himself as he’s sliding your dress up your thighs. It’s not your fault, anyone would want you. But you’re his.

Only his; and he intends to remind you of that.

“Omi, please!” You all but scream for him.

He’s relentlessly drawing small circles onto your clit and driving you mad. You’re soaking through your panties, and you need him. You’re not sure if it’s even been two minutes, but it feels like an eternity of teasing.

“Omi?” He chuckles. “Bunny, you know better than that.”

“Daddy, please,” you correct yourself. “I need you, daddy! Please!”

“That’s my girl,” he kisses you, his lips rough against yours.

He kisses you like he’s desperate he’ll lose you. Every touch and motion meant to remind you how much he loves and needs you. While his tongue enters your mouth, he slips his fingers down below your dress, moaning as he feels how wet you are for him.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips. “You’re always so fucking good for me, bunny.”

He doesn’t curse often, or at least to this degree unless you’re fucking. Something about knowing he reserves even his swearing just for you. He pushes your panties to the side, just enough to give him access to your drooling cunt. He smiles as your back arches up off the leather of his back seat and your eyes roll back into your head.

“Tell me what you want, bunny.” He curls his fingers inside of you and you moan loudly.

“You! Daddy, want your big cock! Want it so bad,” you whine as he fucks his fingers into you.

His fingers leave you empty, and you start to whine, but before the sweet sound passes your lips, he smacks your cunt. Once and then twice and then finally a third time. You whine, trying to move away each time, but his strong hand holds your thigh still with ease. Fingertips digging into your thigh with each smack only makes you cry out louder.

It hurts too good. You want it to stop, but you want it to continue. You can’t decide which would be better. Your clit throbs, and your cunt clenches around nothing with the fourth and final smack. Your throat is starting to hurt from all your whining and straining to keep from screaming too loud.

“Remember to as politely,” he says against your lips. “Then Daddy won’t have to punish you, yeah?”

You nod, shaking your head up and down slowly while he smiles at you.

“Good girl,” he kisses you softly. “Now, I think it’s time I gave you a treat.”

You smile widely as he sits down, unbuckling his pants and sliding them down his hips and legs along with his underwear. It’s hard not to watch the way his cock slaps against his stomach, ready for you with a desperately swollen pink head. It’s unfair how pretty it is, really… who else would have a pretty cock?

“Come sit,” he strokes his cock once and you hurry over to him.

Straddling his legs, he helps you sink down on him. It always burns at first, stretching around him to adjust.

“So big,” you whine while hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Too much!”

“Shhh,” he coos rubbing your back with one hand and your ass with another. “You always take it bunny; tonight is no different.”

“Daddy,” you cry as you finally take him all in.

He smirks, thrusting up once and making you bounce. “Feel so good, my precious bunny.” He holds your hips, guiding you into starting to ride him.

His hands are tight, supporting you and making you move at his pace. He’s slow, making sure you feel every drag of his cock in and out of you. Your dress falls down around his hands and your thighs, hiding everything from anyone who could possibly be passing outside the car.

“M-more,” you whine, wanting him to start thrusting up into you.

“Do you deserve more, bunny?” He holds your hips still, making you whine and look up at him. “I’m not sure you even deserve to cum. Dirty sluts don’t get to feel good.”

“But daddy please-“

His hand is fast, hitting your cheek with enough force to shut you up and turn your head. It stings but is replaced by that addicting warmth that takes over your cheeks and mind. You moan as his hand rests on your cheek, covering the redness that’s forming already.

“Open up,” his thumb drags across your bottom lip, and you part your lips.

He closes his eyes as you suck on his thumb, relaxing and letting you start riding him slowly again. He thrusts to meet you each time you come down on his cock, making you bite down on his thumb each time. He thrusts harder with each bite, which continues in an endless cycle until he pulls his thumb out to bring your face to his. He kisses you desperately, his tongue fighting your own. You moan against his lips, holding onto his shoulders tightly while he takes control of your body again.

“Don’t you dare cum.” He warns. “Not until I say, got it?”

You nod slowly while he fucks into you harder. His thrusts are rougher and more intense, signaling he’s close. It’s nearly impossible to not cum on him now, but you hold out. Fighting ever instinct telling you to cum is the hardest thing he’s ever asked of you.

“Daddy,” you whimper, feeling like you might explode. “Please!”

“Just a little more,” he pants, closing his eyes and laying his head against the backseat. “Fuck, I’m going to feel your cute little cunt up darling. I’ll have my cum dripping down your thighs and all over that little dress of yours.”

Oh, he’s definitely close. He wouldn’t talk this much if not.

“Want your cum daddy!”

“I know you do, slutty little bunny.” He leans up and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin between your shoulder and neck.

“Daddy please, wanna cum!”

“I told you not until I say,” he slaps your ass once and you cry out.

Everything burns. Your stomach, thighs, and even your core. You’re desperate for some release but want Omi’s praise more than anything else. So, you keep fighting the urge to just let go.

“Fuck,” he moans once more, thrusting into you and holding your hips still while he cums. You feel the warm release start to dribble down his cock and out of you onto his thigh.

The bastard really didn’t let you cum… is he going to finish you off?

“Omi!” You try to ride his cock again, but he holds you still.

“Sorry bunny,” he chuckles breathlessly, his curly hair sticking to his forehead as he looks down at you. “You have to wait just a little longer.”

“Not fair!” You whine, tears stinging your eyes. “Wanna cum now! On your cock!”

“If you cheer up, I’ll tease you on the way home and keep you on the edge. I promise I’ll let you cum when we get home.” He kisses your cheeks, teasingly thrusting up into you once before pulling out. “Can you be good for daddy? If you make it until we get home, I promise I’ll reward you.”

Your eyes brighten and you perk up. “I can try,” you tell him.

The ride is torment. Even a bump in the road makes you moan. Kiyoomi brings you to the edge at least three times, and after that, you lose count. The only grounding part of the experience is his warm voice praising you for doing so well. It makes you weaker, every time he gives you just that little acknowledgment, and it helps you make it all the way home.

“We’re home, bunny,” he smiles at you and opens his door.

He jogs around the car and opens yours, helping you out and guiding you inside. You’re grateful for the covered garage and the short elevator ride up to his apartment. As soon as you pass the threshold of his apartment, your arms are around him and he lifts you up. He’s already hard, you giggle feeling it against your swollen cunt and watching Omi’s pants get damp from the mess you both made earlier.

“Daddy, make me cum! Please! I did what you asked.”

“You’ve been such a good girl, bunny.” He lays you down on the dining table, spreading you out for him to stand comfortably between your thighs. “Daddy is gonna make you cream around my cock.”

You thank whatever gods may be for Kiyoomi’s agile body and earnest attitude. He has his pants off quickly and his cock inside you before you can even whine again. Gasping, you reach up for him and he holds you against his body while fucking you on the table.

“Cum whenever you want, bunny, you earned it. Cum as many times as you want. I won’t stop until you’re begging me to.”

That’s all it takes. You cum, crying against his chest and clawing at him. He fucks you through it, your body limp against him and toes still curling.

“I know you have another in you, bunny. Give me another one.”

You love Sakusa Kiyoomi, you really do, but he can be cruel sometimes. Well, if you can define edging followed by overstimulation as cruel.

#sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #haikyu smut #haikyu x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #hqintheclub

511 notes · View notes

alltooreid · 3 years

Text

I Think He Knows

Y/N has a huge crush on Spencer Reid, so huge she embarrasses herself every time she tries to talk to him. She is convinced he is aware to all her pathetic attempts at flirting and just chooses to ignore it, but turns out Spencer may be a little more clueless than she thought.

A/N: Hope yall enjoy this cute fluffy fic! I’ve been having a rough couple of days so writing a fun fluff like this was really comforting :) yes it is inspired by the t swift song, but you don’t need to know the song to read and enjoy! also my requests are open so let me know what you want to see! (also sorry if this is kind of short, but i’ve been super busy and wanted to put something out :)))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: a cute pining fluff fic

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warnings: mentions of alcohol, otherwise none.

“He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands No one understands”

“He has to know Penelope, I’m not exactly subtle.”

You and Penelope spent the majority of your lunch breaks in her office, discussing anything and everything. Recently however, the point of contention had been a certain young genius. One who you had a huge crush on.

“Spencer Reid may be a genius, and one of the best profilers I have ever seen but he most certainly does not know,” she said, as she drizzled more dressing on her salad.

“He has to, it feels like everyone knows. . . Do you think everyone knows?”

She shrugged, “They might, I know my Chocolate Thunder hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

“You haven’t told him? It’s already been a week since I’ve told you! How did you keep it a secret for so long?”

“You asked me very nicely not to tell anyone! Plus this one seems really important to you. I don’t want to go around telling people and for Reid to hear it in office gossip.”

You smiled, “Well you Penelope Garcia are the best, best friend ever.”

“You know it, now I know you desperately want to repay me for my services, and you can by giving me those exact ranch packets you have in your bag,” she said.

“They’re all yours, now let’s discuss something other than my pathetic schoolgirl crush. Like how stupid Kevin’s sweater was today.”

“Kevin? The other internal affairs technical analyst? Yeah what the heck was he wearing?”

“You know, I’m tired of having to carry the weight of the brains, looks and fashion sense out of the two of us,” you said. “Though, that is a good way to gather attention . . . I wonder if Spencer would actually hold a conversation with me if I wore something as ugly as that.”

She laughed, “You know I think that might send you backwards.”

You stabbed your lettuce, “At this point I’ll try anything.”

Before Penelope could respond, someone interrupted your lunch, your only other friend on the BAU team, Emily Prentiss.

“Oh hi Y/N! How are you!”

“I’m good Emily, what kind of gross things are you here to deliver today?” you and Emily joined the FBI at around the same time, and found comfort in the fact that you were both total try-hards. Emily was going to eat lunch with you and your fast friend Penelope, at least on days when she was in the office for lunch, but you and her both agreed that she should eat lunch with the team so that they can get used to having her around.

“Just some paperwork, no cases yet, knock on wood. Also I just wanted to say hello! What are you guys eating?” she asked, pulling up a chair.

“Some salads from that takeout veggie place PG is always talking about. I told you I was going vegetarian right?” “You did not! That’s great Y/N! We need to talk more, like we used to when we first started here,” she sighed, then perked up, “We should have girls night! Remember how fun it was that night at the bar? With Brad the real FBI agent?”

“Yes! We should! You know, Gideon’s replacement comes tomorrow, we should celebrate!” Garcia said.

“You know, I don’t know if the best way to celebrate a new agent is by drinking without them, but I’m down. We’ll toast our girls night to agent Rossi. Someone ask JJ if she’s busy.”

JJ was not busy, but when you and Emily asked, Morgan overheard.

“So am I not invited to the party?”

“Well it was supposed to be girls night . . . but I think PG would throw a fit if I turned down her 2nd favorite person in this building, so I guess you can come,” you teased. “You should come too Spencer!”

“I don’t know, that’s not really my thing . . “

“Oh come on! I know I would love to see you there,” you then realized that you were embarrassing yourself being so forward. “And I’m sure everyone else would too!”

“Alright, I’ll come, but I’m not drinking.” he said firmly.

Before you could respond, Penelope magically appeared. “Good, you can be completely sober when Y/N gets wasted and embarrasses herself,” she said.

“PENELOPE! I’m not the light weight here! you’ll see Spencer, she’s actually awful. Two shots in and she’ll be on the floor,” this was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Spencer grimaced. “But it’ll be so much fun! You have to be there! You already said yes!”

“I just don’t know if seeing all of my coworkers get drunk while I watch is my idea of a fun evening. . .”

“Trust me! I’ll even stay sober with you, so we can judge them together. It’ll be a blast.”

“Ok, I’ll be there . . . but for now I need more coffee,” he pulled his chair out and walked towards the office kitchen. You silently cheered, forgetting how people were still standing around you.

“Well,” you awkwardly laughed, “um, I guess I better be getting back to my neck of the woods. I’m not a hot shot profiler like the rest of you guys . . . so see you all later!” You tried to escape before anyone interrogated you about your conversation with Spencer. However, a certain profiler followed quickly behind you.

“So. . . you and pretty boy huh?”

“Shut it Morgan.”

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You stayed true to your word that night, Spencer stuck to water and you enjoyed a diet soda. The bartender, who you had grown fairly used to seeing on your many nights out, was shocked to hear you didn’t want any alcohol in it.

It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t drink, you already embarrassed yourself enough in front of Spencer fully sober.

“So Spencer, you know that new bookstore you said you were going to go to after work a couple weeks ago?”

“New bookstore . . .? Oh yeah! What about it?”

“Well after I heard you talking about it I decided to check it out . . . It’s really nice there! I go like every other night now! We should totally go together sometime.” Luckily, you were sober enough to keep a secret: the fact you were only going so much in the hopes of running into him.

“Oh really? If I’m being honest I wasn’t super impressed with their selection, it was mostly contemporary fiction. And all in English . . . Not really my thing,” when he saw the way your face dropped he quickly changed his tone, “but it’s great if that’s your thing!”

This. Is. Humiliating. The amount of times you had gone and bought books from the bookstore, you were there almost every night hoping to run into him after work and start a conversation. You felt stupid, of course he wouldn’t want to go on a book store date with you. If Spencer Reid didn’t like you so much that he wouldn’t even go to a bookstore with you, there’s no chance at a relationship.

“Oh haha, yeah you’re right it’s totally lame. . .”

“Didn’t you just say you went there all the time?”

“No! When did I say that? You must be drinking Dr. Reid,” you said, quickly hopping off your bar stool, and running towards Morgan and Garcia, not turning around to see how confused Spencer was, but only being able to imagine him as relieved. Relieved he didn’t have to make conversation with you anymore.

“I’m blowing this PG, he totally hates me.”

Morgan laughed, “Y/N, you’re acting silly, this isn’t high school, we aren’t seventeen, stop dancing around it and just go ask him out.”

“Morgan, he doesn’t want to go to a bookstore with me, no way he’s agreeing to a date.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, maybe he’s just not in the mood to go?”

“You go ask him then, 20 bucks he says yes.”

“You’re on Y/N/N.”

7 minutes later Morgan returned and without a word pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and deposited it into your hand. “Sorry, Y/N.”

Penelope then piped up, “I’m telling you Y/N, he just doesn’t know. That boy is clueless.”

