#probably was a less horrific way for him to be warned in a dream that he and his loved ones are in danger

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Daniel/Max

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We've had a couple of Maxiel related asks recently so thought this was the perfect time to get a general list together! :)

nsfw: give, give, take by hungerpunch and thermocline | E | 3.7k

PWP in which transmasc Max tops Daniel for the first time. This PWP is so hot your circuit board may be in danger, fair warning. The characterisations and dialogue are great, Daniel with terrible "sexy" lines and Max a little surprised but very willing to give it to Daniel when he asks for it. I really like how Max's (probably pretty understandable) expectations of Daniel are subverted by the request.

Daniel props himself up on a forearm, cradling his chin in his hand. “Maybe, but—” he affects what he probably thinks is a sultry moue. “—when are you gonna get me on your strap, though?” Max can’t help the way his eyes widen. They’ve been fucking long enough that he supposes it’s not weird of Daniel to ask, but normally the type of men he attracts aren't as… self-possessed about busting it open. He goes from vaguely tired and mellow to wide awake and horny in less than a second; his body suddenly more electricity than muscle. "Uhh," he thinks aloud, his mouth buffering a beat slower than his brain, "... now?"

wish you away in my dreams by @vicsy | M | 7.5k

This is a stunning story, that, through the medium of Max and Daniel's relationship, examines the concept of fear, loss, and misplaced emotions. Everything this writer shares is stunning, but I particularly loved the use of imagery in this one. Beautiful!

Before him, Daniel’s form is incandescent in a golden glimmer, his unruly curls illuminated like a halo around his head. It pulls a punched-out breath out of Max’s lungs. He’ll rip the reconciliation from out of his soul if he has to, he’ll race it to the end, do what he does best, not a drop of fear tipping the scales against him this time.

nsfw: Through the Ages by Bells33 and Whippasnappa | E | 9k

A beautiful examination of Daniel and Max over the years, from 2017 to 2023. Brilliant writing and incredible graphics are interspersed with facts and figures, and it makes for a truly special read.

And here’s the thing; when Daniel laughs, it makes Max laugh too. So they’re laughing, and Daniel is helping Max extricate himself from the table where it’s folded in a bit and grabbed him like a snappy crocodile. And then there’s just this fucking moment where Max is finally upright, they’re stood way too close, inches apart, and he’s still holding on to Max’s arms for some reason. They're the same height, now. Daniel can’t remember when that happened. One moment, he’d been taller than Max. And now, Max meets him directly eye to eye.

nsfw: tender is my heart by @missyourflight | E | 10.6k

This is a Never Let Me Go AU. Daniel works in a cafe by sea. One day, a man walks in and orders a meal. Daniel can tell there is something strange about him, but isn't sure quite what. Eventually, he learns that Max is a clone, created to be an organ donor. This fic is atmospheric, sad, and explores the horrific ethics of the situation Max has been born into. He has been conditioned since birth to accept and embrace his fate - that one day, his organs will be harvested and he will die so that others may live. Daniel is horrified but is fighting against a lifetime of indoctrination to make Max see why.

“Because I thought you were a fucking – closeted Mormon, not –” “I told you I was a donor, you could have asked me to explain, you could have asked me –” “Explain it now, then!” Daniel explodes. “Fucking go on and tell me, Max, I’m all ears.” When Mr Gianpiero had explained it to them, before he was sent away from Hailsham, he’d said, not unkindly and quite clearly, so they understood, “You’re not people, not legally. Your bodies are not your own.” And he’d told them the truth, about the donations. About how long they’d get. “It’s what I’m for,” Max says, the only explanation he has. “It’s not,” Daniel says, grabbing Max’s hands in his. “This –” They’re moving together, as close as they can get, their foreheads pressed against each other, salt on both their faces, and Max feels it, the way he feels it every time Daniel touches him, the rightness of it: this is what his body is for. “This is so fucked,” Daniel says, and it hits Max like ice water. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he says, and when he steps back Daniel doesn’t reach for him again.

nsfw: caught you coming alive by anonymous | E | 17.9k

This is a dystopian future AU in which people are matched by computer before marrying. They meet their matches while blindfolded and are expected to have sex to determine if they're physically attracted and compatible. Daniel is disillusioned and cynical about the process after years of failed matches. It's Max's first time. The ache of loneliness around Daniel is palpable, and Max's guilelessness is completely in character. Max is carrying the baggage of family expectations. Their connection is natural and immediate. The worldbuilding of the story is deft and elegant and never detracts from the character work. Also, it takes a very talented author to write double-blindfolded smut.

His hand is still resting against the inside of Daniel’s bicep, and he inhales like he’s preparing for something. It is so quiet for so long that Max almost asks if Daniel wants to stop. But then they are in motion again and his fingers travel across the crook of his elbow again to the top of his forearm. “I have a little cupid here,” and the Max’s hand is only there for a moment before it’s on the move again, down, “and a bit of love underneath him. In case he needs a boost.” There is a crack, minute, and so quiet Max wonders if he only heard it because he can’t see. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed the hitch in Daniel’s voice if he was too caught up staring at his face or tracing tattoos he can only shape in his head. But it’s there. Breaking around the word love and not quite putting itself back together by the time he’s finished speaking. Max wishes he could see him, if only to lean in to kiss him without risking a black eye for them both. “And to round off the top half of the tour, we have my beautiful rose.” Daniel’s light, teasing tone is back, and he has laced their hands together, Max’s right in Daniel’s left. “If you just do this,” and he rubs his thumb across the top of Max’s hand, “you might feel it. No thorns to worry about.”

nsfw: glory, from a high rise by @yekoc | E | 24.3k

Another AU, this one featuring Daniel as a bartender and Max as a troubled finance worker who tries to drink (and fuck) his sorrows away. This is one of the first maxiel fics I ever read. It's kind of a greatest hit in Maxiel fandom to the point where I wondered if I should even rec it. But the chance of someone new coming along to the pairing and missing out on this masterpiece is one I can't bear to take. Max's sadness and self-punishment in this story is crushing, and his emotional unavailability makes this relationship's early stages very difficult. Daniel is emotionally mature enough to protect himself and be realistic and clear about what he wants and needs in a partner. It's a long journey for them (and us), but absolutely worth it.

He couldn’t look at Daniel. Daniel didn’t need to apologize; Max knew what he wanted was fucked up, something desperate and out of his control. With Daniel sometimes it had felt better, like it was something okay; like he was good. But Max got it. Daniel wanted a—a boyfriend, someone he took home and went out to dinner with and introduced to his family at Christmas. He was thirty. His friends had families. Daniel deserved that too. He would be good at it.

nsfw: one step closer and i'm real by whichisgolden | E | 24.7k

Max time travels through different universes and falls in love with every version of Daniel. I loved the ending so much (and I won't spoil it but it's absolutely adorable). I also loved the characterization of both Max and Daniel, it felt so real!

“Daniel kissed the side of his face, his eyebrow. “If I did choose,” he said, haltingly. “If I wanted to come back, and what you’re saying is right and you got zapped away into another dimension— I don’t think there’s any universe where I wouldn’t want to do this with you. All Daniel Ricciardos want to kiss you.” Max opened one eye. “What if I have the defective one?” Daniel burst into laughter. “I think we’re all defective, actually. That’s why we like you.” “Okay, shut up.” Max wrestled him down on the couch to kiss him, and then they had to go celebrate.

Anonymous by @boxboxbrioche | M | 26.4k

This fic is partially told through emails & social media messages, and takes place in a parallel-canon 2022 season, where F1 has taken some PR hits because the drivers are constantly getting into fights. The FIA hires an expert public relations manager, who has some... creative solutions, including an anonymous messaging feature between drivers. Every part of this makes me smile: the warm, dry humour, the perfect characterisation & Maxiel dynamic, the PR shenanigans... and, of course, the "anonymous" messages. It feels like a love letter to online friendships, not just anonymous ones - celebrating how you can be your honest self and share what you might not share with people irl (and, if you're Max and Daniel, fall in love all over again in the process!)

P.S. - A big congratulations to Roscoe Hamilton for signing on for a new modelling contract, showing off a range of very fashionable luxury dog jackets. Although the adage goes - ‘never work with children or animals’ - I do sometimes wonder if it would be easier on both counts.

nsfw: there was always warmth between us by @freeuselandonorris | E | 32.1k

Max brings a sex toy to a race and Daniel inevitably finds it. What ensues is rising sexual tension and tiptoeing around each other. I really liked this fic for how it made this single event, Daniel finding Max’s toy, into a deeper story with rising tension and a lot of humanness. I think that was my favourite part about it, how human both this Max and Daniel are, even within the context of sex. The character development was a lot of fun to read and made the pay off even more worth it!

Dan smiles at him in an unfocused sort of way, his hand brushing against Max’s knuckles. Max twitches. Is he doing it on purpose? He glances at Dan’s face but finds it inscrutable.

nsfw: come on, star boy by @yekoc | E | 42k

A high school football AU of Max and Daniel! Featuring past Brocedes and a little bit of angst with Jos being a sucky dad. They live in Alabama and it explores their story in high school love! I loved the writing style so much! I feel like high school AUs are also not super common in the F1 fandom, so it was so nice reading it!

“Do you miss it?” Daniel asks. “Not school, I mean. Soccer. Football.” “Yes,” Max says. He draws his feet up onto the seat and wraps his arms around his legs, chin on his knees. The strap of the seat belt pulls against his broad shoulders. It can’t be very comfortable. Daniel can’t get his head around it, that Max and his dad moved all the way to what, to fucking nowhere Alabama, so that he could play football instead of soccer; so that he could grab hold of some faint trail towards stardom.

nsfw: right where you left me by TheNorthRemembers | E | 54k

It's 2018, and Daniel and Max are driving for Red Bull. It's the Azerbaijan GP, and the inevitable crash happens. Max goes to sleep, but once he wakes up–he finds that he's in a time loop. This is my favorite time loop fic ever! "It's race day" quotes haunt me in my sleep in the best way possible, and the fic delves so much into Daniel leaving Red Bull and how Max deals with it.

All Max can do is stare, his heart beating so hard, he can feel it in his voice as he speaks. “You are leaving.” How are they supposed to be together if Daniel is leaving? If he hates racing with Max so much that he wants to give up his seat with Red Bull, his chance at winning, at winning it all. How can they- He never says ‘I love you’ but he just called Max a child, he just said he’d leave. And what the fuck does that say about them? About Daniel’s feelings for Max? “I’m doing what is best for my career,” Daniel says, like that means anything at all.

this list was compiled by @lydia-petze, @boxboxbrioche, @maaxverstappen, @blueballsracing, @singsweetmelodies

#driver:max #driver:daniel #pairing:daniel/max

[after-witch]

It Came from Outer Space [Mahito x Reader]

Title: It Came from Outer Space [Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You know it’s wrong. You’re not naive or stupid. You’re fucking a curse. What could be more screwed up than that?

Word count: 2886

notes: Dubcon sex, afab genital noncon body modification, Mahito is his own warning uhh.

It’s wrong. You know that. You’re not stupid. You’re not naive. You know that you’re doing something reprehensible; on a scale of “1 to 10, how wrong is this?” what you’re doing would probably be on the infinity end of the line.

You’re fucking a curse. What could be more screwed up than that?

So it’s wrong, sure, sure, sure. But it feels so goddamn good, too. And if you want to do it, then why shouldn’t you? It helps (or doesn’t help, depending on the perspective you want to take) that Mahito seems to share your views, seems to soothe your worries when you sometimes blurt out your misgivings about all this. You should take what you want, and do what you want. That’s human nature, after all. He, of any one--of any curse--knows about human nature.

So you fuck. Sometimes he shows up and takes you somewhere. You’ve seen the sewer, you’ve seen his experiments. Not your favorite days. Sometimes he comes by your apartment once a week. Sometimes he disappears for a while, and you wonder if he’s been exorcized (but he couldn’t be--could he, a curse like him?).

And sometimes he shows up and stays at your apartment for a few days in a row, and these days you like the best. You fuck, sure. But more than that. You watch movies. You cuddle on the couch. You eat takeout. He orders it extra spicy and then cries with his mouth open, but laughs and says humans are very curious, and stupid, and silly, to want to eat something painful deliberately.

It’s like playing house. Playing house with a curse who has tormented and killed countless people and who could do the same to you in an instant. It’s fun, it’s heartwarming, it’s horrifying. It’s like walking a tightrope, or at the edge of a cliff. But the rope and the cliff are sentient beings who have no regard for human life. Yet you choose to walk it anyway, because it makes you feel good.

It makes you feel special, but that’s something you’ve yet to share. Even with Mahito, who loves to get you talking. He likes to dissect people, he told you once, and he meant it both literally and figuratively, you think. He wants to know your past and your dreams and your fears and every little thing that makes you tick, tick, tock throughout the day. Most of that, you indulge. Usually with your head in his lap, or sometimes with his cock in between your legs. Orgasms make you sing in more ways than one.

But, that one thing? The strange pride you get from being someone he fucks (someone he hangs out with, someone he snuggles) instead of kills or tortures? That’s yours, for now. You keep that to yourself. Safe, hidden.

--

You’re in the foggy state of post-coital bliss, your head resting on Mahito’s chest, his hair tickling your bare breasts, your legs feeling delightfully weak, breath still coming in slightly shallow. You’re in this state, satisfied and pleasant, when Mahito gets a look on his face. Not just any look. But a look.