You scoffed, “I think he knows Penelope. I’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Have you told him?”

You were thrown off, “Um, no but-”

“Well then you haven’t made it clear enough, have you sugar?”

You almost said something, but you couldn’t really think of a good rebuttal for the argument. So instead, you downed Penelope’s half dranken frozen margarita, and headed back over to Spencer.

“Hey!” he said as you made your way back over, “I was wondering where you went, after you left Derek came over and asked to go to that bookstore with me, isn’t that extraordinary. . .”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you blurted out.

“What?”

You sighed, “I’ve had a crush on you since like, forever, and I keep planning all these ways to ask you subtly but it’s just not working so I’m asking now. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“You like me? I didn’t know that . . .”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not, I thought you were just being nice. You’re nice to everyone and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You smirked, “Get your hopes up? Does that mean you’re obsessed with me too Dr. Reid?”

He laughed in response, “Yeah, you could definitely say that.”

You dug through your purse and pulled out your keys, “Ok, then let’s get out of here.”

He paled, “And do what?”

“We’re going on our first date.”

He smiled, and you both got up off your bar stools and headed out the door, ignoring Morgan’s snide remarks as you passed.

{⋅. ♪ .⋅}

You couldn’t help but smile as you drove. Every couple of seconds you couldn’t help but look over at Spencer, getting lost in his brownish hazel eyes, which looked indigo in the night. He would smile, the kind of smile people write silly little romance songs about and spend verses to describe, and tell you to pay attention to the road before you run off of it. You would laugh, tell him to calm down. Although originally you had an idea of where you were going, now you just wanted to drive in circles, to bask in this memory.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

“Think about it Doctor Reid . . .” you replied, teasing him in the way you’ve imagined since you met him.

You pulled up to that little bookstore on 16th avenue, the one you couldn’t stop going to out of the sheer chance Spencer might be there, the one that was obviously closed this late at night, but was too perfect not to spend your first date at.

“Although this is beautifully symbolic, it’s almost 2 in the morning, this place closes at 8. We’re 5 hours, 49 minutes and 17 seconds late.”

You smiled and pulled out your ring of keys, “You know, when I spent hours a night hanging around here after work, hoping that you would happen to come shop for books and see me here too, the woman who owns this store got pretty curious. So I told her why I was here, and after she got done laughing at me she offered me a key, so that if I ever had the guts to ask you out, I could take you here no matter what.” You turned the key and swung the door open, gesturing him inside and locking the door behind you, “but we have to keep the lights off, so no one comes by and tries to get in.”

You and Spencer sit in the non-fiction section, and enjoy the silence for a few seconds before you have an idea, “Read me something Reid.”

He reached up, pulling a book off of the shelf without looking, “Are you sure, A Brief History of 1491: Life in America Before Columbus, is first date material?”

“Although that book is anything but brief, anything you read to me will sound stunning coming from your pretty mouth.”

So he begins to read, attempting to slow down to a reasonable pace but still going abnormally fast. You didn’t care though, more than you listened to the history of the late fifteenth century you watched Spencer’s hands. They’re really nice hands.

His right followed the words as he read aloud and his left helped hold the book. He wiggled the fingers on his left hand unconsciously as he spoke, getting into the words of the book.

After about 25 pages he glanced over at you, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head. After a second he went back to the page, and continued reading. You didn’t think anything of it until a couple minutes later, when his hand made its way to your left thigh.

He held it and you leaned into him, and you both stayed like that until you fell asleep hours later, with his head resting on top of yours.

At 8:30 Mrs. Betts, the owner of the bookstore, found you and Spencer, arms around each other, the book thrown aside. She smiled, glad to know you had taken her up on her offer. She went to go wake you up but glanced at her watch. She didn’t have to officially open until 10.

She could definitely spare a couple of minutes.

“I want you, bless my soul I ain't gotta tell him I think he knows”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

ATR’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies

694 notes · View notes

the-illiterate-pirate · 2 years

Note

Ckllakxjnfjcbbsb fluffy d.. Dona... Donatello Versace x reader... I will kiss you on the mouth josey

*aplies chapstick* whenever you're ready baby I expect my food to be on my doorstep tomorrow jkjkjk

Hope I can feed you well, this feels very silly for his character but I do like this one

To Heal

Warnings: NSFW, fluffy sex, starts off rough but ends on a nice note. Angst? Jealousy? My inability to write meaningfully and delve deep into feelings?

Every sound from your mouth was another strike at the ever growing feeling of fire inside Donatello. You touched Rykiel's arm, and it was another. The pleasant sounds of your laughing was another heavy strike of flint on flint. Sparks flew, but did not ignite. You didn't even think about Donatello, did you? In those ending hours of the afternoon you didn't look his way. The blond was forced to watch you burn away precious time with that cowardly cow fucker.

A quick grab at your hips, Rykiel flung himself around your waist and held you close and cried thank yous for paying attention to him. And you didn't pull away. You cooed to him and wrapped your arms around him to draw the younger boy into a warm hug that he melted into. That was the final strike. Sparks finally ignited into flames that burned away any patience Donatello had left and he struck. He maneuvered away from the priest and pushed past that ugly fuck Ungalo, and ripped you away from Rykiel. The one in cow print cried out as your warmth was so suddenly stolen from him, but Rykiel knew better than to argue with his brother. Donatello was scary, and it worsened when he was upset.

And he looked pissed.

With you being pulled behind him, he expertly made his way to his room, no stops, no second guessing. Once the door was closed he threw you into the wall, shoulders pinned, lips immediately forced on to yours. His mouth stung like poison as his kisses grew hotter. Your boyfriend made quick work of the flimsy blouse you wore, tearing it away to fondle your chest harshly, having you whimper into his mouth, which he swallowed like sour wine. Any words were bitten away. Every bite was met with a pull at his hair, but it didn't slow him down. He kept chewing at your lip and kept pinching your nipples between his fingers like a sadist.

"Mh, Don... Calm down– Gah!" His fingers suddenly went down into your pants to get shoved forcibly into your core. There wasn't any preparation, no slick to ease his pumps, every finger forced into you stung like a new bee sting to your insides. "Jesus, Donatello. What's gotten into you?" Your head knocked back into the wall and you failed to speak when he rested his forehead against yours. Your noses pressed into one another, but this moment was anything but cute. His sapphire eyes glowed menacingly in the dark room of yours. No reason to turn on the lights, they'd just be turned off in a few minutes.

"Shut the hell up... The only thing I wanna hear from you is my name when I'm fucking your brains out."

Donatello took his fingers out after a few more deep pumps. Cum coated his fingers and shone in dark light as he brought his fingers to his lips to lap at them with his tongue. He ripped off your pants and his to leave you both in your underpants, he forced you deeper into the wall with your legs crossed behind his back, pressing his half flaccid member into the v of your legs. He had his sick smirk on his lips looking down at you from his full height. His eyes were sadistic as he mumbled out his next threat. "I'm gonna fuck you good... So good you'll forget that fucking Rykiel and only think of me for a change." Just saying that name made his lips curl worse in disgust. And you decided that was what's wrong.

He was jealous of Rykiel.

You got to stop him in time before he could take off his briefs. You put a soft hand on his cheek, and that was enough to make his hands stutter on his boxers, and your gentle words pushed him to freeze looking at you. "Donny, are you bein' all mean cause you're jealous of Rykiel?"

"Stop saying his fucking name!" Donatello grit his teeth hard. "I'm so sick of hearing you talk about him, stop it!" A sudden hand on your throat made your breath hitch. Your heart hammered against your ribs loudly. You knew Donatello wouldn't hurt you. Well, not like that, you knew deep he cared about you, even if he had a bizarre way of showing it.

You took a short breath, and thought about how to defuse the situation. Your hand stayed on his cheek while your other went to hold the one around your throat. The difference in softness was noted by him, but he refused to let you know how you effected him. "Donatello...if I've upset you please understand that it wasn't on purpose. You're the only one for me Don, I love you."

There it was, that subtle drop in his eyes as his insides switched from scorching magma into something colder. Those three words were always a switch to take him out of that sadistic head space. You never used them often in fear of whittling away their meaning, but Donatello knew any time you confessed your love, it was said from the heart. The final nail in the coffin was a kiss to his temple.

"If you still wanna go... Let's take this to the bed. And let's be a little gentler this time." You pushed him away a bit so you could stand on your own feet. Donatello was still struck silent while you pushed him to the bed. He wordlessly watched as you teased him, sliding the elastic of your panties down your thighs and legs so slowly to pool at the floor. You were now completely naked while he was still in his boxers. You quickly helped with that, bounding into bed to lay him back flat against the pillows and headboard and quickly peeled off his boxers.

"Angry sex isn't going to make anything better... it doesn't magically make your body ready to go, it hurts, and it doesn't work too well when you're not hard." You leaned down to his dick, adding licks and kisses along the length of it while your hands worked over his sensitive thighs. He jumped and hardened under your touch and sucks quick. You drew away with a final kiss to his head.

"Donny... Have I ever told you how hot you look?" You crawled into his lap, playing with his choker and rubbing your wet slit against his member, you sucked at his adams apple, adding more bright red rings to his skin. He shivered underneath you, his fingers digging into your hips, helping your rocks against his crotch. "Sh... Just shut up and let me fuck you already."

"Oh, no no no, Don. We're making love tonight." He looked irritated, but you only giggled and kissed the look off his face. Donatello wouldn't like it, but you were taking your sweet time with him tonight.

His member pierced deep inside you, stinging pleasantly unlike his fingers had done. As your hips came down on to his your lips never detached. Slowly and so inexperienced in such softness Donatello's hands moved up your body to cup your breasts. You let him eat your moans. And dragged your hands into his hair. You moaned into his lips and let him hear your praise.

"So good... No one can make me feel as good as you~ Aah, so goood."

Something inside Donatello continued to get stirred up anytime a sigh left your lips. It wasn't hungry and hot like he was use to. It was airy, and gentle. Any other time he wouldn't get to hear it over the slaps of wet skin and your screaming. Now... Only the sounds of shared kisses and music. It was different in a way that was bittersweet and made him ache. It made him angry. He wanted this, he craved more. Why did you have to be so kind to him when no one else was?

You kissed away the angry hot tears that peaked at his eyes. When did he start crying? Your boobs pressed into his chest while your bounces slowed to a slow hump, where his member barely left your soft folds. He made you so hot, so very needy for Donatello to spill his load deep in you and claim you as his.

"I love you Donatello, so very much. No one could be made for me as much as you are."

"I, I uh,"

He looked so pained. Like a snake had his tongue and wouldn't let him say the words burnt into his mouth. So you soothed him, "You don't have to say it, not yet, I can wait as long as it takes."

His ending was as bittersweet as he expected. It was... unearthly. It wasn't blunt, it was... soft, and drawn out, like a slow swung pillow rather than a baton. His head was swimming.

And he still had you, you weren't passed out beside him, so tired and out of breath, you were holding him close, kissing him tenderly, asking if he was okay, saying sweet things no one cared to tell him. And he decided that making love to you was far better than the alternative.

#dies #dying #jjba x reader #donatello versace x reader #stone ocean #steamy #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba

47 notes · View notes

melo-yello · 3 years

Text

💤Can’t Sleep💤 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku🪨💥 HeadCanons

Pairing(s): KiriBaku X black!reader, Eijirou Kirishima X Katsuki Bakugou X black!reader

A/N: fluff and ANGST. Like lots of ANGST. I had a rough week and honestly not very much sleep. What can I say. Sue me, I wanna hug and somebody to watch a movie with.

💤💥🪨 Lay on your stomach opening and closing your eyes as you try and convince yourself to sleep. Kirishima snores softly with an arm around Bakugou’s waist. He’s been pretty stressed lately so he gets to be middle spoon. Baku in turn has an arm draped over your shoulders.

💤💥🪨 The soft and peaceful looks on the boys’ faces are nothing but safe and warm and reassuring . Yet here you are unavailable to close your eyes long enough to drift off to sleep. Each time you close your eyes your heart attempts to tear a whole through your chest. The dim red light of the clock reads 2:56 as you slip out of Baku’s embrace for a glass of water

💤💥🪨 You settle on Jasmine tea instead. Quietly pulling a the kettle from the cabinet and turning on the tap just before placing it on the stove. You busy yourself in your phone in order to banish any form of thought from your head. Soon just blankly browsing through TikToks as you wait for the water to boil

💤💥🪨 The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention as you hear heavy footsteps and the creaking of the bedroom door. Short angry grumbles are traded with deep groggy grunts as the footsteps close in on your position. You glance up to see the time is now 3:22 and you hear the kettle whistling for the first. Mostly likely what woke your boyfriends to begin with. You scowl at the kettle.

💤💥🪨 “fuck you.” you curse under your breath snatching up the kettle to quiet it’s shouting as the two set of red eyes fix on you in the dim light of kitchen. Kiri’s long red hair pulled back into a messy plat, and Baku’s fluffy ash blonde sticking out in all directions except for the right side flatten to the side of his skull

💤💥🪨 “Oí, Chuchu Soul, do you have any idea what time it is?!!” Baku squints tiredly placing a hand on his hip. “That’s actually a good one.” You giggle surprised by his creativity. “I know right?! And they used to call him uncreative.” Kirishima smirks between a yawn. “ Well?” Bakugou’s features don’t change. More likely mad that he’s awake at this ungodly hour than anything else. “Was it another panic attack, Pebble?” Kiri questions walking to rest his hand on your lower back. You don’t acknowledge his soft gesture and busy yourself with pouring the newly hot water into your large mug with it’s awaiting tea bag.

💤💥🪨 “Run that shit back, Eiji?!? When was this?” Bakugou’s foggy apathetic sleepiness raises to concerned confusion . You curse under your breath for the third time tonight. Kiri racks his tired brain for an explanations as he trades tired glances between the temperamental blonde and the vaguely suspicious one blowing at tea. “Pebble you didn’t tell him about Friday Night?” He frowns looking down at you. “...i forgot...” you whisper sipping the overly hot tea and burning your tongue. Hell you wouldn’t have told him either, but he was right beside you when it happened.

💤💥🪨 That Friday night. You couldn’t speak. You stood in a dark room. Small and cramped. No windows. No doors. Just glowing ink on one wall in barely legiable font. Prove It. As soon as you touched the lettering it went blood red and the water began to pool at your feet. You begin to lose your composure trying to find an exit. In seconds the water is at your waist. Then your neck. Then the ceiling. Like that you’re choking and sputtering trying to find. The walls go translucent. Larger than life figures with unmistakable silhouettes and Pro hero customs hold your box in each hand. You bang tight fists to gain their attention. Your blood mixes with the water and you could barely breath. You thrashed across the sheets desperately trying to snatch yourself from your current nightmare. Suddenly Kiri shaking you awake and he’s coaching you into breathing again.

💤💥🪨 The memory of utter helplessness washes over you all over again. You sigh in frustration as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. “Come here, Pebs.”

💤💥🪨 Without another word, Kiri scoops you up bridal style and takes a seat on the couch placing you in his lap. Baku takes the seat next to him gently taking the hot tea from your trembling hands. You hadn’t even realized they were shaking until you touched his steady ones. “Babes, we hafta talk about this. Including Friday, this makes 3 days of shitty sleep. That’s not good or sustainable, Knucklehead.” Bakugou sighs placing the mug on the coffee table before wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek.

💤💥🪨 “It’s not like I don’t wanna do better, Kats. Eiji. I’m just...” you trail off mid explanation. You clasp fingers over your soft lips. Opening twice to speak, but only croaks come out. You try very hard to find a tangible reason for your reluctance to sleep, but there were none. Kiri squeezes your shoulders reassuringly and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your bonnet.

💤💥🪨 “We know you’re trying, love. It’s ok to be scared sometimes. Even the resident hardass, Katsuki still gets nightmares.” Kiri offers doing his best to let you ride these feelings out while comforting you as well. “Yea.”Baku’s grip tightens at the mention of his own nightmares before leaning his head on your legs

💤💥🪨 “I just can’t trust it ok! It’s scary. I’m panicking in sleep now?!! I’m only getting worse and now I crying about. FUCK! I’m just a scared bitchy crybaby who can’t sleep.” You sigh overwhelmed by all the physical closeness and their consistent and unwavering support. You mentally kick yourself for the not realizing sooner that you trusted them enough to hurt like this in front of them. There’s something that unnerves you about that. Tears streaming at full force at this piont

💤💥🪨Kiri holds you firmly to chest tucking your shaking form under his chin. Baku moves to wrap an embrace overlapping Kiri’s arms. “Just let it all out, Babygirl.” He hums leaning his head on your shoulder. Your chest tightens and your fingers curl into angry fists. Suddenly your frighteningly fierce temper rears it’s ugly head.

💤💥🪨 “No no no NO! Stop It! STOP ACTING SO NICE! STOP ACTING LIKE I DESRVE THIS! BE DISAPPOINTED! BE UPSET!! TELL ME TO TRY HARDER! TELL ME TO TAKE BETTER CARE OF MYSELF! TELL ME IT’S EASY! REALLY EASY! BE ANGRY I’M FUCKING IT ALL UP! BLAME ME! I BLAME ME! I blame me... I blame me for not being...better.” You fume trying to push them away. You do your best to squirm out of their gentle comfort and tender embrace your lovers have you wrapped in. Neither one of your boys moves. “No way, Pebs.” Kirishima says resolutely. “Not a fucking chance, Teddy.” Bakugou nods with the same unchanging confidence. The rage in your chest melts as fat tears and roll down your brown cheeks.

💤💥🪨 A heaving and broken sob racks your entire body as you fall apart in their arms. Anger subsides into terrified uncertainty and overwhelming futility settles in its place. Tears and mucus flood down your face and soak Kiri’s t-shirt. Sniffles from above draws you out of the dark thoughts swarming around you. Surely enough tears drip slowly down Kiri’s cheeks. Instinctively you cup his face with trembling hands. “...Sorry.. I’ll be strong...just gimme a sec” he mutters as his broad shoulders slump and he moves to bat away the falling droplets. Bakugou grabs his hand and kisses it while wiping the red head’s face. “Eijirou, you don’t have to. Not right now” You sputter between choppy breaths.

💤💥🪨 His usually unwavering features muddy with insecurity. A fairly uncommon expression for someone so death defyingly optimistic and confident. “But it’s what I’m good at. If I can’t be strong for the people I love most then what good am I?” He retorts apathetically tightening his grip as the tears still trickle. You slink an arm around his hips, and place your face to his chest. “Bullshit. You’re plenty strong enough for us, Eijirou. Stop being so hard headed!” Bakugou raves putting a hand behind his neck and his forehead against his for emphasis before continuing, “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing. You are complex and unique and fearless and fearful all in one. You’re human, Eiji. It’s ok.”

💤💥🪨 “Katsuki, you’re so compassionate and kind.” You hum softly and absentmindedly almost. You don’t know why this observation came but it just feels right. Eiji smiles leaning in the blonde’s embrace. “Honestly Kats, you love remarkably deep and painfully unselfishly. Thank you.” Kiri hums kissing his cheek and you do the same. Hot little tears rest at the corners of his dark red eyes. Most of the public thinks he’s some kind of angry asshole devoid of any softer emotions. Comments on your relationship often criticized Katsuki for snagging partners ‘much nicer than he deserved’. And just like that you are scooting over to make room for Bakugou in Kiri’s lap.

💤💥🪨 “Such a shitty little week.” Baku sighs with misty eyes. There’s a small comfort in the collective collapse washing over the three of you. All of you holding the hurt from the others in hopes it would just fizzle away like a bad dream. It didn’t. You sob, Kiri sniffles, and Baku lets two hot tear slip from his glassy eyes. None of you break contact with each other. Your fingers linked with Kiri and Baku’s in the opposite hand. A head glued affectionately onto the red head’s broad shoulder. After what seems like a lifetime and you can’t cry anymore and feeling a surprising amount of relief sinks onto you, you clear your throat.

💤💥🪨 “Wanna watch How to Train a Dragon?” You rasp with tired and strained vocal chords. “I’ll get the popcorn.” Kiri sighs kissing each of you on the cheek as he ushers you both out of his lap. He sashays into the kitchen to find a bowl and the popcorn. Baku stands handing you your cool tea as he grabs the remote. Flipping decisively through Amazon Prime, he queues up the movie as he settles onto the far side of the couch to lay out fully. You sip contently tucking your knees to your chest so you can press the soles of your feet into his. “That tickles.” Bakugou deadpans wiggling his own toes. Soft giggles flutter out of your chest.

💤💥🪨 Kiri strolls back in the room with two large bowls of popcorn and a blanket on each arm. He bows presenting them to their proper owners. Movie theater butter for Baku and kettle corn for you two to share. You sit your now empty mug on the coffee table as Kiri retakes his original spot and you settle comfortably into his lap cocooning you both in a cozy weighted blanket. Baku draped in a light throw typically the first to complain about being hot. The DreamWorks title sequence floats across the screen, and wave of peacefulness falls over the tired trio. Less then five minutes in, you and Bakugou snore quietly as Kiri’s heavy eyelids fight to watch the next couple scenes

497 notes · View notes

classyandroidandy · 3 years

Text

Teeth (Hunter x Reader)

In honor of Halloween and Clonetober, have this mess.

I listened to a great podcast where they used this phrase that positively inspired me. The podcast is Morbid on Spotify if y'all wanna listen, highly recommend it!

Enjoy~

WARNING: This story contains language, brief sexuality, established relationships, and hinting at sexual relations. Viewers have been warned.

Her mouth. That was definitely the only valuable part of the woman consuming Hunter's time.

It was taking everything in me to not absolutely bust her mouth open in order to remove her ability to steal the Sergeant's attention. I took a bitter swig of my strong drink before running a hand slowly through my hair in agitation.

I had been working with the batch for a few years now, the greatest years of my life. Working as their Chief Warrant Officer provided me a plethora of opportunities to hone and improve the team. Successful mission after successful mission proved how well we worked together and that my skills hadn't depleted in the slightest after my team transition.

Especially with how well Hunter and I worked together, on and off-field.

We had just finished up another backup mission before making a much-appreciated stop at 79's. A cold drink with good company was the best way to wind down our unsurprisingly successful mission.

"I'll retrieve the drinks. Everyone want the usual?" Tech asked, standing and adjusting his goggles. I sighed as I leaned back into my seat, nodding and thanking the trooper before he walked away. Hunter pressed his knee to mine, drawing my attention to him. He sent me a small smile as he leaned into my ear.

"Feel like having fun tonight?" He muttered. I felt my stomach flip at his implications. A sly smile made its way across my face as I leaned back into Hunter's ear, his body shuddering slightly at the brush of my lips.

"I guess. Depends." I responded. Hunter pulled away with a confused look.

"On what?" He questioned. I looked at his serious face before laughing at his reaction. Tech placed our drinks in front of us as I leaned back into Hunter's ear.

"If you can stay sober enough to remember it." I teased. Hunter huffed, pulling away with a breath of a laugh.

"That was one time, Officer. Surely you've had fun once." Hunter pointed, giving me a sarcastic glare. The clinking of glass being set on the table alerted us to the arrival of our liquor. I laughed sarcastically as I took the first sip of my drink, the alcohol terribly strong in my mouth and burning on its way down.

"Damn. That's rough." I croaked, covering my mouth with the back of my hand as I fought the burning sensation in my mouth. Hunter smiled and Wrecker loudly cackled at my discomfort.

"I apologize. I forgot how long it's been since you tagged along." Tech reminded me, taking a long drink of his own.

The men seemed completely unfazed at the high proof, throwing their drinks back like it was water. I cringed at their eager consumption. How did they even have a liver?

"That's great. I'm losing my touch." I teased. Hunter wrapped his arm around me with a quiet laugh as he pulled me into his side. I leaned into his warmth as I laughed with him, turning to give him a smile and a playful glare. We stared at each other for a moment too long, the other boys growing bored before Echo cleared his throat to capture our attention once more. I turned back to the boys to engage, but Hunter's gaze remained on me for a few moments longer.

"Hey, you're Clone Force 99, right?" A terribly high voice questioned. My irritation spiked at the false tone being used to address my team. I turned to look at the intruder uninterested.

A female. An ugly female alien. An ugly female alien with pretty teeth, and a beautiful body. And her eyes on Hunter.

I felt worry grow in my chest as he gulped at her stare. She placed a hand on his bicep as Hunter nodded stiffly. She giggled, annoying me further.

"And you are...?" She directed at my lover. I cast a look at him I hoped he sensed.

I fucking dare you to answer.

"Hunter." He forced, maintaining strict eye contact with the female. She laughed at his seemingly nervous behavior. My stress only grew. I didn't doubt Hunter's love for me, but the stress of another female was still threatening for my position as his lover. I wasn't exactly irreplaceable, even if this woman didn't measure up.

I quickly lost myself in my thoughts, only being pulled back towards their conversation when the woman dragged Hunter to his feet and away from me. I launched forward to grab his hand as he moved, brushing his fingers briefly with my own. He turned to give me a nervous look. My voice vanished at the sight as I felt my throat tighten.

Why was he nervous? Did he think she was pretty? Did he forget I was here?

I watched helplessly as he walked further and further away from me and towards the bar. I felt anger and insecurity fill my chest as I eased myself into Hunter's spot, sipping my drink as I watched them closely.

"Well, that's interesting. Hunter never pays any outside attention any mind." Tech observed. I nearly choked the genius for his comment.

"Whatever," I muttered, turning back to the men and engaging back into the conversation. Sooner than expected, the conversation became easy again as the batch conversed freely with me. It wasn't difficult to get my crew to begin an easy conversation, and the table was soon consumed with laughter as we exchanged stories and reminisced previous missions. After a while of waiting for my non-existent lover to return once more and clear his name, I decided it was time to just quit and go back to the ship for some peace and quiet.

I waved farewell to the not-quite-drunk-enough troopers before walking back towards the exit of the bar, glancing around me just in case.

Just as I was about to reach the door, a sight caught my attention.

The woman was staring right at me, a sinister glint in her eye. She wrapped an arm delicately around Hunter as her eyes bore into mine. And then, she smiled widely at my lover.

Her smile.

Her fucking smile.

That's all she had on me, and that's all she had going for her. I tried to hold myself back, but I found myself rapidly crossing the bar towards the two.

I gripped the Sergeant's shoulder, yanking him back towards me before rearing my dominant hand up. I slammed my fist into her mouth, a satisfying crack resonating through the air as the woman crumpled to the floor. Hunter stared at me in shock.

I shook my hand out as I rubbed the knuckles with the other. The feeling of a sharp object lodged in my knuckle had me looking down in surprise, noticing the large piece of tooth sticking out from my hand. I gently pulled the piece of tooth out before turning my gaze back to the woman on the floor before me. She had a hand over her mouth, covering the bleeding gums from the bar. She pulled her hand away for a moment, revealing the missing front tooth I had just found for her. She glared up at me.

"What the hell!?" She yelled. I tossed the tooth at her before smiling.

"You really only had good teeth. Now you have nothing to pull men in with." I responded, grabbing Hunter's hand before dragging him out of the bar.

As we walked back to the ship, the silence was deafening. Not only had I just drawn unnecessary attention, but I had also hurt a civilian without reasonable cause. I held my tongue as I battled my rage, beside myself as to whether I actually punched the right person. Hunter remained silent, whether by his own anger or fear of angering me further was up for debate.

We made it back to the Marauder rather quickly, the both of us boarding in pure silence. The air vibrated with energy as we marched onto the empty starship without a word. I didn't dare start the argument I knew was coming. I hadn't had adequate time to calm down yet. I strutted right past Hunter to the medkit and quickly got to work patching up my bleeding hand, ensuring to sterilize the wound. Two large hands gently cupped my damaged palm before my gaze was drawn to the Seargent.

He didn't look the slightest upset, only focused on the damage inflicted on my knuckles. He sighed before taking the medkit from my side and beginning to work on my injury, being far more mindful and cautious than I was.

"I'm sorry." His voice broke the silence suddenly. My gaze snapped back to Hunter's face.

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. I don't know why I let that woman drag me away, but I was scared to tell her off and attract attention. I just... Wanted to be polite and not ruin your evening. I guess it didn't work out in the end." Hunter muttered, wrapping my knuckles and pressing a small kiss to the bandage before turning his eyes to look up into mine.