One that, in the past, has always led to things that are less than comfortable. Sometimes downright horrific. Like his idea to fuck in front of one of his experiments; it moaned and writhed while you moaned and writhed, and it was the best and worst orgasm of your life.

It’s a look that immediately has you shifting. But he lets you. In fact, he slowly untangles himself from your embrace, and begins to crawl backwards down the bed with the look still on his face

“Want to see what I can do with these?” He says, suddenly, blithely. He’s smiling. He looks so sweet when he smiles like this. Beautiful, even.

He wiggles his fingers at you, and in someone else--anyone else, really--the gesture might be cute. With Mahito, it’s a potential threat that sends icy fear straight down your stomach. It’s the sudden shift,  you think, that has alarm bells ringing. He was normally content to simply snuggle with you after sex, watching you, humming, maybe eating something afterwards to see how it felt. That’s what they did in the movies you watched, anyway.

But this playful attitude was terrifying in its unexpectedness.

You lean forward and grip his wrists, and release them the moment he meets your gaze.

 “I know what you can do with those,” you say, voice tighter than you meant it to be. You try not to sound scared, but you suppose, he’d know if you were regardless. He can do a lot with those fingers. Good things, amazing things. Horrible things, too. And that’s what has your heart gripped with a sudden fear at his

A bit of cold sweat beads on the back of your neck. Your mind flashes to the “experiments” he’s shown you before. Humans. Or they were. Grotesque and writhing and in such terrible states. And now… it’s your turn, is that it? A thousand questions race through your mind in an instant.. Did you make him mad? Is he bored of you? Is this just in this nature, to decide, on a whim, that he’d rather turn you into one of his monstrosities? Or are you panicking for nothing?

He quirks his head at you as you think, as your breath quickens, as every muscle in your body tightens in rising panic.

And then he pouts. “Not tha~aat,” he sing-songs, half whining. “I’ve been practicing something new. Just for you. It won’t kill you.” He purses his lips, then adds, a chilly afterthought. “… I think.”

“’Hito,” you say, pushing yourself up on your elbows, trying to get up.  “’Hito it’s okay, I don’t want you to--”

“Shh, shh, shh.” He clucks and hushes you, ignoring your protests, ignoring the way you try to move away from him. Your hands instinctively try to grab at his again, but he bats them away like they’re nothing, a baby’s hands. And they are, considering his strength. You couldn’t stop him if you tried.

“Wait,” you whimper out, one final plea.

He looks up at you from in between your legs and grins.

And then he grips your thighs and parts your legs. You instinctively fight to keep them closed, but he pouts, and pushes them hard enough that you have to give in. Unless you want to risk a broken thigh bone. Then he’s in between your legs, looking down at your bared pussy. Your breath comes in quicker as his fingers tickle the flesh for a moment, before parting your pussy. You’re still wet, both from your own orgasm and his, and it sticks. 

His fingers play around with your folds, and it feels good--sensitive, but not in an overwhelming way--but you can’t focus on that.  You just want him to stop touching you, because you don’t know what the hell he’s planning. Even if he’s not going to turn you into one of the freakish experiments he keeps in the sewer, nothing about the way he’s acting has you at ease.

Finally, he takes two fingers and parts the topmost area of your folds, exposing your clit. He purses his lips and blows on it. It twitches, as do your thighs. Then he grins at it, like it’s the most adorable puppy he’s ever seen in a window.

“It’s cute,” he says. When you don’t respond, he looks up at you. “Eh? I said your little clit is cute!” He pouts again, and looks up at you with the slightest of glints in his eyes. A glint that says play with me. It’s not an invitation, but a demand.

“Thank you,” you say, deliberate, slow. “Thanks, ‘Hito.” You swallow. “You know, why don’t we just--”

“Sooo cute,” he repeats, this time bringing a finger to tap on your clit. “It’s like a little button. A pretty little human button.” His finger begins to rub on the sensitive nub, gentle, but persistent. Round and round and round. “Such fun things happen when you push it…”

You’re still staring down at him, elbows propping you up, but you can’t deny the growing sensations between your legs. It’s a little uncomfortable, a little too sensitive--but at least he’s not being too hard with it, like he sometimes does in order to see how much you can take.

You sigh, resolving to relish the pleasure; whatever he’s planned, it can’t be too drastic. He’s just playing with your clit, after all.

At your sigh, at your physical acceptance of his touch, Mahito’s grin widens. He continues circling your clit with his finger, a steady pressure that makes your thighs feel tingly.

“So I’ve been wondering…” He pushes one finger down hard on your clit, sending a delightful buzz straight into your core. You let your head fall back a little, breath hitching. His voice grows low, curious. “What would happen if I make this pretty little button bigger?”

The words don’t register at first. At first. The meaning of them hits you, cold and hard, but it’s too late. Before you can even attempt to scramble away--and what good would that do, really?--two of his fingers pinch your clit.

And then. And light bursts from behind your eyes at the sheer intensity of what’s happening, of your clit being engorged and distended, all under Mahito’s fingers. You throw yourself backward on the bed, somehow trying to get away, but your muscles are all but locked tight.

Everything you are compressed down to that small, terrifically sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body and mind and everything, everything else. You feel Mahito’s fingers on your clit but more than that, you feel him in your soul. Underneath the horrific bursting feeling, there’s this dread-filled sensation of greys and blacks and an endless void. Mahito? Or you? You can’t tell what is which and which is what.

Your clit feels like it’s bursting, an awful feeling--but underneath that awfulness is forced pleasure, tight, like something is raking across every pleasure center in your body at once. Over and over and over. Too much, too much, too much.

The sound you make, the guttural moan, doesn’t sound human.  It’s a primal sound, coming from low in your belly and pushing its way out of your throat. Like an animal crying out in the darkest part of the woods, like someone giving birth. Helpless and heated.

When you can breathe again, you begin to whimper, pathetic little sounds. You push yourself up on your shaking elbows. Tears stream down your face. You’re trying to push yourself up enough to see what he’s done, and when you do, the sight of it makes your clit twitch (and you moan, fuck, it’s so much better than before).

It’s big. Like--you don’t think it looks like a cock, exactly, but like your clit has been resized for some giant fairytale creature with  your body. Only the rest of you is the same, so it sticks out, protruding vulgarly  from in between your pussy lips. It’s big enough that Mahito could wrap his entire hand around it.

“Mahito,” you blubber. It feels good, but it’s scary, and it’s all so overwhelming. “I don’t, I don’t--” You can’t even finish the sentence, because Mahito wiggles his fingers and rests them on your clit. Even this simple contact makes you jump and throw your head back, whining, keening. You force your head to roll back towards him. His face is all you can see in your heart-pounding haze. His soft hair that practically shimmers and the stitches on his skin and his beautiful, terrifying eyes, which stare straight into you--underneath your skin, you think--eager and lovely.

He beams.

“Feels good? Tell me everything.” He grips your clit with his fingers and you gasp insensibly. Then he begins to stroke, like he’s giving your clit a handjob. It sounds wrong, too lewd, but that is the only thing you can think to call it.

Your legs pump instinctively at the overwhelming pleasure that floods not only your enlarged clit, but your entire lower body. You don’t know that you moan such much as you make those animalistic sounds again. Oh, oh, oh.

It feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking awful. It’s too much pleasure, it shouldn’t be possible, your body should not be capable of experiencing this. But the nerves are just as engorged as the clit itself, and with that comes so much electric pleasure that it’s crossing over into agony.

You’re not just moaning, but sobbing now, as he continues. And then he crawls up towards you again, elongating his arm so that he can keep on stroking your over-sensitive clit.

He’s smiling gently, looking down on you like some sort of previous lamb. He leans forward and licks at your tears. The sensation of his tongue dragging up your skin only adds to the sensations between your legs, and you stutter out.

“Does your new clit feel good?” He asks. Not sultry, but plain, and honest and curious.

You don’t answer at first--you’re mad, you’re scared, you’re overwhelming--and he rubs his entire palm on the end of your clitoris. You screech with raked pleasure.

“Yes,” you cry out, almost screaming. “Yes, yes, yes, it feels good, it feels--” You let out a strangled moan as you feel an orgasm begin to build, that familiar coiling in your stomach a thousand times harder and stronger than ever before.

“Does it hurt? Or feel bad at all?” He’s not asking out of pity or sympathy or concern. It’s just as plain, just as matter-of-fact, as wanting to know if it feels good.

When Mahito is curious, he almost looks innocent. Almost looks child-like. Sometimes you wonder if he has a way to take mental notes on all the things he’s curious about. Horrible and good things alike.

You press your head against the pillow underneath you, and realize that it’s soaked with hot sweat. Your sweat. “Yes,” you say, keening. “Yes it’s too much, it’s like--like--when you touch me too soon,” you take a big, gulping breath, your legs shaking like jelly. “And--and it’s oversensitive. But worse. Bigger. Worse. I don’t know.”

“I’ll watch your face while you come this time,” he says, matter-of-factly. “And next time, I’ll watch your clit, and--” He sounds a bit giddy now, excited. “After that, I don’t know!” 

“S-Second time? Third time?” You kick your legs, half from the mounting pleasure, half from fear. “No-no-no, after this, I wouldn’t--I couldn’t--it would be too--”

You don’t get a chance to force out the rest of your rushing thoughts, because the coil building in your belly reaches its apex.

The orgasm is like waves of hot, hard rolling pleasure. Your clit pulses and each pulse makes you cry out again. The moans and cries are purely insensible. You’re sure you said his name, somewhere in there, because you register a pleased look on his face at the end. Very much a-cat-who-got-the-canary sort of look.

In the end, as you come down from the agonizing high, you feel slickness between your legs. You must have squirted. Your clit pulses a few more times, dragging out the orgasm to its finality. There’s an acheyness to it all. Your muscles are sore. Your thighs, your legs. It’s like you ran a marathon.

The aftershock is warmer than normal, but you don’t feel the relaxing afterglow of normal sex. Or what amounts to normal sex with Mahito. Because you remember his words, his intention to continue, and you’re afraid.

“Mahito,” you say, sniffling, unable to prop yourself up on your elbows. “I really can’t… I really can’t do that again. Can you make it small again, please?” You widen your eyes and try to look every bit the helpless human that you are. Maybe he’ll give in because you’re so cute. Maybe he’d rather do something else, make you cry instead.  Even that would be preferable to the worry of a second orgasm out of your enlarged clit.

He hums.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m doing this for you,  y’know? You’re not being very grateful!”

He flicks one of your nipples, petulant and annoyed. And then… he stares at them. At your breasts. Flexes his fingers and holds your breast in his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You see the lights turning on behind his eyes. You see the thoughts forming. Wicked thoughts.

“I wonder… what would happen if I make these bigger?”

“Oh, no,” you say, “Wait, that’s not--”

Mahito claps one hand over your mouth. Your breath comes fast and hard through your nose. But he’s not mad. No, no. He begins to stroke your quivering cheek, even as he keeps his hand firmly pressed on your lips.

You’ve given him ideas. He likes humans who give him ideas.

He outright grins at you.

“You’re so fun, you know that? You’re never boring.”

He wiggles his fingers in front of your face.

Briefly, as your wide eyes watch them gradually come back down onto your breast, the thought comes to you, a quick flash.

You should just be happy that he wants to play with you like this, and not like the people in the sewer.

More than happy. You should be grateful--and you are.

It’s all you have, when it comes to Mahito.

#mahito x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #afterwitch writes

[novorehere]

Oh please do tell more abt your s/oul3ater hcs (grabby hands)

The first s0ul eating scene hit me like a truck--

Alright… fine. Just know you asked for this. This is your fault. Not mine. (NOTE: Contains some story spoilers!!!) Also warning, this got super long because I have. A lot of thoughts. I apologize in advance

So basically, S/tein is a scientist, right? Doing all these crazy experiments in the name of progress. Back when he was partnered with S/pirit, he was secretly researching a… unique way of getting your soul wavelengths attuned. With the aid of some long forgotten and forbidden magic, a weapon could theoretically enhance their meister’s power by entering their body. This act was explicitly forbidden after the first Kishin utilized this power, swallowing his weapon partner Vajra and absorbing it into himself. However, the magic used was not innately evil. Theoretically, this power could still be harnessed by someone who was willing to equally share the energy between weapon and meister. Would putting two souls in that close of proximity to each other enhance the resonance between them? Unbeknownst to the rest of the academy, Lord Death secretly approved his research in case the worst would come to pass and they would have to fight the Kishin once again. Luckily, S/tein was no stranger to using his partner for his little… projects.

Turns out, it works. Really well, actually. S/tein is delighted! This could be a breakthrough new tactic! Plus it provides a perfect situation for a weapon pair to bond emotionally and strengthen their relationship. S/pirit is much less thrilled about the whole proposition. He’s willing to do anything it takes to be the best, but getting EATEN?? Absolutely not, that was NOT what he signed up for. Despite this, he reluctantly allowed S/tein to indulge every once in a while in the name of progress. And when he did, he couldn’t deny that attuning their wavelengths felt almost effortless.

As for Stein, he found the sensation surprisingly enjoyable. But even more so the slight twinge of affection he could finally almost feel in his heart. Magical scientists like him were prone to madness, but making a meal of his partner became an easy way to take the edge off.

Eventually, the two went their separate ways. But the two of them never forgot their strange little ritual, especially not S/tein. Years later at the academy, he is tasked to teach M/aka and S/oul how to enhance their abilities and grow closer. They ask him for his wisdom, and he decides to let them in on his little secret, wondering how they’ll react. A meister swallowing their weapon to grow closer… interestingly, he can sense their souls becoming curious underneath their outward disgust. If they truly want to get stronger, he might as well teach them.