"Hunter..." I took a breath. He cupped my cheek with one hand as he rubbed his thumb across my knuckles lightly.

"I didn't intend to upset you. But I promise you're the only one for me. Besides, she really only had good teeth, but they're nothing compared to yours." He smiled. I paused before laughing at his comment, shaking my head.

"Oh my gosh." I cupped the hand that was on my cheek before leaning in and giving Hunter a firm kiss. His mouth molded smoothly against mine as I breathed in his scent. His hand released my own to grab above my knee and rub firm circles into my thigh.

"I promise, I won't let that happen again. I'll just ruin drink night. How's that? Can you forgive me then?" Hunter prodded, his hand sneaking further up my leg.

I laughed before leaning into his ear.

"I guess I can forgive you just this one time,"

#tbb #tbb x reader #tbb hunter #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #reader insert #clone force 99 #bad batch #tbb x you #star wars tbb #star wars #star wars x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #the bad batch hunter #sergeant hunter

75 notes · View notes

team-gabriel · 3 years

Note

♟brightglass?

so, uh… yeah. I might’ve gotten a little carried away. enjoy?

[also on my AO3]

♟- patching up a wound

Jack Bright was almost certain that he’s bled through the half-assed bandage job he’s done on his shoulder. He can feel the throbbing pain radiating down his arm with every exhausting step that he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.

He fumbled with his keys for a few moments before he finally managed to pull the door open, kicking his shoes haphazardly by the mat and hanging his (now somewhat bloody) lab coat on the hook beside the door… he’d wash that out in the morning; he was too tired to do anything about that tonight.

Judging by the blood on his coat, he knew that his shirt had to be soaked as well, and, looking down at the ugly, dark red stain that had spread across his once-white dress shirt, he found that his guess was correct. Jack groaned in frustration — yep, that shirt was ruined… he really liked that one, too…

Whatever.

Simon, who had been sitting at the kitchen counter, was currently pouring all of his focus into the psych reports scattered in front of him. The commotion Bright caused as he entered the apartment was enough to draw his attention, but he still hadn’t looked up from his work.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Bright muttered toward the psychiatrist before he even had a chance to speak.

“Rough day, I take i— Jack, what the hell happened to you?!”

Simon’s casual statement quickly turned into an exclamation of shock and panic the moment he glanced up to see his blood-covered boyfriend.

“Simon, I said I don’t wanna hear it,” Jack groaned in response. He was not in the mood for Simon’s fussing, and wanted nothing more than to just replace the bandages, put on a clean t-shirt, and go to bed…

“Jack—!”

“Don’t worry about it…” Bright dismissed as he tossed his keys and lanyard onto the table, undoing his tie and wincing as another sharp wave of pain hit him.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Glass replied in disbelief, his tone somehow managing to convey both sarcasm and utter panic. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about here!”

“Simon. Really…” Bright groaned, both out of frustration and pain. “It’s fine…”

“Oh, sure looks it, Jack,” Glass replied, hastily gathering his papers into a pile and standing from his spot at the table.

Simon vanished into the bathroom and Jack could hear him rifling around through the cabinet for the first-aid kit… a lot of good that will do him, Jack thought bitterly.

“I’m too tired for this,” Jack muttered loudly. “Just let me go to bed—”

“Oh, so you can bleed to death?” Glass piped up, still digging around in the disorganized mess that was his cabinets.

“I’m not going to bleed to death.”

Jack heard Simon’s rummaging abruptly stop for a moment, and despite being in a completely separate room, Bright could practically feel the incredulous glare Simon was giving him right now. Simon muttered something under his breath and continued his search.

“…and so what if I do!?” Jack shouted back. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bled out…! and sure as hell won’t be the last!”

Simon reentered the kitchen, having finally found the first-aid kit, and still refusing to give Bright’s previous comments any form of response. He grabbed the chair that he had been sitting in and loudly dragged it across the kitchen floor — Jack wincing at the harsh sound.

“You know, Si, those downstairs neighbors are probably loving you right now…” he remarked.

“Sit.”

“…You’re being absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Sit.”

“Simon, just give me the bandages, I can do this mysel—”

“Jack Bright, sit your arse down in this chair, or so help me god—!”

“Damn, Si, look at you — taking charge like that,” Jack teased, his voice still having that sharp edge to it, once again refusing to acknowledge any of the severity of this situation. “…Keep talkin’ to me like that, and you’re gonna make me act up—”

Bright had enough sense to cut his statement short when he was met with that frustrated exhaustion in Simon’s eyes. He dropped his inappropriate comment and shook his head.

“Si, really… the only one working themself up about this is you,” Jack hissed, but nevertheless, he finally sat down.

Simon’s expression was still pressed in a tight frown as he muttered a tired “thank you…” turning and placing the plastic kit on the table, pulling out the supplies he needed.

Bright rolled his eyes as Glass returned, clearly trying his hardest to get a good look at the wound despite Jack being in no way helpful.

“Jack, would you just hold still—?”

“I am holding still—!”

“Well quit moving your shoulder th—!”

“Ow! Simon, that fucking hurts!”

“Jack, I can’t even see what I’m trying to work with—! Would you just—? Jack, just—!”

Glass exhaled a growl of frustration. Since Bright was clearly not about to make things any less difficult, he decided it was necessary to take matters in his own hands. He immediately began fumbling with the collar of Jack’s shirt, roughly undoing the buttons.

Bright’s grumbling quickly turned to a shout, and now it was his turn to raise his voice in concern.

“Hey — careful! Jesus, Simon, careful!” Jack snapped, throwing one hand over his amulet, the other snatching Simon’s wrist and roughly yanking it away before his hand could get any closer to the pendant than it already was. “Fuck, Si, would you just wait a fucking second?! I already feel like my shoulder’s been beaten to absolute hell, I don’t need you dying on top of everything else!” he screamed.

Simon flinched backwards, clearly startled both by Jack’s outburst and the realization of how close he’d come to accidentally touching the amulet. “I- I’m—!” Glass began unsteadily. “Jack, I’m sorry…!”

Jack stayed like that for a moment while he waited for his heart to stop pounding, Simon still staring down at him with that deer-in-headlights expression.

Finally, he sighed, letting go of Simon’s wrist and watching as the psychiatrist immediately drew his arm back, guarding it against his chest and unconsciously rubbing at the spot where Jack’s grip had been the tightest. There was another moment where their eyes met, and both of them decided to soften their demeanor…

“I’m sorry,” Simon mumbled again, backing off just a bit, but still unable to stop staring at Jack’s bloodied shoulder with concern.

He really wasn’t about to let this go, was he?

Bright weighed his options. The irritation of having Glass attempt to patch up his shoulder was decidedly not even close to being greater than the utter devastation that would come with Simon inadvertently killing himself — or worse — because Jack refused cooperate and Glass once again ends up getting a little too close to his amulet…

Another sigh as Jack undid the remainder of his buttons as best as he could with his one uninjured arm, allowing Simon to easily reach his shoulder. He sat back down and twisted the amulet behind his back, slipping it beneath the back of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“There you go,” he said, still not overly enthused with this whole ordeal, but willing to bite the bullet if it meant just getting this over with so he can go to bed. “Have at it, doc.”

Simon’s expression was much softer than it had been just minutes prior. He stepped back up to Jack, first carefully taking in the scene, and then delicately beginning to remove the old bandages.

Bright cringed a little at the way they clung to the wound, and at the growing pile of blood-soaked gauze and tape that was accumulating beside him as Glass continued to peel them away.

“Christ, Jack… this looks bad…” Simon exhaled, gently dabbing some of the excess blood away with a damp rag.

Bright only hummed in agreement. To be completely honest, even he hadn’t really seen the full extent of his injury — he saw a lot of blood and he taped himself up with gauze until he couldn’t see it anymore — problem solved!

…But now he was beginning to see the jagged gashes where claws met skin. He didn’t exactly enjoy looking at it, but he continued to stare, as it was better than having to look at the worry in Simon’s eyes.

“This... might sting a tiny bit...”

A tiny bit proved to be an understatement. Jack sucked in a sharp hiss and dug his fingers into the arm of the kitchen chair the moment the antiseptic soaked cotton touched the wound.

“Sorry...” Glass whispered, still carefully dabbing the gauze around the gashes. “So sorry... Just a little more, Jack. It’s almost done, I promise.”

“Yeah…” Jack said through gritted teeth. “Whatever you say, Si…”

Simon worked with diligence, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch, methodically bandaging as he went. He managed to get most of the superficial cuts to stop bleeding using butterfly bandages, but it was becoming obvious to Jack that the worst of it needed sutures…

It was clearly obvious to Simon as well, who apprehensively bit his lip, looking from the wound to meet Jack’s eyes.

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Go for it, Si…”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Whatever.”

Jack didn’t watch as Simon threaded the needle, he didn’t watch as he carefully examined the gash… but he definitely took in another little hiss of pain as the first stitch was made.

“Sorry, Jack…” Simon whispered.

“To be honest,” Jack gritted out again. “That fucking antiseptic was worse.”

As Glass continued to stitch up his shoulder, Jack once again found himself unable to look away, but now for a different reason. It always sort of amazed him when Simon did stuff like this. Granted, he’s only ever really seen it once — Jack had accidentally gotten his palm with a kitchen knife when he was washing dishes — but still, it amazed him. Glass worked with such exactness that, if he hadn’t known any better, Jack might’ve believed that he did it on a daily basis. He could tell by the meticulousness of it that this was no doubt a skill Simon acquired in medical school and perfected in his years as a field agent.

But, what Bright perhaps found the most shocking was how gentle Simon always was with him. No matter how much of a fight Jack put up, Glass remained delicate when it came to actually working on him. He’d whisper apologies after every wince or hiss of pain. He’d put such a high level of precision and care into his actions — when most everyone else at the Foundation (Bright included) would deem it unnecessary in the long run.

If Jack couldn’t truly die, then why bother putting in so much effort to save him? Why waste the time, skills, and material on keeping him comfortable?

But Glass… he always did. He’d care for him when he was sick. He’d tend to minor injuries no differently than to major ones. He’d sit by Jack’s side for anything.

But that was just a part of Simon’s nature, he supposed — to comfort. It was why he advanced so easily in his field. It was why the word “soft” was so frequently hurled at him like an insult.

And that softness was clear with the precise way he finished the last of the stitches… the way he gently cleaned away the residual blood… the careful way he bandaged his shoulder…

“Simon…?” Jack asked, watching as Glass finished up with the final bandages.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Care so damn much,” Jack replied with a snort, although the heavy sincerity of the question still lingered in the background.

“About?”

“Me.”

“Why do I care when the person I love is severely injured? Is that really what you’re asking me right now, Jack?”

“You know what I mean,” Bright replied, rolling his eyes, only deciding to elaborate on that further after several moments of Glass doing nothing but staring at him incredulously. “I can’t die — not really — so, like, why put in all the effort, y’know?”

“Except you can die, Jack,” Simon replied. “…As you so frequently do. The only difference is that you don’t stay dead—”

“But is that really that different?”

“Yes, Jack!” Glass replied, the disbelief audibly rising in his voice, as if Bright were missing some point that was glaringly obvious to him. “Some may argue that it’s worse!”

Jack only rolled his eyes, prompting Simon to elaborate further.

“You aren’t invulnerable, Jack,” he continued. “You aren’t immune to feeling pain — in fact, you have felt such an immense level of pain, on numerous occasions, that a person should only have the capability to feel once, if ever, in their lifetime… You’ve experienced your own death, Jack. Over and over… And perhaps you’ve just become numb to it — or you like to claim that you have — maybe everybody else in this damned Foundation has as well—”

“Because it still isn’t the same as actually dying, Simon—” Jack butted in before Glass could cut him off again.

“Alright,” he replied. “Maybe it isn’t. But why does that mean that you don’t deserve to be treated with the same level of compassion as anybody else?”

Jack bit down on his lip, refusing to meet Simon’s eyes… he hated when Glass had a point on topics like this.

“Alright,” Simon continued, keeping his voice gentle. “The other month, when I came home feeling sick — you stayed awake with me—”

“Simon, that isn’t the same thing!”

“But was I dying, Jack?” Simon asked without so much as missing a beat, his tone rising with pretend disbelief. “Was I so critically ill that someone needed to waste their time on me? It was just a stomach flu — nothing serious, there’s nothing anybody needs to do for that except wait it out… why waste the effort, taking care of someone who was just going to get better on their own in 24 hours? Hm?”

Bright had gone right back to avoiding Simon’s eyes, this time going as far as to avoid looking at him all together.

“Simon, it’s…”

Glass sighed, letting his expression soften once more, losing the sarcastic edge to his voice.

“It’s what, Jack?” he asked softly, attempting to finish the sentence that Bright had given up on. “It’s not the same thing?”

Jack’s mouth was pressed in a tight frown as he turned his eyes to the floor, still unwilling to admit his ‘defeat’.

And, with a gentle, sincere expression, Glass finished his (albeit, mostly one-sided) argument.

“I love you, Jack…” he said. “I love you… and I hate seeing you hurt…”

Bright finally opened his mouth to respond, only to shake his head and close it wordlessly when he couldn’t find the proper thing to say. There was nothing he could say to disprove that final statement, and he knew that. He could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at his eyes… and he knew he was going to have a tough time trying to pass it off as still being caused by the sting of that stupid antiseptic.

That shield he put up was cracking, and Jack hated putting the vulnerability that lied beneath it on display. So, instead, he only leaned forward, gently bunting his head against Simon’s chest, burying his face in the soft, warm fabric of his shirt.

“I know, Jack…” Simon whispered softly, running his fingers through the back of Bright’s hair.

Jack took in a bit of a stuttering breath, letting the tears finally slip from his eyes and pressing his face harder against Simon’s chest. He couldn’t explain it with words — he never properly could — why there was something about Simon Glass that just felt so… right…?

Jack had never been good with feelings. And right then, he was swept up in such a powerful wave of different emotions that, for a moment, he thought he may drown.

He had come to believe that kindness almost always came with some sort of strings attached… but not with Glass.

Never with Glass.

He felt loved — so genuinely loved — that, at times, it almost overwhelmed him because of how unused to it he was.

So Jack held onto that feeling, staying there a moment longer, breathing in Simon’s warmth and feeling that gentle rise and fall of his chest. Until finally, he managed to gather enough composure to speak.