Which brings us to our main characters. Yes, my extremely scalding hot take is that M/aka is the pred in the relationship. I said what I said. Hear me out.

I knew it as soon as I saw Soul’s dream in episode 12. Having a nightmare of being inside someone’s stomach and bursting out horrifically?? Classic prey coded angst. (Where have I seen this before? *cough*) I feel like actually going inside and being reassured that it’s safe would be really healing for him.

All his life, S/oul’s been the one doing the “eating.” It’s kind of poetic in a way, the famed ‘soul eater’ ending up getting swallowed himself. And dare I say, even enjoying it? I don’t know, I just can very easily see him stretching out inside and relishing in the peace and closeness. Plus it’s really funny (and a bit adorable) imagining M/aka getting annoyed with his dumb little remarks. Soul definitely teases her about it. She’s 100% the protective type, and would probably find great comfort keeping her partner close like that, knowing he’s safe and shielded from harm’s way.

Perhaps the two would eventually experiment and try switching roles. (To be honest, S/oul occasionally gets a little jealous of her.) It’s not fair that M/aka should be the only one to do the protecting, after all. And we all know how S/oul adores a nice, squirmy meal ahem He knows it’s not the way you’re supposed to do things, but doesn’t really care. When S/tein gets word of this, he’s a bit annoyed, but not surprised. That’s not how the soul attuning exercise works, the weapon isn’t supposed to… Well, I guess if they’re bonding, it couldn’t hurt. Boys will be boys or something.

I like to think that the two are pretty flexible, willing to fill both roles when the situation arises. They both enjoy doing the protecting though, which makes for a very funny little dynamic. In the end, S/oul is the one that gets eaten most often. While he cherishes the times he can play “pred”, there’s just something about a weapon being so close to their meister’s soul that just… feels right. Plus Maka isn’t as mean to him when he’s inside and it’s kinda cute shh

Speaking of which, at some point the other two meisters catch wind of the whole thing. And surely they wouldn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to become stronger by connecting their souls. K/id is hesitant at first, such a practice just seems barbaric. But he can’t let one of his rivals get away with getting stronger without him! But ugh, why did it have to be the stomach though?? He would 100% go up to L/iz and P/atty and be like “I’ve written down a list of more tolerable internal organs with bilateral symmetry, please choose one and we’ll get started right away.” And they’re just like “Lmao, suck it up.”

P/atty is more than willing, (she thinks it’s funny) but it takes L/iz a LOT more getting used to. Being eaten is terrifying, not to mention saliva in the hair is super gross. But she tolerates it for the good of the group, what a team player :) She complains a lot, but it’s actually not that bad once you get inside?? (She would never say that though EVER.) In the end, it turns out that dealing with K/id’s ramblings and not being able to leave is the real challenge. If he starts one of his freakouts, she’ll just sigh and begrudgingly give him a few pats until he feels better. The two do notice that his neurotic tendencies tend to lessen when they’re inside. The whole thing is a welcome distraction for him. It’s honestly good for him, a way to keep K/id’s mind calm and focused on his body rather than stressing about the world around him. The squirming sensation is extremely off-putting though, and swallowing down two people back to back is a tall order. But K/id can’t deny results, and the whole process does bring the three of them (and their souls) much closer than ever before. It’s strange, but… sometimes he catches himself enjoying it, just a little bit. Ew.

As for the other way around, K/id would NEVER allow himself to be eaten. Ever. Sure, the mouth is very nicely symmetrical. He wouldn’t really mind poking around in there and admiring it for a while. But the stomach?? Absolutely not. It sticks out like a sore thumb in the digestive system, why in the world did it have to be on the LEFT??? And the shape? Not symmetrical at all. It’s gross, slimy, and most of all, ugly. A situation where he gets stuck shrunk and has to get eaten would amuse me very much. Put that guy in a situation, please.

As for B/lackstar… oh boy. When he learns there’s some ancient secret technique to get stronger, he HAS to do it. . He’s surprised at first, but quickly turns excited. This is CRAZY, he feels so BIG!! Look T/subaki, look how huge and awesome I am!!! >:D He’s not very good at swallowing her down, but she’s always very patient and helps him through it. The practice quickly becomes B/lackstar’s favorite training activity. He can sometimes be seen lounging about, shamelessly patting his belly. (Dude, have some class??) But he doesn’t really care. If it makes him the center of attention, why not? T/subaki is understandably embarrassed being flaunted around like that, but she puts up with it. B/lackstar is surprisingly caring and gentle in private, doting over her and always asking if she’s ok. These two are very confident in their roles, and would only switch in case of an emergency. Again, a shrunken B/lackstar is admittedly a very amusing thought though. Not so big now, are ya?? Get humbled, idiot. (Don’t give him any ideas about swimming in giant ramen PLEASE.)

That’s uh. About all I have for now. This got super long, my apologies… I just have a lot of thoughts about these idiots and I care about them very much :,) I’d apologize for being cringe, but I’m not sorry. This is your fault for asking for it.

#op #it’s MY comfort show and I GET to choose the cringy vore AU #vore asks #soft vore #safe vore #SE vore

[rn-zane]

TIMING: current LOCATION: State Park, The Pines PARTIES: @chrisgates, @rn-zane WARNINGS: memory loss, mention of blood, mention of trauma SUMMARY: Chris is in ‘fight or flight mode’. Zane is trying to help the surprisingly handsome stranger. 

[ K..iilL. . . ] The taste of metal. [ Ki..ll. . ] A screech through the night. [ Kiii..LL. ]

As quickly as it came to be, it was over.

Chris wouldn’t remember a moment but the fleeting and flashing of horrific images that would plague his dreams. Those would all come later. For now, he had a different problem: where was he and what happened to his clothes? Again? [ Yo..u. . kn..ow. . ] — a whisper, and then it was gone. Waking up in whatever godforsaken shit he’d managed to wrap himself up in was always followed by the worst body aches imaginable. It felt as if he’d been hit by a truck, ripped apart, and then hastily put back together again. The headaches were blinding.

In his semi consciousness, Chris could feel the grass and leaves beneath him and the cool breeze over his exposed back; he was definitely alone, that much he could tell from the sudden onslaught of crickets that started to sing. And he was definitely outside. The best case scenario would be for him to be in the belly of the woods, somewhere no one could find him.

Worst case scenario seemed to have already happened.

Chris could hear the tell-tale of footsteps against leaves; he tried desperately to open his eyes, top move, to do anything, but it seemed hopeless. He was a sitting duck.

____________________________________________________________________________

It was a nice change of pace, being constantly surrounded by people but after so many years of learning how to be on his own, Zane constantly found himself overwhelmed back at the house. Once his thoughts started running until they were almost silent, whole body buzzing with pent up energy, he knew it was time for a break. The surrounding forests were a blessing when it came to getting some quiet time - even on the odd chance that someone else fancied a night time walk in the woods, they were big enough to avoid any run-ins. This wasn’t a headphones-in sort of walk he’d decided, brain shutting off almost completely as he walked. 

It hadn’t been a conscious decision, following the faint scent of blood out of pure instinct, but when it got stronger the smell permeated through his foggy mind and dragged him sharply back to the present. Of course blood in the woods wasn’t too uncommon, all sorts of animals creeped around here, but from what little he’d learned about the smell of animal blood, this scent felt different. Hastening his pace, now purposefully tracking down the smell, he wondered if someone was hurt out here. Thankfully, his last feed had been less than an hour ago so there was no need to backtrack in fear of going crazy on some poor, unsuspecting hiker. 

Except this wasn’t a hiker. It was a person, for sure, but not many people hiked… Zane came to a halt a safe distance away. Was this guy full on naked? The blood covering parts of his body should have been more jarring than the lack of clothing but it wasn’t. So night vision was clearly a blessing and a curse. The stranger looked to be around Zane’s age but made somehow younger and more vulnerable in his current situation. What in the world had happened? He wasn’t dead, that much was sure from the way he was stirring now but if all that blood was coming from his body… No, it looked dry and as his eyes scanned the body further (phantom heat rising in his cheeks because this definitely felt like a violation) he didn’t notice any visible wounds. 

“Hey there,” Zane started carefully, keeping his distance at a few feet away and not just because gorgeous, naked strangers terrified him even in this, the weirdest of scenarios. Man, he really needed help, probably professional help but now was not the time for these awkward, gay ass thoughts. He was shrugging off his sweater amidst the flurry of thoughts, hoping maybe some cover up would help this situation while blaming the whole thing on the smell of blood throwing him off like this. The sweater was held out between them now, almost like a preventative peace offering. 

____________________________________________________________________________

How far was he from the path? Not far enough, apparently, judging by the sound of those footsteps. They seemed to only grow louder faster than Chris would have wanted; he thought he had enough time to collect himself and run, to at least put some distance between whatever made him look guilty. Guilty of what, he couldn’t say — he caught the tell tale sign of a wooded area in between his flights of consciousness, but there was no body, human or otherwise, to make out from his limited vision. Maybe that was a good thing.

Chris moved an arm which elicited a whimper from him; he felt as a toy would, with his arms and legs having been popped out and popped back into their sockets haphazardly and aggressively. Sore was an understatement.

The pain and disorientation was enough of a distraction that he hadn’t realized just how close the footsteps had gotten. The voice startled him — them — and just like that, his attention was fixed wholeheartedly on the sudden intruder. Though he was still on the ground and dizzy to boot, Chris curled and turned himself into a more defensive position so his back wasn’t to this trespasser. The immediate use of energy deflated what tension he held in his body; oh, he was so tired. But he held his gaze onto the blurry figure before him.

Details were dismissed in the haze, but Chris’ instinct was on fire. He followed the shape of what looked like a jacket or blanket that was held out at an arm’s length. A growl bubbled up inside his chest and into his throat, but it didn’t fall from his mouth. The other’s movements were slow, non-threatening, but he knew better. They knew better.

____________________________________________________________________________

The curled up position, almost animalistic in nature and defense, made Zane’s stomach lurch. Any apprehension about approaching he might have had (which hadn’t been much to begin with) vanished at the sight. This wasn’t someone dangerous, it was someone used to being in danger and Zane was now part of a long line of things to fear. The guy was barely conscious and it took every bit of focus not to spiral into just what had happened to him. It got too dark too quick and the dark storm those thoughts incited wasn’t helpful in the current situation. 

“I’m sorry, it’s okay,” was all he thought to say, voice as soft as it had ever been. Softer even than the tone saved for scared children at the ER. They were scared of the unknown. This man seemed to be scared of something known and really, really shitty. Crouching down slowly, still keeping an arm’s length between them, Zane lowered the sweater as slow as he (in)humanly could. Then he backed up a pace, remembering run ins with feral dogs way back when in Nevada and how his father had dealt with them. It felt wrong to think about this poor guy like a wild animal but the situations were eerily similar. “If you want. You must be cold.”

The thought occurred to call for help but something told him to get permission first. A whining ambulance suddenly appearing could have consequences that would only make the situation worse. Gaze ran over the man once more, hair wild and matted with blood, lips dry and splattered with crusted over blood, eyes shining with unfiltered panic and defense. “Are you hurt anywhere? Bleeding?” he asked calmly, nodding at the man in the hopes of conveying that they were on the same team. “I can call someone for help if you want.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Trust. Chris wanted so desperately to trust someone. He wanted to make connections with people. He wanted friends — he wanted a relationship, for fuck’s sake. Every time he thought that he could get it, that he was close to making a connection with someone, it was ripped from him. Sometimes, quite literally. He didn’t know how many times it had happened, or how, or why, he just knew that he couldn’t do it. And anyone who found him in the act? Chris learned that even honey laced words held malice. They didn’t want to help him — they only saw him as a monster that needed to be locked up. Or worse.

Largely, Chris’ human side wanted nothing more than to believe this man. His voice was soft, low, but ultimately sincere and he genuinely seemed like he wanted to help. [ L. .ie. . ] The other side didn’t want to hear it. If family could hurt, then anyone could hurt, what difference did this man make? Just because he used pretty words and cloth didn’t mean he was a friend. There were others just like him, who had tried to help — they got teeth and claws instead.

But Chris wanted out; he was cold and he wanted to stop hiding, if only for this moment. He could feel the uneasiness bloom the more the man spoke and even felt his hair stand on end, but he wanted to go home. He didn’t care at this point; if this meeting ended the same as all the others, then so be it, but that sweater was much too enticing to try to run. At the mention of calling someone else for help, Chris shook his head. “N-no,” he shivered out, “no.. more people.. Please.” He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes; his head felt as if it had been ripped open. Despite the pounding headache, Chris tried his best to sit up a little, at least so he could see the impromptu visitor better. A few leaves fell from his chest, as he had been lying there for some time, but most stuck to the dried blood and sweat on his skin. “I..” he swallowed again before he resolved to shake his head. “I’m not.. Hurt.” Not physically, anyway.

—-----

Hearing the other man speak, coherently even, was a relief. The fact that Zane wasn’t allowed to call anyone for help, less so. There was honestly no telling what this guy had been through in the last few hours, or longer judging by the completely unhinged state of him, and Zane had no idea if he was equipped to help. Even so, it seemed that his help was being accepted, at least in some form as there was less cowering away and the gesture of the sweater seemed to have been accepted. As the man shifted, Zane found himself averting his gaze in a faint attempt at privacy and because what kind of person stumbled onto a scene like this and couldn’t keep such very inappropriate thoughts at bay. He was still blaming it on the overpowering scent of blood frazzling his senses, mixing with the smell of nature, sweat and still, the faint smell of something animal. 

“I won’t call anyone else. Promise.” It was earnest, almost desperately so in response to the pleading tone that had begged for no more people. The least he could do was respect that, even though Zane’s current options involved praying that this man was capable of walking (it didn’t seem very likely seeing the effort it took for him to sit up) or carrying him somewhere safer and warmer than the woods fireman style. The latter was definitely more appealing speed wise and Zane was already thinking about how close he was to home, and the empty garage no one ever went to, when the thought occurred that this terrified stranger probably wouldn’t like being carried off someplace strange. 

“Something tells me no hospital, either but lucky for you,” shit choice of words, “I work in healthcare so… how can I help?” Zane crouched back down, the sweater giving him some refuge from his misbehaving mind, aching to reach out and check on the man properly but not wanting to spook him. “I don’t live far off, we could get you some clothes, call for cab from there.” Check that you’re not dying, get you some hot tea, find out what in the world just happened here. “Or whatever.”

____________________________________________________________________________

This really was a shitty situation. He could count on one hand how many times someone stumbled upon him unconscious. A lot of the time, Chris could get away before anyone spotted him, but the other times? Those stayed with him in his dreams — what he could remember of them. There was a long time where he thought that maybe he was seeing things, or sleepwalking — maybe he was just having really bad nightmares or had a vivid imagination. 

He knew now what it was and still he didn’t want to believe it — no matter how many times he woke up naked and covered in someone else’s blood.

The generosity was overwhelming, and Chris wanted so desperately to say yes to everything that was offered, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know what his motives were, if he knew who Chris was or what he’s been suspected of doing. There were too many unknowns and open-ended questions, questions that would only get answered if he went with this stranger — but he didn’t like that idea, not with his history. He’d been burned too many times to trust anyone so openly.

“I’ll be fine.” His words came out a bit more coherently as he roused more from his brief mental hiatus. There’s no memory of being there, in limbo or whatever it was. A quick pass of his tongue over his dry bottom lip confirmed the presence of blood around his mouth. What did he do? He prayed that whatever it was, it wasn't human. Chris felt a lump in his throat. “I just need to go.. home..” He felt confident in his ability to get there even though he didn’t know where exactly he was; it wouldn’t be that difficult. 

“Just.. pretend you didn’t see me. Please..” Chris couldn’t help but to look apologetic. “Please, just leave me here.. I can manage on my own..” Pitiful. There was no way he was going to be left alone, not after what this complete stranger was willing to give in order to help him. Not many people would do that, or even to that extent. But Chris wanted this interaction to end well, with both parties still breathing; he didn’t want any more blood spilled.

—---------

Zane was running out of options and ideas on how to help. Aside from dragging the man kicking and screaming to the hospital, there didn’t seem to be much left to offer. Just leaving him here, though, despite the pleading… It didn’t feel like a viable option. It was obvious that he needed help but for reasons that Zane didn’t want to begin to imagine, he was vehemently refusing it. Strangers were scary, he totally got that, but someone had clearly fanned the flames of this man’s distrust until it had consumed him. The thought made Zane nauseous, jaw twitching with anger and no one to direct it at. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” was all he managed to reply, voice low and desperate in the same vein the stranger’s was. “At least… at least let me walk you to the edge of the woods. Wouldn’t want a bear or something smelling… all that.” If Zane had been able to track the scent of the dried blood with his very limited knowledge, a different predator definitely would. “Then I’ll leave you be. Promise.” A promise was a promise, even though Zane would be tempted to keep an eye on the man until he saw him disappear into a building, he wouldn’t. It did sound like the man had done this before, gotten himself home from a situation like this, which wasn’t comforting but did provide some reassurance that he’d still be alive once the night was over. 

Pushing himself back to his feet, Zane offered his hand to the wary stranger, hoping he would accept it and let himself be pulled to his feet. At the very least, that way he’d know that the guy could stand. He’d considered running back to the house for some more clothes but something told him he’d come back to find the indent in the leaves and grass bloodied and empty once he returned. Offering his own pants had also occurred but that was definitely weird and the broken husk in front of him didn’t look like it could handle any weird. So he settled for simply offering a hand, gaze open and honest, face hoping to portray anything that his words clearly couldn’t. 

—---

It really was commendable how adamant this guy was in trying to get Chris some help. He seemed so earnest, believable; if Chris were anyone else he would have readily gone with him already, but it wasn’t that easy for him. He never had the choice. It upset him deeply that he couldn’t go with this stranger who seemed nothing but kind and willing. He literally took the clothing off of his back for him - what other type of person would do that?

The least Chris could do, if this was truly genuine, was to agree to the compromise. He had a feeling ‘no’ wouldn’t be taken for an answer, anyway, so taking the compromise was probably the safest bet - until shit hit the fan, which it tended to do. Chris would be ready. He didn’t want to be, but again, he never had the choice.

Just walk him to the forest edge and that was it? He didn’t need to go with him to some godforsaken cabin in the woods or call any backup and potentially get himself injured (or worse) because of some miscommunication? This seemed too easy, but Chris didn’t want to have to fight anyone right then. He didn’t want to hurt them. Not really. The other side bled in too much sometimes; the line between them blurred and Chris could be heavily influenced, but now was not the time. He wanted to go home, not get himself into further trouble.

The idea of biting the hand being offered and sinking his teeth into it flashed fleetingly in Chris’ mind. It was a stupid idea, one he wouldn’t go through with as that would only get him into trouble. Instead he ignored it and decided that taking the hand would be best, even if it was as briefly as he did; the contact was enough to get Chris onto his feet. He was shaky and exhausted, but that was expected. The sweater was used around his waist to give himself some modesty, but it wasn’t enough, and so his entire back remained open to the elements. He didn’t complain, though — most nights or early mornings he’d have to flee completely in the nude. It just felt like he was wearing an apron.

Standing was a little bit of a chore, but Chris couldn’t let this guy see that. He didn’t want any more help to be offered. He was touched by it, of course, but it was easier on both of their parts if this interaction was kept as short as possible. He didn’t know what he was capable of, even in the sorry state that was in. 

“Lead the way.”

—--

A win. A tiny sliver of a win. At least this way, Zane could make sure that the guy wouldn’t collapse after two steps and freeze to death or get mauled. It had even been a genuine surprise that he’d accepted the offered hand to get to his feet - the scenario of the man fumbling around to get himself standing for the better part of a minute had been so vivid in Zane’s head that the warm hand in his was even more of a shock. Warm. Good. 

As soon as he’d been allowed to offer a metaphorical finger, Zane fought with the need to follow with his whole arm. The man was standing, barely, and trying so hard to conceal it that pointing it out felt about as helpful as slapping him in the face. Yes, Zane wanted to drag the shivering arm over his shoulder and practically carry the poor guy all the way to his doorstep but it wasn’t his choice to make. So he pressed his lips shut with the effort of not commenting on the man’s unsteady footing, settling for staying close instead, just in case he tripped. A highly likely possibility and one that Zane was praying against. Not just because he didn’t want the man to trip but because he knew his instincts wouldn’t allow the other to fall and with the way the sweaty hand had been yanked from Zane’s as soon as feet stood on solid ground… 

So they walked slowly, leaves crunching underway as Zane stayed half a step ahead, trying to find the smoothest yet quickest root back to the streets. Trying not to think about how badly the man’s feet would hurt in the morning. Even though scratched up feet didn’t seem to be his biggest of issues. It was eerily quiet, only broken by their shuffling steps and the other man’s labored breathing. He’d never been good with silence. “I’m Zane,” he offered, voice quiet as if scared to disturb the darkness around them. “And I’m not going to ask any questions but… if you need help, I can… or I mean, I might be able to help. Whatever’s going on, there are people who can help. Who you can trust. Specialists or… something.” He drew in a deep breath to stop the flow of words, risking a glance back at the shuffling form behind him before forcing his eyes away. 

___

Chris hated this. He hated every second of this. It felt degrading to be found the way he had and to top it all off, he had a babysitter. He didn’t want to wake up in the woods without memory of the night’s events, but he’d rather that than have to deal with another person finding him ever again. It was bad enough with the mystery dinners. Hoping and praying that this was the last to catch him in his birthday suit, Chris went along and followed his guide at a safe distance. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he was a little more coherent and physically able to make the trek back to his motel room. He’d need it in order to avert strange gazes. 

For now, this supposed knight in shining armor was the only one — Chris won’t hold his breath. He liked to mess up a lot; being good-natured and honest would do that, at least in his case. He had a strong inkling to use his middle name instead of his first, or to just not say anything at all, but a good part of himself felt like Zane, as it were, was being genuine. The idea of being even the smallest bit open with this guy tied his stomach in knots but he could always do what he did best, right? No one would know the wiser — sure, he’d have to move again but he was used to that.

That inkling was ignored. “Chris.” The reply was curt and held back, as if he didn’t want Zane to hear it. It was a stupid thing to do, but if they both lived in Wicked’s Rest, they were sure to bump into each other at some point. Murphy’s Law would have pissed in his Cheerios at some point, why not get it over with? At the mention of a ‘specialist’, Chris couldn’t suppress the slightly sardonic scoff that escaped him. “Nobody can help.” He couldn’t trust anyone — they either didn’t believe him or they thought he was a killer. There was no in between even though that’s exactly where Chris felt like he was stuck and pulled and twisted apart.

“They all get hurt.. Or they lie and then they get hurt.”

—--

Getting a reply had been unexpected and not really what Zane had been fishing for. It was nice to have a name but honestly, he’d only given his own out of a habit of introducing himself to injured people. It was a miracle that the phrase ‘I’ll be your nurse today, what seems to be the problem’ hadn’t followed. But Chris had replied. Maybe he too had done so on instinct but either way, Zane felt like he had been trusted with something special. No one would ever know about this encounter and definitely not about the name. There was a possibility that later tonight, Zane would give into his curiosity and see just how many Chris there were in town but nothing more. 

The scoff at Zane’s suggestion, not a very articulate one but still, was an even bigger surprise. It showed a glimpse of a different side of the man, something angry and bitter which contrasted greatly with the fear and panic from before. Zane knew about trauma, both the physical and mental kind - he had to for his job and knew that everyone reacted differently to their troubles. The first time a woman had suddenly lashed at him when he was patching up her wounds, he’d thought he’d done something wrong or that he’d missed where she’d been flagged for violence before. Neither was the case he’d found out during a briefing with a supervisor. Just remnants of the traumatic event that had brought her in to the ER. 

“I’m really sorry that’s been your experience,” was all Zane had to offer in return, starting to see the faint glow of streetlamps through the trees. They were nearing the street and it filled him with worry. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.” He slowed his pace as they came to the edge of the tree line, keeping the two of them still shrouded in shadow. Appraising Chris once more, trying to read anything coherent from the blue eyes, vibrant but still damped by something secret. “Leaving you be, then, as promised.” No way he could go back on his word now. 

“Just… if you need anything. Discreet medical care or… I don’t know. All I know is that I’m a shit liar and not easily hurt as of late so… only one Zane Rosario in town.” Shifting unsteadily on his feet, wondering if there was anything else to add that wasn’t just incredibly stupid, he finally settled on offering a hand out because all he wanted to do was give the poor guy a hug. “Really hope you get home safe.”

___

Chris was going to have to see this guy around town, wasn’t he? The thought of that sent his stomach into knots. While Zane had been helpful, albeit a little unsettling, this situation was nothing short of embarrassing. He knew there were so many questions as to why he was out at that hour by himself in the middle of the woods, or why he was buck naked, or why he was covered in blood and what looked to be tiny pieces of flesh. He didn’t have them; he didn’t think he ever would. He couldn’t satiate Zane’s curiosity even if he wanted to — which he didn’t. Chris wanted to put so much distance between them and this memory out of pure humiliation and fear for the unknown.

Zane was kind. He could see it in his eyes — but he’d been burned before. He didn’t want to risk it, and for what? A fleeting moment of hope? Chris thought the police would help him. He thought that his work supervisor would help him. He thought that his dad would help him. 

What difference did this stranger make? 

So far, he was letting Chris go. There were plans and other options and the almost desperate desire to give him more help, but he heeded when Chris clearly wasn’t ready. That — that was a good flag. He knew better than to throw all caution to the wind for something so easily doused in red, but this was a positive in his mind. He just hoped it wouldn’t be ruined.

Zane’s words were comforting, if cliche, but he didn’t think he’d have anything better to say if the roles were reversed. Chris would say the same things — that he couldn’t imagine what he was going through, that it was horrible, apologizing for what he wasn’t at fault for. They were typical societal niceties, a human script, but they were the best anyone could give, given the situation. Chris did appreciate that, he just didn’t know what to say in return. He felt those darker eyes on him, looking him over; a last look of care or predatory in nature? Only time would tell.

Chris swallowed. His hands went to the sweater around his waist; it felt snug. There were more offers — it seemed Zane was cut from a similar cloth. He, too, felt the need to help, in any way that he was physically or mentally capable of. If he didn’t know, he would try anyway. He felt the happiest when he could offer assistance. There were never any ulterior motives on Chris’ end, but he couldn’t strike that from Zane — not yet. He would have to keep an eye on this Zane Rosario.