And, naturally, in true Jack Bright fashion, he attempted to change the subject entirely — anything to deflect from the fact he’d just been crying.

“You’ve got the hands of a surgeon, you know that?” he remarked, looking back down to his shoulder, trying to pull back up his cool, detached facade… although his voice was still a little unsteady and his sentence ended with a bit of a wet sniffle. “…Or maybe a painter. Ever think you might’ve gone into the wrong profession?”

He knew Simon had to see right through this pathetic attempt at a diversion as well, but he went along with it anyway.

“Don’t think I could handle the pressure of being a surgeon,” Glass replied softly. “Stitching someone up is one thing… don’t quite think I have the stomach for cutting someone apart.”

“So you settled for just taking apart their minds, then?” Bright teased, exhaling in what was half a laugh and half a choked, hiccup-y sort of sound.

“What can I say,” he replied lightly, turning and cleaning up his supplies. “Much less blood.”

Jack exhaled another quiet laugh and Simon couldn’t help but smile, and somehow, just seeing that made Bright feel warm inside.

His mind pulling him back to that unexplainable way that Simon just made him feel right.

Because there was just something about Simon Glass.

Something about those warm grey eyes and gentle smile that made Jack feel so at home.

Something about that open, deliberate way he expressed his love that made Jack truly believe that he deserved this… That this wasn’t a mistake. That this was what it felt like to be loved on purpose.

And Jack, despite years and years of denying himself the right to feel this sort of feeling…

He loved Simon right back.

✨send me a prompt?✨

#sarah answers stuff #brightglass #dr simon glass #dr jack bright #uhhh. I got carried away #nearly 3000 words later. here we are #blood tw #needles tw #I am fucking cringey…..but I am free

61 notes · View notes

spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Text

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two)

Kurt Hummel loves sex. He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him. And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny. He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched. And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to. Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make. Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked. Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out. Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him. And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly. Seriously. He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties. It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace. He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan. It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably. Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss. “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away. Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day. He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started. Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it. What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times. But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him. He even gives in to a little light making-out. But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom. The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need. Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side. And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place. However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down. He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines. Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back. Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself. Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together. He’ll calm down. Surely. Right?

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment. There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before. There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers. And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s. He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High. He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye. It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian. Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue. And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry. Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread. This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch. It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says. He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag. Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”

Ian shrugs it off. “I figured you’d see it eventually. I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope. I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it. He gives it a fond smile. “I guess my old choir director is retiring. There’s a party for him back in Lima.”

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand. “Quaint. I’m guessing you aren’t going? I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio. Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories. All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.” Ian wiggles his eyebrows. “Hard to imagine you in high school.”

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says. A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought. He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade. There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway. It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it. “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day. He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras. In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars. But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day. Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian. Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert. Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there. It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier. But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights. Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on. It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night. They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug. “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things. Something’s up with your dad. You want a favor. Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says. “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground. “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch. “You have twenty minutes. Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage. Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off. Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue. It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says. Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’ Kurt purses his lips. “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced. “Maybe it was just an ad then. I get shit like that all the time. I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day. “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says. Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced. “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know. We’ve been together for a year. We know how we are. Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”

Elliott folds his arms across his chest. “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings. The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice. He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question. “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out. “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words. “I also, you know, love him.”

Elliott shakes his head. Kurt knows judgment when he sees it. “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high. “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage. They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again. Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard. “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself. “Well, I do find you tolerable.”

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says. He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them. But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is. “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds. “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point. Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life. He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been. He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit. “His family was crazy. I didn’t need to be a part of that.”

Elliott nods, continuing on. “Okay, and Joey was the one before that. I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”

Kurt bites his lip. He did feel bad about that. Joey had been so quick to offer his time. But Joey also had been there. All the time. It had been too much. “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says. A grin slips onto his lips. “And then there was Steven.”

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says. He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater. Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not. “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship? Why are you getting on my case about this? It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh. “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways. Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through. It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever. And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you. Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after. Only, real life doesn’t happen like that. Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after. He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.

Elliott goes soft in deposition. “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says. He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart. He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much. “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee. “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days. I’m gonna be out of town. Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists. And then an idea hits him. “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima. Old high school choir thing. Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that. It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”

Elliott gives a hearty laugh. “You haven’t talked about Lima in years. Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while. There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in. He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head. He does like his independence. He always has. Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own. And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet. It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years. He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases. And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said. The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts. Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart. He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.

But are there really people out there like that?

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit. When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice. Living costs would come down. He’d have a partner to spend his time with. And the sex. God, Ian knows how to have sex.

But permanently? The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought. There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right. It’s not perfect. Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself. But still…

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down. Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched. Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building. A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached. For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city. He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages. Hasn’t thought about those people in ages. God, what even happened to…

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head. But he can’t help but see the face. He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.

Nostalgia hits him just then.

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss. He is going to take that trip to Lima. He does need a break from Ian. He does need to get his life sorted out. But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport. It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home. He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place. Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed. It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up. It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s just a thing.

It’s evening by the time he gets in. The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment. He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do. Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night. And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him. He had understood, and it’s not like he won��t be seeing her the next day anyway. Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years. Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it. Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago. He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state. He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls. And god, the music even feels strikingly similar. There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night. There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners. No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in. The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer. Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible. There is only one gay bar in Lima. And he’s probably here for the reunion.

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run. Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion. He doesn’t though.

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said. It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed. Age, it seems, has done him well. There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves. His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest. Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew. Sitting at the bar is a man.

And yet… his movements are exactly the same. The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter. That’s still the Blaine he used to know.

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him. He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to. It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other. That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there. Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers. Maybe this had been a bad idea. But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug. It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with? Someone who is a relative stranger now. It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart. “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been. Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour. He definitely needs something to calm him down. How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused. There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity. Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him. Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him. But they are both adults now. And it had been a long, long time ago.

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says. He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived. “Oh, yeah, I figured that. I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding. Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks. Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot. “I saw it from the motel window. Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over. “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink. “Dad retired a few years ago. He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks. “He and his sons took over the tire shop. But we’re not exactly close. And he has, like, ten dogs. I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.

“What about you?” Kurt asks. “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily. “Cooper has three little girls. Here, let me show you.” Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper. Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be. It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool. He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually. New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh. “I mean, I still perform every now and then. But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it. I love it though.” There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice. Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him. “A private school, of course. How very you. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now. He plays with the nearby peanut bowl. “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says. There’s excitement in his voice. Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy. “I thought it had been condemned. I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years. “Elliott and I renovated it. You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink. “Elliott? Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects. “God, no. Business partners only.” It’s such a funny thought to him. Elliott. They’re like brothers. No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott. There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain. He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place? Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them. Blaine bops his head to the music. Kurt munches on some peanuts. They both avoid direct eye contact. The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return. Maybe he should go.

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink. There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on. Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy. Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do. He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks. He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying. After they broke up. After he broke Blaine’s heart. Blaine kind of skips past the beat. Why dredge up all that old stuff. That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot. Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better. Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh. “I don’t know, it was so long ago. You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over. “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued. “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle. “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima. And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear. It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink. He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought. “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little. More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter. The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things. They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch. Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding. Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year. It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase. The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse. Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband. It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap. It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married. He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it. Blaine had wanted to be married. He got his wish. And Kurt is happy for him. He wants to be happy for him. Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks. The room begins to feel warm and familiar. Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home. They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow. Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez. Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains. They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third. “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me. But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine. But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink. “Well, personally I was offended. ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two. I was like ‘fuck that’. It’s just as well. Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it. He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.

Blaine notices and smirks. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass. He is buzzed but not at all drunk. In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy. When had he last been this happy? “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend. And he stayed on the show. The. Entire. Run. If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says. He leans in close. Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries. “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts. Suddenly, Blaine is close. Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes. There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it. He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out. “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused. “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on. “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it. I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying. “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. We had a good thing. We had a great thing, even. But it’s fine. It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him. Maybe this is why he needed to come back. Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons. He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while. He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it. It feels comforting in his own.

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face. “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh. It’s an invitation. His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong. His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up. This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this. He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year. They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing. His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long. The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one. Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room. It only turns him on more.

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this. It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it. His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall. Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs. He just wants to feel Blaine. They kiss deeply, wantonly. His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is. Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other. Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands. Fuck. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss. Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own. If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure. He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can. It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down. Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants. Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out. Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock. If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock. Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand. “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss. Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand. Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes. It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure. Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers. His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees. This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty. Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper. Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.” He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them. Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed. Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off. Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out. Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more. Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle. “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh. “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge. He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before. As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly. Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality. Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans. There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling. Blaine gets to his feet. There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened. A lot just happened. A lot. And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach. He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years. He just cheated on his boyfriend. But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic

38 notes · View notes

writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

Exception to the Rule

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: M (?)

Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual themes. No smut, but I mean reader definitely wants to ride that cowboy. Period typical shame.

Summary: There is one exception to your rule about forcing Arthur to forgo chores and take a rest, that is the duty of chopping firewood.

Notes: Right, so I need someone to explain to me quite why I find men chopping wood to be attractive. I’m sure you can psychoanalyse the heck out of me from that fact alone.

Can you tell i’m a tad touched starved and needy at the moment? Can you tell, good sirs?

Archiveofourown

Arthur Morgan was the workhorse of the gang and that was a bonafide fact. The man brought in more money and more supplies than anyone else in camp. Added to the fact that he also did more than his fair share of chores, you often worried that the big burly outlaw would work himself to death. Especially with him picking up the slack for those who never seemed to do anything around camp like Uncle and Strauss.

Normally you’d stop him doing whatever chore he was doing, tell him to take a rest, go have a lie down and sleep or get some stew from the pot since he was the only reason you were even able to eat. You’d pull whatever he had from his hands and gently coax the man to go look after himself for five minutes which you’d manage to turn into at least an hour of down time. Every time he was reluctant, but grateful, asking you, ‘What’d I ever do to deserve you, darlin’?’ and every time you’d tell him something to the effect of ‘You were yourself, Mr Morgan’ while feeling flustered under his gaze.

There was one exception to this rule you had about getting Arthur to take some time off and look after himself. That rule was that whenever the man decided to bolster the camp’s firewood store you left him to it. Now this wasn’t a selfless decision, not one born out of respect for the man’s love for swinging a heavy axe at a wood log pretending it was Micah’s head. No, the reason for this rule was entirely, completely, most certainly the fact that Arthur Morgan never looked more handsome or primally attractive then when he was chopping wood especially in the height of summer or during the warmer season.

So, while you were most certainly going to hell and your late mother would be rolling in her grave, you found yourself on a stuffy warm day hands deep in a laundry bucket, but not really focusing on your work at all.

“Y/N, he’s at it again!” It had been Karen who’d notified you, giggling in your ear as you looked up and across camp towards the tree stump that was used for chopping firewood. Your arms elbow deep in soapy water, you hadn’t really thought to remove them, just lean further forward on your hands, lips parting with a sigh.

You don’t even care that you can hear the girls giggling behind you as they get on with their work, occasionally sneaking glances up at the same sight as you.

Arthur was strong, if he were a horse he’d be his 18 hands high shire horse. If he were a predator, he’d be a brown bear. It was always more clear though when he decided to chop firewood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing thick, strong forearms dotted in scars and dark hair. You watched him roll his thick wrists once, twice before hefting the wood axe into his hands and up over his broad shoulders which tensed as he brought the axe down with a loud crack, the log splitting easily in two.

You watched the blue shirt strain over the breadth of his shoulders every time he brought the axe down, listened to the grunts that left his mouth with effort, followed the droplets of sweat that beaded at his forehead before rolling down his cheek and neck, disappearing beneath his favourite shirt. He grumbled slightly to himself about the dig of suspenders in his shoulders, slipping them off to rest by his thighs and threw his favourite gambler hat off to the side as it got in the way of his swings.

There was something about the immense power that Arthur exuded with each sharp decisive swing. The strength of his body combined with the sureness of his strokes made you slip a little with your hands in the washtub, splashing soapy water over the ground and your skirt with a curse.

You quickly returned your gaze to your work as you noticed Arthur’s head twist to check on you. Ever the helper and protector, he always seemed to zero in on any sound of complaint or unhappiness you made. You couldn’t have him catch on to your favourite chore.

“Y’alright over there, sweetheart?” It was called across the clearing, concern riding his voice as he briefly let the axe fall to his side to check on you. It brought a warmth to your body, blood rushing through you towards your ears and cheeks at his concern and your mild embarrassment.

“Oh, she’s just fine, Arthur. Don’t you worry about her!”

“Karen!” You twist from your place knelt on the ground and reach over to slap her arm. The truth was as much as you were interested in Arthur, you were simply friends. You made sure he didn’t work himself to death and he made sure you smiled on bad days. It was nothing more, nothing less, even if the sight of him made you feel weak at the knees. The last thing you wanted was to be embarrassed in front of him over your...thoughts.

“If you say so.” He gave the two of you a look before turning back to the stump. Putting it down briefly, you watched at first from the corner of your eye before being unable to resist his siren’s call as he unbuttoned the blue shirt and tossed it in a pile with his hat. Left in the top half of his union suit that clung tightly to the broad planes of his chest and the tight muscles of his shoulders, he was quite the sight.

Your eyes followed the strong line of his neck as he circled his head to stretch out a tight muscle and draw a crack from uncomfortable joints. They followed it down to the unbuttoned union suit that revealed strong collar bones and dark chest hair. Followed it down to the strong wide breadth of his body. More interested in that than the wood he was chopping.

“You might wanna close your mouth or else you might catch flies.” Tilly teases you, you would give her a playful glare, but couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from the specimen of a man that had gone back to his wood cutting.

Another log, hefted onto the stump, biceps filling out as he bent his arms to lift it. Another swing of the axe, broad shoulders seeming even larger under the strain. Another grunt. Another droplet of sweat.

“My mother must be rolling in her grave.” You say aloud, just a random thought, a little thing. That if she could see the heat of your gaze on Arthur, feel the warmth to your skin, know the itch in your belly, then she’d drag you by the ear to confessional where you’d have to tell the priest about all those thoughts. Like how you wanted Arthur to just throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his tent.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be having such wicked thoughts about our dear Mr Morgan, Y/N. Mighty improper of you.”