A beat. Chris took Zane’s frigid hand again, this time for a moment longer. He glanced at their clasped hands before finally making eye contact. “Thank you… I.. I’ll be okay.” He wanted to show his thanks a bit better than that, but his head still reeled from earlier, so he hoped his appreciation was palpable through his tone. “I.. Thank you.” Chris allowed their hands to part as he stepped away. It felt odd to walk away, to just leave his supposed hero in the treeline and shrouded by the shadows. There was a blatant uneasiness in the way they parted, but Chris felt gracious regardless. “Goodnight…” he uttered softly before he disappeared from view.

With name in hand, he would be sure to return the sweater.

#chrisgates #p:chris #ships in the night #memory loss tw #writing #chris.001

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (2)

this fic was patron picked to be published by a 24 hour poll! hope you enjoy! :)

warnings: fear, fairly bad illness, murder mentions, crying, remus saying some remus things

-

The next morning, after a few measly hours of sleep, Virgil poked his head out of one of the upper boltholes in his human’s bedroom and found him still in the same position, the sheets damp with sweat around him.

Another check in a couple hours later found much the same.

And another.

And then night had fallen, and still his human hadn’t moved, looked perhaps even worse than before. Even more galling, nobody else had come over to check on him.

It was to be expected, he knew. He’d seen the human collapse and sleep a day or two away after one of his week-long at-home work sessions; it was only natural that his many friends assumed this was the same sort of scenario.

Except it wasn’t. And now his stupid human was too unconscious to even contact anyone. Virgil dragged his hands over his face, bemoaning the situation and humans and even the world in general.

He peeked down over the ledge, studying what he could see of the burns. Another application couldn’t hurt. At the very least, his parents hadn’t raised him to leave a job half-done.

His human would wake up soon, he told himself sternly as he made the trek over to the nightstand. He paused, and shook his head. There was no point in avoiding using names anymore. He was literally risking his life to go tend to the human’s wounds— he was much more than attached, at this point.

Patton would wake up soon, he told himself as he unscrewed the ointment tube’s cap. It almost sounded a little more believable like that.

Unfortunately, it ended up being truer than he would have liked.

He was halfway done with the right hand when the general unease he wore around like a second skin suddenly spiked into outright fear. He went still, straining all his senses.

There— it was the silence that was setting him off. The constant backdrop of low, raspy breathing had suddenly gone completely quiet.

As if someone was holding their breath.

Slowly, Virgil turned to confirm what his instincts were already telling him, and met the gaze of a pair of huge brown eyes.

Despite himself, he went frozen. Knowing how large humans were was one thing, but being seen by one? It had never happened to him before, and he felt utterly pinned under the stare.

(His sleeves were rolled up. Could the human see the markings on his body? Other borrowers recognizing Virgil as a part of that group was bad enough, but a human-- A human could do so much worse.)

Patton let out a little whoosh of air, as though deciding that he didn’t have to hold his breath to avoid disturbing him anymore. “Um, hi.”

His voice, even at an almost-whisper, was crackly and rough, and it made Virgil jerk slightly, his mind desperately trying to convince his locked up body to bolt already.

Patton’s hand twitched a little in response to the motion, and Virgil went stone-still again. He was standing right next to the curve of the hand, had unwittingly practically done everything but climb into the human’s palm himself. In this position, he had no doubt that in a race between him and Patton’s reflexes, he would lose.

But the human hadn’t grabbed yet. The longer it stayed that way, the better.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Patton mumbled apologetically. His eyes were a little glazed over; he probably thought he was dreaming. Good for Future Virgil, bad for Present Virgil. “You takin’ care of me?”

Virgil let the silence stretch, and then nodded a little when it was clear Patton was waiting for an answer. There was no point in denying it; he’d been caught red-handed. Ointment-handed. Whatever.

“Thanks,” Patton replied, face scrunching up into a weak grin. “I guess a little first aid is just what I needed.”

Not even a raging fever could hold back the puns, it seemed. Virgil narrowly avoided snorting, a return jab about Patton being a big pain on the tip of his tongue.

Abruptly, though, the hand was curling around him, sending his pulse racing as his route of escape was cut off.

Horrific ways this could end ran through his mind one after another; The human was nearly out of his head with fever, all he had to do was misjudge his strength even a little and Virgil would snap—

Everything went still again. Virgil struggled to slow his breathing, gaze darting back and forth like a cornered mouse. Patton’s hand had curled around him, pressing just slightly on his arms without actually trying to lift him. He was just sort of... holding him.

“Y’okay?” Patton murmured, and his thumb (thankfully ointment-free) gently patted his shoulder. “It’s justa’ thank you hug.”

On cue, his almost-grip loosened, hand remaining half-cupped around him but open enough that he could easily step out. Testingly, he stepped forward once, twice, always watching Patton’s face like a hawk as he did.

Patton blinked slowly at him, apparently completely unfazed by Virgil performing the world’s slowest escape.

It wasn’t until he was nearly to the edge of the bed that Patton stirred, shuffling his shoulder a bit and turning his head a bit farther to keep watching him.

“Leavin’?” he asked, looking almost a little worried. Virgil couldn’t imagine why; if anyone had the right to be worried here, it was him.

Still, he was finally close enough to his hook that he could definitely make it if Patton even twitched wrong toward him, so he took a deep breath and nodded, waiting to see how the human would react.

“‘Kay, be safe,” Patton offered, his cheek smushed against his pillow. His eyes were already half-lidded, apparently already preparing to head back to sleep now that there weren’t any convenient borrowers around to scare the life out of.

It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?

Virgil kept checking over his shoulder as he grabbed his rope, but Patton’s attention had already strayed, and as he descended, the human’s breathing returned to that familiar, sleep-slow cadence.

He only barely managed to make it back into the walls before a hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He slid down to a sitting position, trying to get his breathing under control. He’d been seen, he’d have to pack up everything he’d made and leave to face the treacherous elements again--

… Except. Except Patton hadn’t grabbed him. That was no promise of safety, but… really, he had barely seemed fazed at all by the presence of a tiny person in his space. Unnaturally so, for a human. Virgil knew well how a ravaging sickness could make anyone less than keen, leave their memory foggy. There was every possibility that that was the case here.

And if it was… Virgil didn’t have to move. He could observe Patton once he got better, stay discreet and make sure that his existence was dismissed as nothing more than a fever dream.

It was a risk, but… wasn’t every choice a borrower made risky?

(He was tired of leaving homes behind.)

---

There was one problem with his plan: it required Patton to get better.

Watching the human now, it seemed that he was intent on doing anything but that. Virgil scowled down at the bed from his check-in shelf, trying to shove down the worry at the sight of Patton twisting and turning in the sheets, iller than ever.

It seemed his moment of brief lucidity (if it could be called that) hadn’t lasted. He’d spent over a day in bed, only getting worse.

Virgil was getting well and truly worried.

(He didn’t know how long it took humans to recover, but he had an extensive frame of reference for how long it took humans to succumb to sickness.)

He’d taken to pacing indecisively back and forth at his latest check in, thousands of potential options and their terrible outcomes running through his head, when a low noise caught his ear.

Patton was crying, little hitching sobs that came out rough and crackly, blinking harshly as he stared up at the ceiling.

Virgil couldn’t tell why; it could’ve been a nightmare, physical pain, or just the helplessness of being so terribly sick. He gripped the edge of the shelf he was hiding on, biting his lip harshly.

If he called out, would it help? Would Patton listen? Would he remember, later?

Before he could try, the creak of bedsprings drew his eyes back to the human, who was twisting onto his side, reaching for the bedside table. Where his phone was.

“Yes,” Virgil whispered, watching the human strain to reach just a little further. “Come on, come on…”

Patton’s hand grabbed at the edge of the phone, so close to being able to finally get the help he needed— and it fell right through his fingers, his grip too weak to hang onto it.

It was as though their spirits plummeted right along with the phone, landing with a muffled thud on the bedroom floor. Patton let out another half-sigh, half-sob, and settled back onto the bed, exhausted from even that small expenditure of energy. Virgil’s lip began to bleed from how hard he was biting it.

Within moments, the room was quiet again, Patton returning to that hazy unconsciousness.

By then, Virgil had already made his choice.

(It was almost poetic. What better way to spit in the face of his upbringing than to save a human?)

He made his way through the walls in record time, finally able to use the pent up energy he’d accumulated from all that time helplessly watching.

Once he got to the floor, he paused for only a moment to listen to the rhythmic breathing above before darting over to the phone, lying in the shadow of the bed. He flipped it over and pressed the button, the screen lighting up with a picture of a cat.

“Isn’t he allergic?” Virgil muttered, and then shook his head, swiping through to the home screen. Luckily, Patton didn’t seem to have any locks, though Virgil hated to imagine how that trust could be abused.

He recognized the old phone shape on one of the icons easily enough, and squinted at the contact list for a long moment before finding the one with a tiny picture of someone he recognized: Patton’s loud friend, the one who came over for movie nights when they were both free (a rare occurrence).

“Roman”’s number was pressed immediately, and it was only as the phone began to ring that Virgil realized he had not thought this plan through.

The phone rang once, twice, and just as he thought it would ring out and he’d be able to think of a plan-- “Patton! Perfect timing!”

He jerked away from the tinny voice, casting a glance up at the bed where Patton laid. If this was enough to rouse him, even just enough to talk, this situation would resolve itself.

“...Patton? Hellooo?”

The human above didn’t even twitch at his friend’s call.

“Ooh, did you get a booty call from Daddy Dearest?” another voice asked, gleeful and a little bit fainter than the first.

“What-- it’s buttdial, I know you know how that sounds, Remus!” There was the sound of tussling for a moment, and then Roman’s voice piped back up, sounding strained. “Okay, Pat, call back later, I guess? Remus, lemme go--”

The line went dead.

Virgil smacked the screen harshly, cursing the fact that Patton’s friends were apparently prone to nonsense and not nearly as concerned as they should be about the situation, as little as they knew about it. He glanced up at his Human again, brow furrowed.

No speaking, no texts, no physical evidence. How could he get their attention without giving himself away?

He leaned forward and pressed the call button again.

“Uh… Patton?” There was a long pause, and then a nervous laugh. “Jeez, what is he up to?”

Virgil hung up, and called again.

“What the heckity heck--”

Virgil hung up, and called again.

“Patton, are you there?”

“Maybe there’s a serial killer in his house and he can’t pipe up or they’ll get to his windpipes!” the second voice, presumably “Remus”, chimed in.

“Shut up, that’s not it!” There was an uncertain pause. “Patton, that’s not it, right? C’mon, Padre, you’re freaking me out worse than the Outage Incident of ‘09.”

Virgil hung up, and called again, ignoring the phone’s buzzing as worried texts began to filter in.

“Something’s wrong. If his phone was accidentally calling me from his pocket, he’d be replying to my texts.”

Yes! Virgil held his breath, letting the thick silence hang in the air.

“Patton, are you there? Do you need help? Give me some sort of signal,” Roman pleaded, and Virgil leaned back, desperately searching his memory for a sign that would mean something to Roman.

There was something he’d overheard, lurking in nearby wall corridors during one of their sleepovers. Roman had been waxing poetic about effective storytelling.

“That’s the thing about repetition,” he’d said. “Like that saying! Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times? That’s a pattern. And patterns have meaning!”

Virgil had rolled his eyes at the time. The advice didn’t hold true for borrowers, who avoided patterns like the plague. One slip up was all it took to have to uproot his whole life or worse, after all.

Now, though, he latched onto the memory with both hands.

Two witnesses to this were two too many, but so long as they couldn’t prove anything… he pulled out his hook and carefully tapped the side of the phone, producing three distinct, dull clinks.

There was a clutter of alarmed arguing on the other end, and Virgil hurriedly smacked the red ‘end call’ button once more, his nerves frayed.

After a moment, more texts popped up.

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: patton, i know you wouldnt pull a prank like this

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: ur spare key is still under the kitten statue, right?

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: im coming over

Virgil sank back on his heels, letting out a long sigh of relief. Thank goodness he knew how to read.

After another moment of shaky decompression, he hurried back into the walls, returning to his former vantage point on the shelf.

The phone lit up a few more times, the cheery ringtone of an attempted call still not quite enough to bring Patton back to awareness. Virgil resisted the urge to go climb up on a windowsill, knowing that it was far too risky, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize any human vehicles anyhow.

Finally, finally, there was the sound of a key rattling in the front door’s lock. Virgil ducked back behind a novelty bobblehead as voices spilled into the house, growing more alarmed once they reached the kitchen. Virgil remembered belatedly that the mess from Patton’s disastrous attempt to make cookies was still there.

“Patton!” Roman appeared at the doorway, eyes fixed on the bedridden form of his friend. He rushed over, pressing a wrist to his forehead. “You’re burning up…”

With some careful maneuvering, he managed to lift Patton from the bed in a bridal carry, calling for Remus to get the door.

And then they were gone, off to the human version of a sickbay.

Virgil sprawled back, letting all the tension leave him, his heart still racing from his part in it all.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #borrowers #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts remus #g/t #isaih #in sickness and in health #my writing #writing #bthb #am i missing tags?

[youn9racha]

I Know (Part I)

Pairing: Changbin x fem!reader

Genre: suggestive

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: slight adult content, swearing, suggestive actions, elements of stalker behavior

Extra notes: characters mentioned are all above the age 21 years, a lot of hatred towards the male figure lol. Also this is my first time writing on tumblr, so please bare with me, it may not be the best, but I still hope you enjoy it :)

And baby, I know, I know whatever city you’re in, you’re still the boy that I’d pick…

part ii is up !!!

—————————————————————————————————

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised

—————————————————————————————————

Men…

Truly the scums of the Earth, who do no good for no one, and are an absolute menace to society. But oh, do I enjoy the looks of their faces at times. The way they would look at me with full hope and infatuation, with full beliefs that I would step down and give them all they want from me.

Hmph. How cute… and pathetic. How pathetic to assume and lower my standards for them. They all are the same. All but one however.

All that men hating… and yet, only one I’d be willing to go down to his level.

Yes, its him… He whom a lot would have not sought to be with, not many would expect a bombshell like myself would be with. But I do not see that in him, not an ounce of what many insecure individuals would see. I see something striking that not many could see, an underrated dignified beauty that anyone could wish to admire. A fanciable and irresistible personality and face.

He was a man.. but a pleasant one.

It all started when I moved in into a new flat for myself. I previously left the old complex due to the cramped environment I had that left me feeling uneasy and stressed, as well as it wasn’t even my apartment, it was for my partner, well, ex-partner. It was simply wasn’t working out, due to our seeming never ending conflicts. But enough of the past, let us move on..

I found this flat that is comfortable and the rent pays well, its only downside is that my room’s window is faced to the next door’s flat, however it’s not a big detriment or big turn off for me so it was fine by me, and also it was prone to have random, yet rare, blackout, but then again what neighborhood doesn’t have that. Anyhow, I was set to take the complex, but before I did, I have noticed something about the neighbor’s window next to me. It was a man. A really good looking one too. Giving his side profile, he was laying on his bed, his black hair covered head bopping with earphones placed in ears, laptop placed in his revealing shorts adorned lap. My eyes began started to stare into his arms then onto his naked well built chest, which indicates that he likes to keep up with his health, as his ring adorned hands was tapping away in his keyboard. I quickly looked away when I saw him repositioned his laptop, and walked out of the soon-to-be my room.

Great… I’ve entered Hell.

But I didn’t let it affect my decisions and got the apartment nonetheless, here I am now, weeks after the incident, sitting in my car, outside of the building, still thinking about the man in his laptop. Has he noticed that I was staring at him? Does he know that there’s gonna be someone living next to him? I hope not. And if he has, I must apologize to him. But before that, let me unload my car. I have gradually put my stuff into the complex as the days go by, it seems dragging, but it felt like the time went by fast, so I’m glad I have done that. However, today was different, as I took stuff more than I usually did, as I desperately do not want to go back to my ex. Typically, I never had assistance, as usually my best friend would join in and help out, but at a time I needed them the most, they had to be really sick. They still were willing to help, but I insisted that they shouldn’t and should rest.

After thinking, I sighed and got out my car, ready to fight the battle that is putting my stuff into my complex. I opened the trunk, eyes meeting my stuff, and I begin to groan. ‘Dammit, (y/n), why do you have that many stuff?!’ I thought to myself. I really should’ve had at least one more visit to my ex, but alas I picked to just take all all together in one day. I picked up a box until..

“Need any help?” I heard someone behind me asking me. I turned around and looked at the source. ‘God damn, is it just me, or does this town just bring out more attractive people?’ I thought to myself, as I see a man that looked like he could be at a museum. He had a sandy brown curly hair, slightly tanned skin, really plump and a crazy jawline. He donned a tank top that barely covered his side torso, and basket ball shorts that complimented his really nice, thick… thighs… yeah… Needless to say he was really attractive.

It seems that I was ogling him, rather than responding, as he shyly smiled and waved his hand in front of my face, “hello,” he softly said as I shook my head and looked back at his face apologetically.

“I am so sorry, I am just really tired, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I cringed at my pathetic way of justifying of me literally internally lusting over him. I really am turning into someone I dread to be. How can I forgive myself?

“That’s okay, I know how moving can get tiring, and I sense that you’re alone, so please let me and my friend help you out.” He said, sympathetically smiling a sweet smile, already grabbing a box out of my hand. God, if this man has a partner, then they’re the luckiest person ever, and if he’s single, I’ll gladly hand him a ring. What am I saying? (y/n), what the hell has gotten into you?!

“I’m Christopher, but you can call me Chris or Chan, whichever you prefer is fine, what’s your name?” The generous man’s voice interrupted my inner battle and I found myself looking at him again. “(y/n)” I smiled at him, which he nodded back.

“Nice to meet you,” Chan said, looking back and see that his friend showed up, meanwhile, I went back to my trunk and got out more stuff from my car “oh, there he is!” Chan enthusiastically announced.

“(y/n), meet my friend and roommate, Changbin.” Chris said, while I got out the box and looked at the other man, my face shifted from contentment to horrific.

Its the man with the laptop.

“Hello? Chan, are you sure she’s okay?” Changbin looked at Chris with worry. “Yeah, she’s just tired, just nudge her.”

It’s like Chris knew me too well, despite meeting for less than 10 minutes, as Chris slightly pushed me with the box, not enough to hurt me, but enough to put me out of a trance.

“huh? I did it again, did I?” I looked at Chan, worryingly, which he nodded. I looked back at Changbin and the pathetic act was brought up again.

“I am so sorry, I don’t know what has gotten into me.” I apologized once again, which Changbin only smirked. “Don’t worry about it,” He said, carrying a box. Something about that smirk and tone seems off. Not off in a menacing way, but off in a… coy way. Maybe not the best term to use, maybe I am just over analyzing, but I am for sure either winning the lottery tonight, or convinced that the sun will rise from the west tomorrow, since I have two very attractive men helping out, one of which is someone whom I may have an odd fascination for a while now.

~~

The two have been nothing but a delight to interact with, their help with the stuff had done me even more than just a solid. However, I still in a way feel a bit unsettled by Changbin. It wasn’t that he was a creep, or did anything to make me uncomfortable, its just this feeling of guilt I carry with me. Meanwhile, I didn’t attempt anything, and I just simply just admired him from afar, it still felt wrong that I was just looking at him while he was barely wearing anything, let alone while not him paying attention. Despite this, it seems that he doesn’t know that I did what I did, which is why I chose to confront him about it when the time is right, which is probably when we start getting even more comfortable. I have exchanged numbers with both men, even though I could probably just go out my window and yell out their names, but I’d rather not disturb the peace.

Two good looking men are now my neighbors… Who would have thought? Whichever entity that is in existence have decided to play with me, because to them, my humiliation would be their laughing stock, because they definitely would have seen what is to become of me.

Its been a week in since I moved, and interacted with the two Chans, and I am glad that a curtain was installed onto my room, just so I wouldn’t carry even more guilt than I already do. But the thing is, I would lie that I still haven’t thought of Changbin. While I would have thought that Chris fitting into more of my ideal type, Changbin however held a mysterious power that Chan didn’t.

Ever since the time I first laid eyes on Changbin, he has never left my mind. He has started to creep up in my fantasies and dreams in every way shape of form. I couldn’t stop thinking of how his arms would look around my waist, how his lips would feel in my skin, or how his hands would wander around, exploring places that many men often fail to find to make me feel good, or how his voice would be like when talking as he puts his mouth by my ear— God, this is getting out of hand, I would think.

What if he had a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to women in general? What if he finds you a creep?

So many more endless questions would come in to ruin me, but its not like i have a choice, he just happened to settle into my dreams and thoughts, and went with it.

I decided to take a shower to try and distract myself from these thoughts, which didn’t help at all, as the hot water cascading my skin did nothing but accelerated my lustful thoughts. I decided to get out of the shower, as it didn’t help my case.

Damn you, Changbin.

I sighed, put on some underwear and a robe while having a towel wrapped around my hair. I got out of the bathroom and back to my room. It was dark out, and in my room, the only light came out of it were my night lamp, which barely lit up the whole room. I checked the window, making sure Changbin wasn’t there, or at least not facing the window, only to see his window being covered with curtains.

Great timing, could’ve used that when I first saw you, dipshit.

But nonetheless, I was really glad at least he wasn’t visible. I laid back on my bed, and decided to look through social media, as anyone should. While in the middle of a instagram scroll, I see a caller popping through at the top of the screen…

It was Changbin.

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #changbin #changbin scenarios #changbin fanfic #changbin smut #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz scenarios

[mypoisonedvine]

Exchanging Gifts | chubby!Bucky Barnes x reader

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KARINA!!! @ballyhoobarnes​ you’re such a sweet person and so talented and a great friend and ily and also ur hot, which is less relevant but still worth mentioning

summary: chubby!bucky takes you out for your birthday, and even though he’s inexperienced, he knows how to show you a good time if you know what I mean... listen it’s pretty much fluffy pwp idk what to tell you

warnings: smut!!, oral (m receiving), loss of virginity (his, of course lol), some fingering, overstimulation, creampie kink, praise kink, morning sex, bucky being insecure?? FLUFF it’s FLUFFY you guys but somehow it turned out filthy too idk i couldn’t help it.

word count: just under 4k, hot damn how did that happen

Even though you'd insisted he didn't need to do anything special for your birthday, Bucky had shown up with a dozen roses and dinner reservations.  "Get dressed up fancy," he instructed you the moment you'd opened the door.  "This place has a black tie dress code."

He was a true gentleman the whole night, until he walked you back to your place.  The second you were on the other side of your door, you couldn't keep your hands off of each other.  

"You're so wonderful," you murmured between breathless kisses as you stumbled back towards the couch.

"This better not be you thinking you owe me anything because I paid for your dinner," he chuckled, "on your birthday."

"Oh it's not that at all," you smiled, running your hands over his chest.  

"What is it then?"

You smirked.  He always seemed to need a reason, as if 'you're my boyfriend and you're hot' wasn't reason enough.  "Can I be honest with you, Bucky?" you asked quietly, licking your lips subconsciously.

"Always!"

"It's times like this that I'm just really in the mood to suck your cock."

He stammered a little, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Really?"

"Yup."

He laughed for a second, then got serious again, then just looked horrifically nervous.  "Oh, well I, uh…"

"We don't have to do anything about that, I just felt like saying it—"

"What if we did do something about it?"

You raised an eyebrow.  "Would you want me to?"

"Of course I want you to," he sighed.  "I know we've been taking things really slow— and I'm so glad you've been patient with me— I just… god, you're perfect," he laughed.

"That's far from the truth," you dismissed.  "But I've been happy to take things slow with you.  Even when sometimes it felt like I would die if I couldn't get my hands on you…"

You ran your hands over his chest, feeling how warm and soft he was beneath the shirt he was wearing.  

"Ah, I've been there," he replied wistfully.

"Really?  You relate to that?"

"I barely made it through dinner," he admitted with a laugh.  "All I could think about was… doing this…" he trailed off as he leaned in and began to lick and suck at your neck; his arms wrapped around your waist and you were like putty in them.

"Oh god, Buck," you moaned.

"Say my name like that again," he pleaded.

"Make me," you challenged.

He growled a little as he pulled you back to straddle him on the couch.  You couldn't stop yourself from grinding down on him, moaning again when you felt the hard shape of his cock rubbing right against your clit through your dress and panties.

"Mm, take this off," you purred, tugging at his shirt and tie.

"C-can I keep it on?"

You got a little more serious.  "Of course you can, if you want to.  But I'll admit that I wanna see you."

"And if you don't like what you see?"

"Unlikely, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  I'll take mine off first if you'd like?"

"Obviously I'd like," he chuckled, "but that's easy for you to say.  You're, you know, sexy and stuff."

"As if you're not?"

"I'm not," he informed you.

"Bucky, I'm gonna level with you: you are so fucking sexy it's actually gonna be the death of me someday," you laughed.  "Don't you realize I think about you all the time?" you asked, getting a little more serious.  "Bucky, those times where you came over and we made out, or fooled around?  As soon as you left I was getting myself off right here on this couch— even when you'd already made me come while you were over.  That's how horny you make me— and when you're not here and all I can do is imagine you, I always call out your name when I—"

"Baby," he groaned, "you'd better stop talking like that or this is gonna end a lot sooner than I want it to."

You chuckled before you started to slip off the straps of your dress, loving the way he watched you do it: enraptured.

You were taken by surprise when, the moment your breasts had spilled from the dress, he leaned forward to suck your nipple between his lips.

With a gasp and a moan, you gripped at his hair and let your head fall back.  Either you were really sensitive, or he was really good at this-- probably a little bit of both, but fuck if you weren’t beyond needy and desperate at this point.

"Please, Bucky," you whimpered.

"What is it, angel?  Anything you want, you can have it," he mumbled as he switched to the other side (symmetry is very important with these sorts of things) and you rubbed your hips against his absent-mindedly.

"Please, please, I need to taste you Bucky, oh my god please let me taste you—"

He nodded and you sighed with relief, beginning to slide down his body as you loosened his tie and opened his shirt.  With each button you exposed more of his body, lathing every inch of skin with kisses.

"How's this?" you asked him softly, looking up at him through your lashes.  "Is this okay?"

"It's very unfamiliar," he answered, "and much more than okay."

"Has nobody done this to you before?"

"Nobody's ever wanted to."

You smirked a little.  "Oh, I doubt that."  You palmed his cock through the suit pants, grinning when he jerked a little under your touch.  Slowly, you opened the fly and pulled it out.

Of course you'd seen his cock before, but not for very long and not up close like this.  It suddenly seemed intimidatingly big; you weren't sure you were going to be able to get much of it in your mouth… but you were excited to try!