“Mary-Beth, I defy any woman to not have wicked thoughts when Arthur’s chopping firewood.” You hit back eyes finally drifting from Arthur to your friends. Each of them has the same look you’re sure was on your face. Each no doubt having done exactly what you had done when Arthur started unbuttoning his shirt in the summer heat and heaving a heavy axe over his shoulder.

“She’s got a point, Mary-Beth, that’s a whole lotta man, right there.” Tilly chimes in and some of that guilt that gnaws at you for staring at Arthur in such an improper manner dissolves. You’re not the only one who enjoys watching him chop wood. You’re not wrong for it. You’re just a woman with blood in your veins.

“It’s a damn shame he thinks he’s ugly. He’s the most handsome man around camp.” You sigh out, thinking about the harsh words he always uses for himself as you watch him continue working on the wood pile. His beard has grown out and frames his face beautifully, even with that spot that he can never seem to grow any hair on. You think he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever met, his treatment of you and the other girls only adds to it. He’s so...soft. So soft for someone so tough and rough.

“He is handsome, but you’re a little biased, Y/N. What’s the saying about saving a horse?” Karen titters.

“Ride a cowboy!” Tilly and Mary-Beth say it so loudly that you’re immediately shushing them, embarrassment flooding through you. As you catch Arthur once again turning in your direction, brow furrowed as he looks at your group. His hand reaches up to scratch as his beard and part of you wants the ground to swallow you entirely whole.

“I...Get your minds out of the gutter!”

“Only if you get yours out first!”

“I...I.” You huff, returning to your abandoned washing, scrubbing one of Arthur’s shirts with a new vigour that you didn’t know you had in you. They giggle behind you before walking off to the washing line to hang clean clothes up to dry.

You have to admit that your thoughts about Arthur tend to stray to the impure, especially at night when your mind is left to wander. He’s just so broad, so goddamn big and everything about him makes you want to wrap yourself around him like an alligator doing a death roll. Coming from a more high society lifestyle before finding the gang you’re not as comfortable with those thoughts as the other girls seem to be. There’s always that nagging thought in the back of your head that something’s wrong with you for lusting after him. That it’s not what a proper lady would do. But, he makes your heart ache desperately whenever you think of him. He makes your body warm and your lips ache for his. It’s not even just his body, it’s just him. You’re always longing for his company, eager to see him return from a job or a hunt just to hear his southern drawl wash over you with sweet kindness.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darlin’?” You jump at the drawl, his deep voice unexpected. He’s abandoned his wood cutting, crouching down next to you. The frown speaks of his concern and you can’t help but smile softly at how much he cares about everyone including yourself.

“It’s nothing, Arthur. Don’t you worry about me.” You assure him, your eyes fixed on the shirt in your tub that is more than clean by now after your aggressive scrubbing. You finally managed to get that damn bloodstain out.

A hand reaches under your jaw and gently grabs your chin, lifting your eyes to meet his. It has a shuddering breath leave your lungs before you can stop it, the look that crosses his face goes from concern to confusion to understanding and flirtation as he realises just why you’ve let that breath out. Just why the girls were teasing you.

“I always worry ‘bout you, sweetheart. Especially in this heat. Wouldn’t wan’ you to keel over now, all hot and bothered as y’are.” HIs thumb finds the hollow underneath your jaw and you can’t help but lean into his touch just a little bit more.

“Seems I should be the one concerned for you, Mr. Morgan. What with you working up a sweat on a hot day like today.” Your voice is breathy and you feel a tinge of shame at how little composure you seem to be able to keep around this man.

“Well I th-” His advance closer to you is stopped, his words halt as Dutch yells from somewhere in the vicinity of his tent, “Arthur! I got a job for you, boy!”

With a heavy sigh and one last gentle swipe of his thumb under your jaw, Arthur pulls away from you.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Always.” You reply watching him walk away, disappointed but not sure what you were expecting to happen. Were you hoping he’d kiss you? Were you hoping it would escalate further? That this burning in your stomach would find some relief, that your dreams would not be pure imagination anymore but have some basis in fact.

You sit back on your heels with a heavy breath, eyes turning towards the washtub again. Back to work, you suppose. Like always.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #readerinsert #reader insert #female reader

202 notes · View notes

pastelslytherin · 2 years

Note

SORRY I WROTE AN ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY BUT THANK YOU SOO MUCH!

Also I'll reblog on my main! It's just in case the matchups are actually closed or sum I don't wanna seem stupid on my main acc 💀 THANKS

Ok so I want my matchup for Attack on Titan 💪🏼

As for age range, keep it as people who were in the 104th! Aka teenagers lol

I'm male and bisexual but I sort of have a preference for men

I'm tan with brown hair, uhh ngl I'm pretty short 🗿I mean I'm still average but on the shorter side, I just gotta be honest here 😬 LMFAO but I don't think I'm ugly though, my eyes are dark brown and I think I have nice eyebrows?

As for my personality: ok so I'm ENTP and yeah I'm pretty loud, people say I'm funny and I hope so, I love going to big parties, I HAVE VERY MUCH FOMO (fear of missing out) and therefore ALWAYS involved in some sort of fight on accident 😂😂 some not-so-good traits I have would be I have seperation anxiety WHICH ISNT BAD just can probably get annoying for others. I want someone really understanding. I can have a bad temper, but I don't take it out on my friends, more so I get into problems bc of it! I kinda want someone who can calm me down for that 😅

As for hobbies: LOVE COMICS, VIDEOGAMES (story videogames only), I LOVE DRAWING, I actually really like watching wrestling as well 😄, AND I LOVE DEBATE (friendly debate ofc).

Also I'm really good at any musical instruments cause I've been playing the viola for 9 years 😶 so yeah people ask me for answers for music class

as for likes: I love tacos, pizza, donuts, parties, having philosophical discussions on the kitchen counter at 11:00 pm very strong on that actually

I really like people who are good listeners! And who are, god I hate using this word, but uh geeky? UGH I HATE USING THAT WORD!! but yes people who are into comics and videogames and all of that 💪🏼

Dislikes: READING GODDD I HATE READING IM SORRY I LOVE COMICS AND GRAPHIC NOVELS BUT GOD NO I HATE READING

As in people, I really don't like rude people, ik that's kinda basic but I really don't. I also don't like (in a romantic way, I love these people as friends) overly smart people or overly dumb people, WHICH IS MEAN but like overly smart people make me feel dumb, and overly dumb people I can't trust to help me with homework 😶

And yeah I'm currently a student but I plan on becoming an occupational therapist (aka kinda just someone who works with kids who have a disorder I have and struggled with growing up 😅)

Love languages: I love both quality time and physical touch but also appreciate words of affirmation. I feel like I just ruined the whole point of this since I said everything 💀

But yeah in general quality time is my favorite to both give and receive! Like when you're together and just having a good conversation alone?? My favorite thing! Especially if it's in the kitchen at 11:00 Pm

But yes I want this matchup to be romantic, and for anyone I don't want...again just nobody old and not Mikasa ONLY CAUSE SHE REMINDS ME TOO MUCH OF MY SISTER 😂😂😂 IT WOULD WEIRD ME OUT LOL

THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN IM SO SORRY FOR WRITING MY ENTIRE LIFE STORY LMFAO ITS A BAD HABIT I NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING LOL

Hello lovely anon! You assure you that you’re perfectly fine! I appreciate all the details of your request :) I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

Also, I’m so sorry this actually took forever :,D I had trouble picking and choosing characters because I feel like you can get along with A LOT of people.

I match you with..

JEAN KIRSTEIN

Jean would match your energy and your tastes so well. He’s your natural one-up for parties, and the two of you could share a brain cell, for better or for worse. You’re both very sociable and can have rather intellectual and philosophical thoughts. He can seem like a hardass at first glance, though he has a huge soft spot for you. If anyone picks a fight with you, you know he’ll have your back and won’t hesitate to throw some hands for you. He’s a bit rough around the edges and can be crude in calling out someone’s BS, but he’s fiercely loyal and protective for you.

He really loves spending time with you, and he’s very adamant about including you in group outings. It just doesn’t feel the same without you. He’s a super romantic guy, but he would definitely try to act cool about it, even if Connie and Sasha are ragging on him in the background. He’d be a bit quieter when it’s just you and him alone, but that’s just because he’s very comfortable with you. He can say anything that’s on his mind, and you can do the same. Overall, your relationship is very exciting, energetic, and communicative.

Headcanons:

Like you, Jean loves a good conversation and would love to challenge you in debates. He’s good at coming up with counterarguments so the exchange can just keep on going. You could spend the whole day having a theoretical debate with each other and not realize it. Sometimes, your voices could escalate to the point where it sounds like you’re ARGUING arguing, but you and Jean are really just having a very passionate debate.

Jean thinks he looks good playing string instruments, but he’s not that knowledgeable in music. He usually comes to you for music tutoring, though he mostly likes it because he can hang out with you.

You’ve made a habit to have taco/pizza nights with Jean. It’s not the most “romantic” date, but it’s absolutely perfect. You usually take turns paying for each other’s food and try a different kind of taco or pizza everytime. If he notices you’re feeling down for some reason, he’ll surprise you with a donut.

Behind all his grandeur, Jean can be very soft and quiet with you, as mentioned before. While he’s listening to you talk, he sometimes just brushes a knuckle along the frame of your face. He’s also really tall, so it’s easy for his eyes to just wander down to you.

Late night talks with Jean are the most intimate. You two are just alone in the kitchen. Jean is probably cooking omelettes for you to impress you, while you sit on the counter and talk about anything. Sometimes you may talk about the grey areas of morality or you may talk about the characterization of some heroes and villains from video games or comic books. He mostly listens to you, but he’d also give you an honest answer of what he thinks.

He really loves that you spend time with him because it makes him feel appreciated, and he feels energized being with his loved ones. Though, he would notice if you feel anxiety of being left out, and he would be quick to address it. He does everything he can to understand you and to make sure you also feel appreciated.

Other potential matches:

Bertholdt Hoover

Pairing with Bertholdt for you is almost like when opposites attract. Your more extroverted and outspoken personality compliments Bertholdt’s more introverted and quiet personality, and you both tend to favor quality time. He would be so happy to just be near you, albeit he can be shy about it. He’d honestly be quite starstruck and amazed by your outgoing nature, and it takes him forever to talk to you. He likely shares some of your niche interests in comics and videogames, which he would have a lot of thoughts and feelings on but he doesn’t share them openly. He’s not at all confrontational for debating, but he does have a lot of introspective thoughts and is extremely observant. He can be a calming and gentle presence for you, especially when you might need reassurance. He also has perfect hands for hand holding, and the utter height difference is really cute. He would be one to truly appreciate and admire you and your goals.

Historia Reiss

She’s a very thoughtful person and can round out some of your rougher edges, and she’s super encouraging and supportive of you. She usually settles fights before they happen, and she’s the type to stick by your side no matter what happens. Surprisingly stubborn, she would also call you out on your temper and would be there for you to help deal with your temper. She might not be as extroverted as you, but she loves a good party, especially if it’s with you. She’s an attentive listener and would be genuinely interested in your perspective on things. You could hold a conversation forever with her, and she would ask questions to keep your train of thought going late into the night. She would also be a big fan of your artwork and drawings.

———

I hope this was alright!

Please look over this post before submitting a matchup request :) Thanks!

#aot x reader #aot matchup #jean kirstein x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader #historia reiss x reader

9 notes · View notes

amiwritesthings · 3 years

Note

Established deanjohn. The argument that leads to Sam leaving to Stamford were he ends up screaming at John that he knows about his relationship with Dean. Dean tries to explain but Sam starts accusing him too and John kicks him out. Cue afterwards either soft deanjohn scene or them starting fighting, leading then to a more rough scene

so i said i wasn't gonna fill this prompt BUT- here we are. just a warning, sam is, well, let's say harsh

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

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he can feel coming on from hearing his father and his brother yell over his head for a solid half hour. He had given up trying to referee a few minutes ago, hovering uselessly in the middle as a buffer, just in case things turned physical.

“I’m disappointed in you, Sammy. Family comes first. Thought we raised you better than that,” John says, almost eerily calm now, and Sam bristles at the words, fists clenching tightly at his sides. Dean straightens just as a precaution, grounds his stance.

“It’s Sam, I’m not a fucking child anymore! And you really think you have a fucking leg to stand on here? Father of the year, right here, huh? Neglecting one son while fucking the other.”

Dean freezes for a second, more from the shock of Sam knowing than the actual words, his eyes, wide, unsure, flickering to Sam, who’s curled so tight Dean’s afraid he’s going to explode any second. Dean instinctively takes a step closer to his father.

“What, you think I don’t know about that fucked-up twisted thing between you two? You haven’t exactly been hiding it well, not for a long time!” Sam rages and behind him, Dean hears John draw in a breath, feels his father's body tensing, and Dean gives him a short look, silent communication – let me handle this -, before turning his attention back to Sam, stepping closer.

“Sammy-,” Dean starts but then doesn’t continue when Sam huffs, a whole-body thing, his shoulders rising, his chest puffing out, eyebrows drawing together as he narrows his eyes.

“Sam,” he corrects, ignoring the sting in his heart at being forced to do so, “whatever you think you know, it’s not-“

“It’s not what, huh, Dean?” Sam interrupts, nostrils flaring. “He’s got his dick so far up your ass, you don’t even know right from wrong anymore! You know there’s more to life than following orders and bending over, right?”

Dean reels back, feels more than sees John move behind him, only manages to turn and bring a hand up to John’s chest in the last second.

“Don’t Dad,” he tries, but John’s eyes are firmly fixed on Sam over Dean’s shoulder, furious, jaw ticking with anger, muscles tense beneath Dean's palm.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, please, John?” Dean tries again, quieter, putting some pressure into his touch, and John finally tears his gaze away from Sam, eyes softening just a little as looks at Dean.

“Oh, it’s John, now, is it? God, I don’t know who’s more deluded, him for thinking this is okay or you for thinking you actually want this! I’m so sick of both of you!”