You weren't sure you had the heart to tease him very much, but you wanted to give it a try at least.  You licked the head first, then down the shaft, then back up slowly.  He was quiet at first, too busy watching you to say anything, but you knew he was losing patience when his fingers brushed over the side of your face; you could feel his restraint, you could feel that urge to grab your hair and guide you.

"Go ahead," you encouraged, "tell me what you want."

"Put it in your mouth, please," he whimpered.

When you obeyed by pushing his cock all the way to the back of your throat, he made the most beautiful sound: like a gasp and a moan all at once.  His hips bucked up into your throat ever so slightly and the sensation of choking made you grow even wetter.

"Fuck," he sighed, "'s so good…"

You moved up and down, savoring every ridge of him as it slid over your tongue.  Each movement grew a little faster as you used your hand to stroke what your lips couldn't reach.

"Baby," he moaned, "oh my god, s-slow down, please— 'm so close, ah fuck yes—"

You stopped for a moment and used only your hand, catching your breath a little as you took a moment to appreciate how good he looked like this.  

"Is it okay if I make you come?" you asked.

"Is it okay if it doesn't take you very long at all?" he returned, already sounding positively wrecked.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you decided.

“You should,” he confirmed, whimpering again when you took him back into your mouth and let your tongue explore whatever it could reach.

The taste of his pre-cum made you moan, and the vibrations of that moan made him grip your shoulder tightly.

“A-angel, please,” he begged, as if he was worried you would stop for some reason.  Your attitude was entirely the opposite, though.  All you could think about was how much you wanted to taste his orgasm and swallow it down.  Fortunately, that dream came true not too much later when he grabbed the back of your neck and moaned your name loudly— loud enough that you were a little worried the neighbors might hear.

But honestly?  You kinda wanted them to.

You kept stroking and sucking until every drop was on your tongue.  You smiled up at him and almost spilled some of it but thankfully avoided that fiasco.

“Show me,” he requested softly; it was a relatively mild show of dominance, but it still sent a shiver down your back as you stuck out your tongue and let his seed gather on it.  “Fuck,” he whispered, “that was… wow.”

You swallowed before answering, because it seemed like a good order to do things in.  The bitter taste as the back of your throat was a small price to pay for him looking at you like that.

“You look drained,” you informed him.

“I am,” he nodded.  “Oh, wait, you mean tired?  Yeah, that too.”

You laughed a little.  “Can we lay down for a minute?”

“It’s 10 p.m., I think it’s acceptable to lay down for more than a minute.”

Deciding to turn in for the night instead (and, of course, have a sleepover), the two of you got ready and changed into pajamas, snuggling up into each other’s arms.

It was an easy sleep after that, and a long one.  Bucky woke up first, the very early light of sunrise being less of an influence on his wakefulness compared to you bumping up against him.  He didn’t mind, though, he liked to watch you for a minute before you woke up anyways, to appreciate how peaceful you looked.

He heard you hum through your sleep, cuddling up closer to him.  It was just cute at first, but then your ass pressed back against crotch and goooood morning…

"Hi there beautiful," he cooed, gently kissing on your temple and down to your neck.  You stirred but didn't wake just yet, though you did smile; and he smiled too, loving the way your lips curled— he could remember how those lips looked wrapped around his cock, swollen and slick with spit and come.  It was a good memory.  

His hand slipped down to your hip, holding you firmly against him: by this point he was so hard he was worried he was going to injure himself somehow.

Finally you woke up, your eyes fluttering open as your sleepy smile turned to a wide, flirtatious grin.

"This might be my favorite way ever to wake up," you informed him.  

He chuckled softly, beginning to kiss along your shoulder.  "Agreed."

His fingers moved down at a teasingly slow pace; you unabashedly opened your legs, hoping to egg him on.  Thankfully, it worked.  He started to suck a mark onto the back of your shoulder as he slipped his hand into your panties, instantly discovering how drenched you were and how swollen and sensitive your clit was.

“Oh you poor thing,” he grinned.  “When’d you get so wet, angel?”

“It never stops around you,” you explained with a shiver.

It didn’t take much more until you were a begging mess, his fingers working their magic and making your whole body alight with energy.

"Bucky, please—" you whimpered.

"What do you need, angel?" he asked with only a hint of coyness shining through his tone.

"I just— I want more, please…"

"We've tried a lot of new things today," he reminded you.  "And it was amazing.  And I wondered what you would say if I told you I want to try something else…"

"Oh really?" you purred.  "What did you have in mind?"

"This might not be the, uh, most hip language but… I want to make love to you."

Your eyes went a little wide.  "Really, Bucky?  I mean, you're sure you want me to be—"

"Yes, I'm so sure, I've never been more sure of anything.  You've been so amazing and I can't think of a better person to have as my first."

I don't just want you to be my first, I want you to be my only, he added internally, too afraid to say it aloud.

"I wanna be your first, Bucky," you agreed softly, brushing your fingers through his hair.  "I'm really— I'm honored you want it to be me.  And also I'm very turned on right now."

He laughed and kissed you again, pulling you close.  As his body settled between your legs, you revelled in how warm you felt— not hot or sweaty (yet), just warm, and safe, and comforted.  He still gave you those butterflies in your stomach, sure, but for once that didn’t seem to just be a cute way of repackaging your anxiety.

With your panties pulled to your ankles and your shirt (which was, of course, actually his shirt that you’d stolen) tossed to the side, he kissed his way down your chest and stomach until his face was buried between your legs.

“Buck, I— fuck I thought you were gonna oh god just like that yes—”

“Wanted to return the favor first,” he explained, his words muffled.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?” you giggled.

He smiled but kept going, almost gentle at first but quickly finding a few favorite spots and stimulating them mercilessly.

You didn’t mean to pull his hair so hard but he didn’t seem to mind, moaning every time you forced him onto you harder.  "Bucky, oh god, don't stop please!” you sobbed.

Of course he didn’t; he wanted you to come, he was a man on a mission and not much could stop him at this point.  Just as he began to suck on your clit even harder than before— just hard enough to make the threat of pain tingle up your spine— he pressed two fingers into your opening.  One little curl into your g-spot and you were gone, biting down on your lip as your body spasmed uncontrollably.

He moaned as he coaxed you through it; you tried to tap out but he went just a moment longer and for that one moment, you thought your body might just crumble into little pieces from the overwhelming pleasure.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was kissing you again.  Your taste on his lips was divinely filthy.

“Need to be inside you,” he explained with a whisper as he started to take off his boxers.

“Please,” you sighed, too weak to even put a full sentence together.

Even with a very thorough warm-up, you couldn’t help but gasp as he pressed into you.  Your walls fluttered and flexed as they made way for the intrusion, both of you moaning softly while you arched your back to take him deeper.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he whispered as his face buried into your neck.  Your arms wrapped around his shoulders— you loved how broad and strong they were— and he pushed up from behind your knees to spread you open for him, the new angle forcing the head of his cock to press right into your spot.

“Fuck!” you cried out.  He sat up slightly and looked a little concerned at first.  “No, it’s good,” you reassured him, “it’s so good, Bucky, right there—”

He pulled back only to quickly push forward again, setting a pace that wasn’t quite rushed but was certainly a bit desperate.  Even so, you were on the verge of begging for more, you needed him so badly.

“Harder, please,” you moaned.  Okay, maybe you were a little past being on the verge.

“Is that how you like it?  Rough?” he asked darkly.

“Maybe,” you grinned.  “Is that how you like it?”

“I don’t know yet,” he responded, his grip on your legs tightening until you were almost tempted to struggle against him just to see if he was strong enough to hold you down, “but I like you telling me how to make you feel good.”

“Then fuck me,” you demanded through your teeth, moaning louder when he obeyed and began to pound into you.  The slapping of skin filled the room, as did the revealing sound of your arousal, and it made your face burn even though you were pretty sure he didn’t mind at all.

You were so sensitive from the last time you came that you were already making quick progress towards the next.  Didn’t help that your swollen clit was brushing against his cock every time it speared into you.

“You’re— fuck— you’re squeezin’ me, angel,” he hissed.  “You gonna come already?”

You couldn’t even speak anymore, just nodding wildly.  He leaned forward to kiss you and you were nearly folded in half as he kept his grip on your legs.  You weren’t sure anything had been so deep inside you before; you were sure you had never made a sound like the one you made in that moment.

“Fuck, s’that good, huh?” he teased in reaction to the way you were nearly screaming already.

“God, you are the cockiest virgin ever,” you laughed, hoping you could delay the inevitable just a bit longer for the sake of your dignity.  You tried to angle your body so he wouldn’t be so deep, so it would be so much, but he held you firm and fucked into you even harder.

“Ah ah ah,” he corrected with a smirk, “no running away, angel.  Gonna make you come on my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” you whimpered, “fuck, Bucky, I’m close…”

“Me too,” he murmured back, kissing you deeply one more time.  You hadn’t even imagined how perfect it would feel to come around him with his tongue still in your mouth, your moans blending with his, his fingers digging into your thighs while your nails were sure to leave marks on his back and shoulders.  But even if you had tried to imagine how perfect it would feel, you couldn’t have ever come close.  The moment you were tumbling over the edge, he was right there with you; you could feel him flexing against your walls as he came, and you were afraid if you let your eyes roll back like you so desperately wanted to, they’d get stuck there or something.  

You just barely heard him murmur ‘angel’ as he kissed all down your neck.  His body relaxed a little on top of you, though you still felt sensitive and tingly from where your bodies were joined.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he admitted, looking down at you as his cheeks turned a little pink.

You couldn’t, though, and he sat up with a sigh as you smiled back up at him.  He held your legs up as he pulled out, watching with wide eyes as his come leaked from your hole.  You gasped when he reached down to push it back in with two fingers; your whole body jerked when he moved those fingers inside you and started to rub your g-spot again.

“Bucky, what are you—?” you asked breathlessly, but you were already subconsciously pushing back to ride his fingers.

"I wanna see you come one more time," he explained.  "You just look so perfect when you do it— and it's the best feeling when I'm doing it to you."

“We can definitely agree on that,” you mumbled.  He rubbed little circles over your spot, using his free hand to hold your hips down, forcing you to take all the sensation he was giving you.  Knowing that his come was the lubricant for all this made your head spin.  “F-fuck, right there,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he smiled.  “I can tell you’re close again.”

It wasn’t so much that you were close than that you never got a chance to come down from the high of the last one.

“You’re so perfect, my perfect girl,” he purred, watching you squirm from the praise.  “You wanna be my good girl, don’t you?  You wanna come for me again?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “god, yes, Bucky—”

He pressed against you harder and your moan quickly shifted to a slightly-embarrassing choking noise.  His fingers pumped into faster and faster and your sore walls burned but you still wanted more.  He didn’t let up until you were tightening around him with another orgasm, this one burning brighter but shorter, taking all the energy from you at once.  He watched your face as you came, loving the way you held your breath, the way your eyes fluttered shut, the way you bit down on your lip—

"Bucky— you said one more—" you whined in confusion when you realized his fingers were still moving, if a little slower, and his thumb was reaching up to press into your clit.

"I never said just one more…" he smirked.

"Fuck, I— I dunno if I can take it!" you sobbed, the sensation nearly too much to handle.

"Oh you can," he purred.  "You're so strong, you're so good for me— I know you can.  I know you can give me one more."

You literally squealed when he pulled out his fingers only to put his cock in you again.  You hadn’t even realized he was still hard.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you cried out, gripping the sheets for dear life.

"You wanna call out my name like you did when I wasn't around?  I bet that's not all you did.  I bet you begged, and pleaded, screamed for me to let you come.  Am I right?"

You nodded feverishly; his laugh in response had just that hint of condescension, that edge of degradation.  Even though you knew he wouldn't judge you for it, admitting it felt dirty in a delicious way.

“‘Cause you wanna be my good girl,” he posited.

“I— I am your good girl,” you stammered, feeling a little silly referring to yourself that way.

He laughed a little, still rubbing your clit as he fucked you hard and fast.  “Yeah, you are, angel.”

The petname, even though you’d heard it a thousand times, was what sent you over the edge the last time.  You nearly kicked him off you as the pleasure finally reached the point that you truly were at your limit, but thankfully he got the hint before that and pulled out, giving you a much needed break.

“Dear god,” you chuckled through your exhaustion, your eyes falling shut, “that was— you are— I can’t—”

“Was it good?” he asked softly as he laid beside you and pulled you into him.

Your eyes shot open again.  “Was… was it good?” you repeated incredulously.  “Buck, it was incredible.  It was life-ruining.  I thought your first time was going to be about you.”

“It was!  Making you come four times is me spoiling myself,” he explained, kissing your shoulder.  “What’s about you is me letting you shower first.”

“You aren’t gonna join me?” you asked coyly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, angel,” he warned.  “I think you need a rest.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you grumbled disappointedly.  The last thing you needed was to pass out in the shower from him doing that to you again.  “Is it really a whole year until my next birthday?” 

“Yeah, sadly that’s how those work,” he smiled. 

“What about your birthday?” 

“Not ‘til March.”

“...that means your half-birthday is just a week away,” you realized.

“So?”

“I think we should start celebrating those.”

He laughed a little.  “You wanna get me a half-present?”

“Yeah,” you decided.  “I think I’m gonna pay for half of your dinner.  Then I’m gonna fuck you halfway to death.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #chubby!bucky x reader #chubby!bucky smut #chubby!bucky fluff

[mssjynx]

Mic: ON

dreamnap oneshot 3687 words warnings: steamy!!  ao3 link

-

“Sapnap. Don’t send it.”