Dean recoils at the words, from John, from Sam, and when he finally turns to face his brother, hurt in his eyes, and says ‘c’mon Sammy, you don’t mean that’, so quietly, Sam almost – almost – seems to feel bad, his scowl softening, eyes going wide. It has the opposite effect on John, though, anger flaring, shoulder squaring, as he bellows “You wanna leave so fuckin’ bad, boy? Take your shit and go. Go to Stanford, live a normal life. But you leave now, you don’t come back, you hear me?”

Dean tries his hardest not to flinch, at the words, at the sudden determination in Sam’s eyes.

“Fine by me! You just keep living your backwater hillbilly fantasy, ruin him some more, tell yourself it’s okay. See if I fuckin’ care,” Sam yells back as he shoulders his duffel, slings his backpack over the other shoulder.

“Sam, c’mon,” Dean tries again, hovering uncertainly, itching to stop his brother from leaving but not quite daring to move.

“Sam,” Dean implores when Sam reaches for the door handle and while there’s a slight halt in the movement, it doesn’t stop his brother from opening the door. Dean tenses when fingers curl around his wrist, John’s voice low in his ear a moment later. “Let him go, son. He made his choice.”

Sam doesn’t look back when he walks out, the door falling shut behind him with a heavy thud. The silence feels suffocating, makes Dean swallow against the lump in his throat. John’s fingers are still on his wrist, a light touch that should ground him, would ground him in any other situation, the slight stroke of thumb against his pulse point.

He wrenches his hand free, rubs at the skin as if he could chase John’s touch away. He’s feeling untethered, his whole life upended with the slam of the door, a constant removed, just like that.

“Dean.”

“I need a minute,” Dean manages to choke out, stumbling over the words, stumbling away from the looming presence of his father and out into the dark.

Part of him hopes to find Sam still outside, sitting on the porch, on the curb, but there’s only darkness and rain, cold and damp, and God, he wishes they weren’t staying in this god-forsaken residential area with nothing around them for miles, wishes he was at a motel, a truck stop, somewhere with a bar around.

But here, there’s nothing, no people, no bar, no Sam. Just trees, a rotting porch and darkness. He sinks down on the steps of the porch, the rain only hitting his shoes and legs, fat drops that soak through his jeans.

He couldn’t care less.

He takes a deep breath, releases it again in a shudder, his breath forming a cloud in the cold. He wonders if Sam really meant it, if he’s really sick of them to the point where he can’t even stand being around them anymore. If the boy he’d raised, the boy he’d carried out of their burning home on unsteady feet, can’t look him in the eye anymore, can’t accept what living this life has made of their family.

And Dean knows he should feel bad about what he's doing with John, for loving his father too much, that it’s dirtybadwrong for anyone who doesn’t know this life, their circumstances, how Dean has always been more of a partner than a son.

Sam knows all of this, first hand, and he still doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to understand.

It hurts more than anything ever has, claws at his insides, makes him feel raw and ripped open and he quickly runs a hand over his face when his eyes well up. He’s not going to cry, not over this.

Fuck Sam and his high and mighty attitude, he thinks, and his brain cheers, but his heart keeps aching regardless.

The door opens, closes softly, heavy footsteps that stop just behind him.

“It’s raining,” John says as he sinks down beside Dean on the steps, the old wood creaking ominously under their combined weight.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, keeping his eyes on the ground, the patchy grass in the front yard, the muddy puddles forming in the spaces between.

They sit in silence for a while and Dean lets John’s presence soothe his nerves, lets his warmth seep into him where their shoulders touch. He’s thankful, for once, that they don’t talk about shit like feelings. They are Winchesters after all, stoic and focused, with no room for something as pesky as emotions.

Dean releases a shaky breath when a big hand settles heavily at the back of his neck, squeezing softly. He bites his lip against the tears surging up again, the sharp point of pain enough to keep them at bay. “C’mon, back inside.” The low rumble of John’s voice is comforting, something that bypasses his brain and goes straight to relaxing his body.

“Yeah,” he breathes, soft, as he follows John in rising, grimacing at the feel of wet jeans sticking to his legs. It’s uncomfortable, like the whole evening has been. And he’s so ready for it to be over, for all of this to be over, for John and him to get into the Impala and just drive, hunting whatever comes their way and forget about Sam.

Not tonight though. John has been drinking, he can smell it on him when he follows him inside, their shit isn’t packed and it’s coming down in sheets outside. Tonight, they are not going anywhere. Tonight, they are stuck here, in this ramshackle house with the memory of Sam haunting the space.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” John says, as if reading his mind, and Dean is glad he doesn’t need to ask for this, doesn’t need to ask to get away from this place.

He follows John up the stairs, to the bedrooms, where they each had their own, a rare luxury. John doesn’t say anything when Dean hovers in the door to his room, doesn’t ask for him to join him in John’s, doesn’t push.

“Night,” is the only thing he says, quietly, before he disappears into the bedroom, leaving Dean alone in the hall. Dean’s eyes linger on the door across from his, the room where Sam slee- used to sleep, and his teeth dig into his lip again, the flesh already sore, the pain a welcome distraction.

His bedroom is dark safe for a sliver of moonlight through the curtain, finding its way between heavy cloud as the rain momentarily lets up. He sinks onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, toes off his boots, then peels the wet jeans down his legs. His calves are clammy, cold, and he shivers in the cool air, mind still whirling.

Did Sam really hate him that much for finding comfort, love in his life? Did he really think he-

Dean clamps down on the thought, forces it back. Fuck Sam. The thought is foreign, forced, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He strips out of the rest of his clothes, slips into his sleep shirt, one of John’s old USMC shirts that still hangs long on his frame.

He eyes his bed, the lumpy pillow, the ugly comforter with the stupid roses.

It’s not even a conscious decision to leave his room, pad down the hall to the door that’s left slightly ajar. “Dad?”

There’s rustling in the dark, like John’s turning over to face the door.

“C’mere,” John says, one hand lifting the sheets for Dean to climb in. Dean hovers for just a second before crossing the distance and sliding under the sheets, fitting himself to John’s body until he can’t tell anymore when one ends and the other begins.

It reminds him of simpler times, when he was just a boy, climbing into his dad’s bed to escape a bad dream, letting his father hold him until his mind quieted down.

There’s a hand softly running through his hair now, the other resting just lightly on his belly. It’s warm and comfortable and familiar and for the first time since Sam had whipped out that stupid envelope, Dean begins to relax.

“Do you really think he hates-,” Dean starts after a while, not even sure if John is still awake, letting his words trail off into the dark. John tightens the arm around him, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “No,” he answers, a puff of warm air against Dean’s skin, and he sounds so sure that Dean can almost believe it.

#angst #deanjohn #johndean #sam knows #writing #asks #ami answers #ami writes #sorry this took so long #hope you like it #liddellhart #why do y'all always hit me with the angst

24 notes · View notes

seancekitsch · 3 years

Text

I was Never Young: A Klaus x Reader fic

Anyways uhhh heres my fic based on the Klaus spin off series!! I made sure not to really spoil anything in the series if u guys haven't finished it yet but it does take place after the series events. there's no smut which is weird for me bc i usually write just smut but like yolo this is where it went.

Klaus had been through the ringer. Los Angeles seems to just be more of the same, so why even leave home? Right, he’d been kicked out and cut off. Well, at least one of those problems has disappeared, he thinks as he pats the ugly little satchel full of money at the side of his hip.

He meanders down the street, no real direction or motive as he shuffles down. The diazepine is starting to wear off, and he’s going to need something to dull the corners of his mind in about an hour. A neon green sign draws his eyes, looks as sick as he’s about to be.

‘Cobra’s’ the sign says, and this one is probably as good as any.

The bar has exactly six people inside of it, he realizes as he pushes the door open. It’s hazy, full of the stale and welcoming scent of menthol tobacco. Perfect, Klaus thinks.

The bartender is a stern looking man, like he used to be a wrestler. Maybe this is what Luther or Diego will look like in thirty years if they don’t eat their wheaties.

There are two other men sitting in a booth by the corner, deep in conversation with one another. They’re boring suits, no one that Klaus could have for company. He’s just looking for someone alive to have a conversation with while he numbs himself. Someone alive, he clarifies to himself. His last friend left for heaven’s greener pastures, which he’s happy for him, but maybe the guy could have stuck around on this plane of existence for a weekend longer.

There’s a couple at the end of the bar that looks like they're on a date. In the middle of the day? Wonder if their spouses know they aren't at work. Klaus laughs out loud, poor bastards.

And then there's you, with your mixed drink, absentmindedly swirling it with your little stirrer. You seem like a safe bet, so his feet drag him over to sit down at the middle of the bar near you. He more or less throws himself into the chair, his feet immediately feeling the relief. He’s still clammy and feverish in the come down, his stomach hurts, but that’s nothing a little booze and sugar can’t help.

You notice the guy as soon as he walks in. Of course you do. After a few years, you start to recognize people even if you don’t know them. You don’t recognize him. He looks paranoid, fresh off a set and worried about what a job will do, for and to him. Poor thing. Probably one of those River Phoenix types. Young, pretty, and overwhelmed. In teen mags one day, in the obituaries the next. All preventable, hundreds of people that could step in if money meant more than the people around you.

“Hey,” the guy next to you greets you, his voice uneven, watery and cautious. His hands shake a little as he pulls a stack of cash out of his threadbare satchel, pulling a few bills from the rubberband holding it together and flattening them out against the bar.

“Hey, yourself. You new here?” He looks surprised as the words leave your lips, but is interrupted by the bartender approaching.

“Yeah, whatever that special is for today, that’ll do,” he orders like he doesn't really know what to do at the bar. He turns back to you, looking ever so boyish and lost with his big green eyes.

“How did you-?”

“How did I know you're new here?” You throw the rest of your drink back, carelessly placing it at the far end of the bar from you, “Because you don't look absolutely beaten down. I mean, you look a little twitchy, but you look fresh.”

Fresh? That’s not at all how Klaus would describe his look, having not slept in days and having been using an extreme amount of controlled substances, even for his standards.

The bartender slides a glass towards him, and he scrambles to catch it. There’s a total of two umbrellas, a flamingo stirrer, and two straws in it. In all, garish and hard to look at. The bartender takes the money, and they nod at each other.

“You look kinda young to be here,” with that remark, Klaus takes a long sip of the fruity cocktail he ordered, a sickening blue color so intense you bet it could substitute as hair dye.

“You do too,” you quip. You’d been working in this town for a few years now, on and off movie sets and bartending clubs with live acts. This boy? He looked fresh. Like he’s just been taken for his first ride. He looked rough and unused to it.

“How old are you?” he asks, he can’t place your age or accent. You look just as young as him, if not younger. You sound southern- Boston- Chicago- western and somewhere European he can’t place. Is that what Hollywood does to people's speech patterns? Is that gonna happen to him? But you seem to be as much an anomaly here as he does.

“How old are you?” you mimic back.

Klaus stares in awe as you rest your elbow against the bar, making sure he sees that as you snap your fingers, a cigarette materializes between them. You quickly shift the rolled tobacco to rest between your index and middle finger, ready to place it against your lips.

“Listen, I’m old enough.” That's all you have to say about that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Sometimes I think I was never young.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, the hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, alright.” You fish around in your jacket pocket for the lighter and ask, “Do you wanna get out of here? Only smoking bar in town, but it ain’t got hotdogs.”

Hotdogs, Klaus thinks, He remembers having sausage back home, but he’s never had a hotdog.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? You never been to a baseball game or something?”

He shook his head, no. Klaus hadn’t ever seen a baseball game. He knew the history of it, the impact it had on American society. All from a very clinical and academic standpoint. Sports weren’t really his thing.

“Nah, I always preferred activities with a bit more... uh, substance.” He laughs at his own joke, whether you get it or not really doesn’t matter.

“Right, right. So River, what’s your real name?” You talk with the cigarette but between your teeth, lighting it quickly, before the lighter in your hand vanishes from sight.

“It’s….. uh, It’s Klaus.”

You give him your name, and he repeats it, tests the name out on his tongue.

You take a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

“So Klaus, wanna buy us some hotdogs?”

You leave as soon as he finishes his drink, and he talks in a way that he thinks might be too much. But you listen. You’re the first living person that’s actually listened to what he had to say since he got here. He asks about you, your story, but he doesn’t get as much as he wants. You like your smoking, you’re a special effects designer, you dropped out of high school to come out here, and you fucking love Alonzo’s hotdogs.

“Hey ‘Lonzo!” you shout, interrupting Klaus mis sentence, raising both arms above your head, the baggy sleeves of your jacket falling closer to your elbows.

“How’s my kid doin?” The man shouts back. A tall man, with heavy brows and a mustache. “And who’s this?”

“My friend Klaus here just directed a movie! With Vivian Clarke, and the kid’s never had a hotdog! Can you believe it!” Your footfalls come quicker, starting to jog as you clear the end of the block, Klaus starts to shuffle quicker to catch up. When he gets to see the man up close. clear chocolate brown eyes greet him. He looks pretty trustworthy, Klaus thinks, Like Santa Claus, or John Stamos. Basically, like anyone but Dad or Viv.

Alonzo asks all about Klaus’ recent accomplishment, not exactly something he wants to talk about, but he likes that Alonzo is genuinely curious and polite. The only thing you say is “extra relish, on both. Big shot director pays.” during the conversation, focusing more on finishing your cigarette and stubbing it out with the toe of your boot. Klaus looks down and the cigarette butt leaves no trace on the concrete.

“So back there,” he says as you wait for your dogs to be handed over, “That cigarette business, are you a magician?”

“Nah,” you say, not fully meeting his gaze, “I’m a Libra.”

You nod at the guy as he finally pulls the dogs over the edge of the cart he operates. Extra relish, just like you asked. When he places the hotdog in Klaus’ hands, the redhead’s eyes go wide. Guess he wasn’t kidding about never having relish, you think.

“Huh,” he starts, dumbfounded by the hunk of grease and meat and relish in his hands, “I’m a Libra too, actually.”

“Guess that’s something about balance or something,” you say, effectively ending the conversation again by opening your mouth as wide as you can to accommodate the sheer mass of one of Alonzo’s hotdogs.

He looks at the meal, his first and probably only for today, and then takes your lead, opening his mouth as wide as he can before finally chomping down on a huge bite of it. The bite is… heavenly. Pickled vegetables and chutneys exploding on his tastebuds, the coolness of it contrasting with the fresh off the grill meat. No offense to mom or Pogo, but none of their cooking could ever hold a candle to this street hotdog.

“Good, yeah?” Your voice, distorted by a mouth full of food, breaks his almost nirvana like trance.

“So good,” he tries to say, mouth just as full as yours. He finishes chewing, swallows with a huge gulp.

“You got any more food spots to show me?”

#my work #klaus hargreeves x reader

81 notes · View notes

secretaryunpaid · 3 years

Text

I think I wanna Marry you (part 2)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,000 approx (what can I say, I love Love)

Warning: Lot’s of sex, it’s their wedding night !!!

~~~~~ The Grandhotel Pupp, Czech Republic ~~~~~

“Abiento, Sra. Dalton.”

“Excuse you, I’m no Dalton ...”

“My apologies Sra., then perhaps I should presume you to be a guest of Sr. Samuel Dalton’s party.”

“I’m Sra. Dalton’s aunt, but that wouldn’t be any of your business now would it?”

“Sincere apologies. I didn’t wish to offend... Please, let me take care of your stay to make this up to you. I own the hotel, and just wanted to be hospitable to our esteemed guests.”

After allowing him to do as he stated, taking his card as requested should she require anything further, Dahlia’s Aunt Marilyn finally met up with her older sister Patricia, explaining her delay... very much to Patricia’s disbelief.

Marilyn continues... “Well, I wouldn’t mind a free stay in the hotel... He was so insistent, I wasn’t going to admit that I have a home here... Let’s take full advantage of the spa and other amenities... We can question our Dahlia a bit more about this billionaire boyfriend turned husband a bit later. It’s a good thing we talked to Riley isn’t it... Dahlia will be very surprised to see us...”

~~~~~ The Greeting, Take 2 ~~~~~

Having received word of their helicopter arrival, he makes his way quickly to the front desk to greet his most influential guest. “Anton Edison, welcome to my hotel Mr. & Mrs. Dalton... I’d like to personally invite you to my Casino in Monaco as my private guests... Consider it my wedding gift to you, along with this stay being my compliments... (Both Sam and Dahlia look as if this is some sort of prank until he assures them otherwise, giving Sam his personal Exclusive Contact card.) ... No pressure, just please let me know, should you decide to take me up on my offer. Enjoy your stay!”

As introductions conclude, Anton returns to his private office, pondering if the couple will actually take them up on his generosity... He must have an answer prior to his and their departure from this hotel... An impromptu dinner or meeting will just have to occur... This opportunity will not pass him over... it is crucial that he succeed.

Anxious to start this “Dalton’s love story” he has planned, he practically drags his bride to the private paternoster... But he is respectful of Anton’s hospitality, only kissing her teasingly as the ascent to their room begins. The second wedding had Sam feeling that not only the ceremony deserved a do over.

Once in their room, Sam insists that Dahlia shower, telling her that he wants to make preparations for dinner before joining her... wanting it to be a surprise, and pleading with her through kisses to allow him his way this once.

Setting up his “surprise” with lightning speed, having pre-planned everything down to the last word. He joins her in the shower, totally distracting her mind to prevent any questions as to what he was up to.

After getting properly dressed for this wondrous evening planned, Sam slips out to take his position just before she comes out adjusting her jewelry... looking up to find Sam looking like a lost Cupid ... which puts a deep smile on her face...

“First, I have the infused chocolates... to heighten our mood...”

“Next, I’ve poured the champagne... You know ... to get the tickles in your mouth before I taste those lips...” She closes her eyes, looking away from the playfulness. When she turns back, Sam is holding a rose between his teeth and a sign... resulting in her audible face palm...

“More lovemaking? After we just completed that and got all dressed up? But we’ve got the whole stay... And I must tell you love, that although it feels brand new each time... (she whispers, hand against face) It’s no longer an unexpected surprise!”

“Ah, just teasing... but you’ll be asking for this sign again very shortly...”

“Sam, truly what’s going on?” He looks at the sign, rolling his eyes at the oversight...

“Oh shit, I am showing the wrong side... Let me try that once more... “

“Marry me woman !!!? Please... I can’t live without you...”

“What happened to going down on one knee, Sam?” (Finally understanding what Sam has been trying to do all of this time...)

“Oh baby, I’ll do you one better and go down on you on both knees... Come here, and let me plead for you to marry me... Lick by lick!”

“I’ve still got it!” He teases her, reminding him of the first time he chose to propose... both agreeing that it truly wasn’t the best time... Her reminding him of how romantically unplanned the second proposal was, but truth be told, this is the one she would have ugly cried through before devouring him. “Love, you could never be ugly... no matter what you do.”

After giving it much thought, Sam sent a text to Anton, stating, “Monaco sounds fun, and my wife is anxious to take in the best that Monaco has to offer! Look forward to meeting with you again!”

~~~~~ Rewind to the Wedding Night ~~~~~

Running a single finger down her sternum, lightly pinching her breasts, tracing her sides until his hands meet her hips, he whispers his plans for her tonight.

Tonight, he’ll be taking her as his wife, not a woman whose affections he has been chasing for support or desire. Tonight… the heights of pleasure he is planning to drag her through will be on a much higher level, knowing her instinctual resistance will only stimulate his drive even more.

He seductively teases her as hidden as possible as they sway through their first dance of the night. Yes, their coming together after their first joining to one another as husband and wife was ethereal and stitched him to her in a way he didn’t think possible again. But this marriage… before family and friends … permanently enclosed his heart with hers in his eyes.

She’d never looked more beautiful on any other day. He was blessed to lay eyes upon her. As he traced the outline of her lips, he imagined them encapsulating his length. Envisioning her teasing his scrotum… drawing shivers from him as her small fingers glide along his pubic hairs, reaching his hips… inducing the assisted gyration within her drooling mouth… increasing her hold with her perfect tongue pressure… inciting satisfied groans…

“Babe, open your eyes… You’re groaning out loud,” she laughs… “Thinking about us, are you?”

His slow kiss gives all the response she needs. He releases her, twirling her around, capturing her back into his embrace … Her back pressed to his chest as he grinds into her the way he’d wished he could privately, but in a way that was respectful to onlookers… if there is such a thing… But, soon his restraint falters… He wants his wife to know his full desire.

Dragging her over to the microphone, he makes an announcement that he and his bride need a few private moments, “Please enjoy the Cristal, music and cake… We hope to return to the celebration, but don’t be too upset if we happened not to… Mom… Dad... twin duty? Thank you everyone…” All Dahlia can do is wave briefly before he lifts her, practically running with her as the crowd’s laughter quickly faded in the distance…

Unable to hold back any further, he finds a secluded corner, lowering her down to her feet… turning her against the wall, dropping to his knees and covering himself under her gown… tasting her already overflowing desire… her head pressing hard into the brick, uncaring of its grittiness.

His constant lapping of her center draws out an uncharacteristic lisp as she whispers her scream of his name. Needing her against him, he stands, hurriedly exposing his overpowering erection, burying it so excitedly into her that it causes her to seemingly climb the wall… both now burning with a need uncontrolled, insatiable, moving with a building friction that brings her love sounds repeatedly … now fueling his own sounds in answer…

“Sam, I need you covering me … Room! Now!” Reluctantly he withdraws, pulling her away from the wall… both now in an excited sprint … Their room is still much too far away to reach … Their growing need for satisfaction overcomes them, so they maintain connection through touch and short kisses.

Coming across cleaning staff, Sam brings them to a near missed stop at her side. “Excuse me Miss… Do you have a room available like, right now! Dahlia buries her face in his neck from sheer embarrassment as he pulls out his wallet. The staff takes notice of their attire and, without hesitation, opens the door out of which she just exited.

Quickly handing her what could easily been over five grand, he carries Dahlia in hurriedly, kicking the door closed, reaching up to put the additional lock on

Now desperately searching her dress for any means to remove it .. feeling way too impatient, he rips it down her back side… to her shock. “Sam !!! It had a zipper !!!” “Can’t wait,” he says as his tongue spirals along her bare skin… already moving out of his own clothes… When he spins her around, both are completely free of clothing…

He pulls her to the bed’s edge, kissing, groping… moaning … Switching positions, he now stands behind her, pushing her into a bend, entering her before he hardens even more … Her gripping of the sheets and muffled whimpers spur his rapid thrusts, her ass clapping against his frame … He grips her hips, ramming himself deep as her walls swallow him repeatedly ...

“Too? … Rough?,” is his broken question… Her throaty, “No… Harder !!,” sends an excitement through him. Before she realizes, she is flush against the mattress with him closing her legs inside of his … Now situated atop her ass, driving deeply, slapping her cheeks before laying against her backside … stroking roughly as she returns his thrust … his hands gripping her hair, marking his territory with such vessel shattering kisses, she claws his ass, spurring him even further still…

“Yes, ba-by… Yesss!,” she hisses. He continues this way until his need to see how she is enjoying him causes his withdrawal, her audible disappointment and turning to pull him back to her proving more than any vision of her clenched eyes could prove…

She all but snatches him back onto her. His rushed entry draws out the sound of pain… He stops, but she moves against him… “No, Sam … Don’t stop!” Driving even deeper still, his forceful movements back her up into the headboard, but she opens herself to him as wide as she could, separating her legs in a lifted grip… her own nails practically piercing her skin…

Sam grips the headboard, determined to send every ounce of his longing through her … Soon they both are screaming each other’s name... her orgasm cascading pleasurably over his slowing strokes… but he withdraws, both watching his seed flow against her mound … spreading it until nearly dried.

Leaning to her ear, Sam whispers, “I’m not ending this night this early … I won’t cum inside you until you beg me to …” Her desperate kiss, tongue pulling, and lip biting, provides her approval … “Let’s get to our room now. I have so many pleasures in store for you tonight, my love,” ending his confession in another sensual breathtaking kiss …

Chests heaving, he pulls her to the pile of clothes on the floor … Realizing now that there is no way she can put her dress back on, they both snicker over his previous over excitement, which is quickly escalating at the bounce of her breasts as she laughs.

“It’s okay… I’ll hold it in place somehow.”

“Here, put my suit coat over it.”

He peers out of the doors, seeing the cleaning staff giving a bashful smile… “Okay, let’s get out of here…” Pulling her yet again in another sprint, her dress catches, almost exposing her… Sam scoops her up, kissing her, steadfast in their rush to reach their room … Shaking her head and covering her lips in a slight grin, the woman enters to clean the room once again. Totally surprised at how disheveled the room had been left in such a short stay.

Now inside, heading towards the elevator, he sees a group of frustrated guests, implying that the elevator has kept them waiting. They give each other a defeated look, but soon Sam sees another cleaning cart… They both nod in agreement, and soon he is rounding the corner.

“Excuse me!... Excuse me!” The gentleman stops pushing the cart of soiled linen to address them… “Is there a private elevator or staff lift?” Noting Dahlia’s clothing dilemma and marriage attire, he leads them to the corner elevator. “It takes a key to operate, so I’ll have to escort you…”

“FINE!!!” Both laugh, as the man shakes his head knowingly. Pulling her into the furthest corner of the elevator, Sam lowers her, taking a protective stand in front of his wife’s exposed frame. He removes his wallet, taking out another wad, handing it hurriedly to the staffer. Quickly standing to his side, speaking in a whisper, the gentleman clears his throat in understanding.

Sam steps back to Dahlia, with her immediately tugging his shoulder down to inquire of the words spoken to the man. Turning, Sam lowers his head to her ear saying that he told him to forget what he was about to hear. And with that, he was falling to his knees, kissing his way up her calves, knees, thighs… until he reached her… “OH !!!” … center... covered with her dress yet again. She fought for quiet, failing miserably.

For each floor the elevator was forced to stop on, the staffer would wave the incoming staffer away, hurriedly pressing for the doors to close. Sam peers from under her dress, realizing he never told what floor, but the staffer said, “We’ll reach the honeymoon suite shortly Mr. Dalton. I mean, sir !!” With that, he's back under the layers of dress once again, Dahlia gasping in the best efforts at silenced pleasure as she could. Once the elevator chimes it’s final time, the staffer steps out to clear the hallway of possible guests to avoid further exposure… “All clear, but not for-”

“Ooooh, Sam!!! Yessss !!”

Clearing his throat loudly, the bride and groom take the hint, Sam carrying her down the hallway hurriedly once again, Dahlia burying her head in his chest. Shaking his head with a smirk, the staffer enters the elevator, understanding their “rush” with familiarity. Planning out his use of the $10K amnesia payment… wondering how many more private elevator rides will be needed with a hearty laugh.

Finally inside their honeymoon suite, Dahlia leaps from Sam’s arms, now tearing his clothing free, lowering herself to his engulfed member, teasingly drawing his deep inhales, her hair now being ruffled into a knotted mess… holding him assisted as her strength allows against his pelvis, she works him desperately, hungrily pleasing him to no end… until he unloads … She allows him to watch her take every drop…

“Perfection !!!” He pulls her into his lustful kiss, then holds her, forehead to forehead, hearts beating erratically. Neither satisfied, both expecting a totally sleepless night.

“Mrs. Dalton…”

“Yes, Mr. Dalton…”

“I’m going to eat you alive! But first…”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s hydrate !!!”

Both break into laughter, heading over to the chilled champagne, walking over with the bucket and glasses, lowering themselves into the jacuzzi. Sam guided her between his legs so that he could hold her tenderly, pouring their first drink of the night.

“Sam, I don’t think this really counts as hydration…”

“Then we’ll just have to keep drinking each other,” he says with hunger building in his eyes yet again. “You know this is your fault for putting me on hiatus until tonight?...”

She smiles into his lips … “I’m not complaining one bit, though…” Her lips now making a heated trail down his center, coupled with an enticing tongue flicker…

By checkout, there is a mess of wax and torn sheets strewn throughout, in the midst of empty bottles, lost lingerie, and a note with a generous tip left for the cleaning crew… The words written:

“Off to our honeymoon! Our deepest apologies for the … yeah !!! The Daltons … Please let us know if jacuzzi replacement costs are required.” … Sam’s signature on the back of his business card.

“Nope, consider this celebration’s damage on the house, lol” She didn’t think her tip last night could get any better, but after her shift, she’s off to shop for her new car. “Come again!,” she exclaims, laughing at the happenings that must have gone on in this room ...

#@Becoming Mrs. Dalton #@secretaryunpaid #@TNA

19 notes · View notes