Dream’s warning voice held a lot more threat than usual coming through Nick’s headset, and he suspected it was because the two now shared a house. He was all too aware of his friend’s presence only two doors down, and had it just been the two of them, Nick probably would have already given in and saved himself an ass kicking. Dream was a noticeable few inches taller than him, and definitely stronger though Nick would never admit it outloud. 

Nick was good at picking his fights.

Or he was, usually. 

But with Dream in one ear, and Quackity, George and Karl in the other, he was tiptoeing the line of a very pissed off Dream. The three idiots had been egging him on for the past half hour, begging him to send the video since the moment he’d mentioned having it. And he wasn’t actually going to send it, he just really enjoyed stirring Dream up and he knew the other three found it just as funny. 

“Sapnap! Sapnap! Sapnap!” Karl’s chanting overlapped the other two voices, Alex making odd monkey sounds as George laughed himself into hysterics. 

“Send it, Sap! You have to show us, you have to.” George’s words were gasped out between wheezes in his comically high-pitched voice that appeared whenever he was losing his mind laughing at something. 

Nick knew that if any of them laid their eyes on the video, they would never ever get over it. 

He’d captured the valuable video the night prior when Dream had overslept an alarm that he’d set for a recording session with the Among Us crowd. When Nick had crept in there to wake him up, a task he dreaded after the first time he’d done it and successfully pissed Dream off for two full days, he had been met with a sight he never thought he’d see. It was too good to resist flicking out his phone and capturing the moment. 

Dream had been splayed out across the bed, three pillows tucked under his back and his head tipped back off the mattress entirely. A trail of dried drool stained his cheek and his slack mouth was releasing a mix of whistling snores and little snuffling sounds as he slept. His fourth pillow was clutched to his chest in a grip that made Nick feel bad for it, white knuckles making Nick gulp as he crept back out of the room and returned to his Discord call to pass on the disappointing news. 

He had intended to keep the video to himself, locked away in his phone for a later day of humiliation. He hadn’t intended that later day to be the day following but he made the mistake of mentioning the beautiful video and it had all gone downhill from there. 

Karl, George and Alex were relentless when they wanted something, and to say they wanted to see this video was a huge understatement. 

“We need to see it, Sapnap, it’s worth the risk! It’s worth it!” Alex pleaded. 

“The risk!?” Nick snorted, offended by the lack of care. “I’m gonna get my teeth kicked in, Quackity! The risk is my impending death.” 

“It’s worth it, it’s worth it!” 

“Vouch!” 

Karl and Alex were a terrible influence on each other. 

“Guys, Dream’s scawy,” Sapnap said, hoping his baby “uwu” voice would soften Dream’s heart. He knew that whether he sent it or not, Dream was going to kill him for taking it in the first place. 

“You haven’t seen ‘scary’,” Dream muttered and Nick shot a weary glance to the door of his office. There wasn’t even a lock. 

George whined, adding his own baby voice to the mix, and Sapnap could practically see the stupid pout he was wearing when he begged, “Please, Sap. He won’t actually kill you!” 

Dream’s scoff was dry and humourless, “Oh, I will,” and Nick could hear the exhaustion that layered his irritation. He’d been up for over twenty hours editing his upcoming video and keeping the guys company in their streams. He knew that Dream was ready to collapse into bed the second he could, but the risk of his pride held enough weight to keep him upright for the time being. 

Nick almost felt bad for him, except he remembered the horrific photo that Dream had shared with their chat less than a month earlier. 

This was only payback; well, it would be if Nick was actually going to send it. But he was better than that, he was the bigger man and he also valued having all of his teeth and an unbroken nose. 

With a sigh, he reached to click delete on the keyboard to remove the video from the textbox. The ominous ‘Sapnap is typing…’ that sat at the bottom of all of their screens had only added to the excitement (and anger), but he knew that they’d had their fun and it was over. When he tried to snatch up his water bottle at the same time, his device unbalanced in his fingers and the thunk of it hitting the carpet was accompanied by the little “shwoop” sound of a message sending. 

Every voice except Dream’s exploded in the call and Nick froze in his chair.

“Oh god,” he whispered, dropping his bottle and scrambling for his phone. “Oh, no, no, no- I didn’t- It was an accident, I dropped my-” His voice was drowned out by Karl and Alex’s cheering, hysterical laughter pouring from George’s end. Dream’s icon vanished from the call and the slam of a door opening reached Nick’s ears.

Dream’s footsteps were loud and angry.  

“Guys, guys, GUYS!” His bedroom door burst open and Nick threw off his headphones, ripping the cord from his PC as he stumbled out of his chair. The look on Dream’s face made Nick genuinely fear for his life as he backed up away from Dream. 

“Oh my God, he’s so cuuuute!” Karl cooed. George howled with laughter. 

Nick had messed up. He had royally screwed himself, and today was the day he was going to die. “Dream, Clay. It was an accident, I was going to delete it and I dropped my phone and- I wasn’t actually going to send it, I swear. I promise. Pinky promise? What if we hug and make up?” Words tumbled off his tongue with panicked desperation but Nick knew a losing fight when he saw it. “Dream?” he tried weakly when Dream stepped forward, but the stoic glare didn’t shift. 

He could hear Alex calling Dream’s name, futile attempts at rescuing Nick from certain death. But the laughter that drowned him out only sealed his fate.

He was completely and totally done. 

Dream lunged for him and an embarrassingly high-pitched scream ripped from Nick’s throat. He bolted to the bed, clambering over the mattress with his eyes on the open door. But his chances were shot when a rough hand grabbed his ankle, yanking him backwards and off balance. His face slammed into the mattress, cutting off his yelp, and he barely managed to squirm over onto his back before Dream pounced. 

“You’re done, Nick,” Dream snarled, and Nick knew that it was his turn to be mortified. He caught Dream by the upper arms, straining as he kept Dream’s hands just inches away from his own shoulders and face. “You’re such an asshole, I told you not to send it!” 

“I told you,” Nick gasped, his arms aching as he turned his face away from Dream’s clawing fingers, “I didn’t mean to!” 

Dream growled, glaring down at Nick for a second before spitting: “Liar.” and throwing his weight to the side. Nick lost his grip and within seconds Dream had hooked an arm around his back, pinning Nick’s head between his arm and his ribs. The wrestling training Sapnap did back in middle school leapt to the front of his mind as he got his arms around Dream’s middle and tried to push him back. They both grunted and yelped, jabbing fingers into sensitive spots and cursing as they wrestled and fought. 

From the computer, the other three were cheering them on, placing bets back and forth. Except they were all betting on Dream and Nick couldn’t even blame them as he scrambled on top of Dream’s back for half a second before he was thrown off.

A jab to his stomach knocked all the air out of him and in seconds he was flat on his back with his arms pinned either side of his head. He gasped for air, face hot and red from exertion as he blinked his dizzy eyes up at Dream. 

He made a weak attempt at getting one leg between him and Dream, hoping to plant a foot to his chest and shove him back, but Dream shoved his knee down into the muscle of Nick’s thigh and a shot of pain at the pressure cut his escape attempt off.

The grin on his face made Nick’s head spin faster, though he didn’t know whether it was fear or adrenaline that flipped his stomach like a pancake.  

“Dead,” Clay declared, proud and smug as if it was at all a fair fight. He was six foot two for Heaven’s sake. 

“Shut up, you’re such a dick,” Nick spat, craning his head off the mattress. The grip on his wrists tightened and Dream pressed them harder into the mattress, leaning his weight into his knee. Nick yelped in pain, wriggling in a weak attempt of dislodging his roommate. 

Dream scoffed. “Shouldn’t have sent the video, should you?” His sneer was twisted with a satisfied grin and Nick would have been relieved to see that he was more smug than angry if that smile didn’t trigger every fear sensor in Nick’s body. 

“Well, look- Ow- You got me now, so… you don’t have to, uh, kill me or anything! Wouldn’t want you to go to prison now,” he says, awkward chuckle leaving his lips. He hears Karl and George lose it from the computer speakers, quiet but distinct enough to heighten Nick’s irritation. They weren’t helping him at all.  

“No chance.” Dream narrowed his eyes. “I want some sort of compensation. You have to let me post whatever I want from your twitter,” and the crooked grin he wore told Nick that his revenge would be far worse than the five second video of Dream snoring. 

“No way,” he said, shaking his head and yanking on his arms. The taller man leaned his weight onto his wrists and Nick gave up on fighting. “Get off me, Dream.” 

They both ignored the three amigos cheering in the background, this time for Nick’s demise.

Two-faced assholes...

“What’s your password, Nick,” Dream asked, cocking his head to the side with his sly grin. He was, humiliatingly, completely at Dream’s mercy and his stomach twisted at the thought.

It was definitely the first time that they’d been so close to each other; Nick had never been able to see this much detail in Dream’s face. For a moment, he got distracted by the little scar that marred the right side of Clay’s top lip, wondering when and how he’d gotten it. When his lips twitched down into a confused frown, Nick snapped back into the moment with the realisation that he’d been staring at Dream’s mouth. 

He snapped his focus back up to Dream’s eyes, unable to miss the way his brows were creased with thought, and pushed a defensive snarl onto his own mouth as he glared up at Dream. “It’s not happening,” he said bluntly, hoping the embarrassed red of his cheeks could be passed off from their wrestling. 

Dream’s frown deepened with annoyance. “What’s your password, Nick?” he repeated, pressing his thumb hard into the inside of Nick’s wrist. He watched Nick’s face with an intensity that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago, murky green eyes flickering over Nick’s features as searching for something specific. 

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” 

“George, you dick!”

“He’s from Florida, man! He’ll do it!” 

The pressure on Nick’s inner wrist made him grimace and when Nick forced out a rough: “No, Clay,” he squeezed the other wrist harder, pinching the skin. The jolt of pain mixed with the tingle in his fingertips; Nick sucked in a deep breath and bit down hard on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to think of a way out of this situation. 

His train of thought was slammed to a stop when Dream’s eyes snapped down to Nick’s mouth like a magnet, time screeching to a neck-breaking halt. For a moment, neither of them moved. Dream’s grip loosened on Nick’s wrist but he didn’t even consider moving away, unable to focus on anything other than Dream’s gaze locked on his mouth and his own heartbeat slamming in his chest, in his throat, in his head. 

His lip slipped out from between his teeth, and out of reflex, he flicked his tongue to soothe the sting, and he could not ignore the way Dream sucked in a breath sharply through his teeth. Nick watched his pupils swell and he couldn’t say anything about Dream’s pink cheeks because he knew his own were just as warm. 

And then it was like a flip was switched. Dream clenched his jaw, eyes flicking back up to Nick’s with a clarity that caught him off guard. “Fine,�� Dream said, voice low and even. He stuck his tongue in his cheek for a moment of thought, and Nick tried desperately to keep up with the hidden thoughts behind Dream’s eyes. “Have it your way.” 

Those words ran through Nick’s mind just once, before one wrist was released. Before he could even think to make his escape, rough fingers caught him by the jaw, tipping Nick’s head back as a grin flashed over Dream’s lips. 

Then those lips were on Nick’s. 

Dream kissed him and he kissed him hard, sinking his teeth into Nick’s bottom lip without waiting for a response. The jolt of pain dragged a grunt from Nick’s mouth, and he pressed it up against Dream’s, allowing the thumb on his chin to drag his lips apart. Clay kissed him hard and deep and hot and Nick gave it back just as rough and unforgiving. 

His free hand jumped to the back of Dream’s head, threading fingers through loose blonde hair as he tilted his head up into the kiss. He craned his head up off the mattress, nipping at Dream’s tongue when it flicked his top lip. With a fistful of hair in his hand, he smirked into the kiss and yanked hard, dragging Clay’s mouth off him so he could gasp in a breath of air. 

It was only a moment before Dream caught Nick by the wrist, shoving his hand back down into the mattress. Except this time, he slipped his fingers up, interlocking them with Nick’s as he kissed him. He pressed his tongue past Nick’s lips, growling at the sharp bites Nick delivered in return. 

He’d forgotten about Clay’s knee on his thigh until the pressure vanished, Dream instead using his knee to push Nick’s leg to the side. It only felt natural to drag his knee up, dragging his ankle along the backside of Dream’s legs and pulling on the back of his thigh.

Even when they were kissing, they were fighting. Nick tried to press up against Dream, squirming and yanking on his wrists all the while trying to chase Dream’s tongue back into his own mouth. “Dream,” he growled when the Clay once again blocked Nick’s tongue, shoving his head back down against the mattress.

“Shut up,” Dream snarled, shifting his knee up the mattress between Nick’s legs. It wasn’t close enough and Nick’s underwear was too tight and too hot for him to handle. He bit back an irritated whine, and blushed at the smirk on Dream’s face. 

“You’re such a dick,” Nick bit, squirming when Dream put both of his wrists together and with one hand, held them both down. His other hand caught Nick by the jaw as he scanned the Texan boy’s flushed face and kiss-worried lips, holding him still despite how Nick shifted and fought, wanting to get his hands on Dream’s shoulders, in his shirt, in his hair. 

He was frustratingly intoxicating and Nick could not get enough. Dream who smelt like heat, like sweat and aftershave. Dream who dug his fingertips into Nick’s jaw and chin, grinning while he tilted Nick’s head back so he could kiss him deeper. 

The tongue that pressed into Nick’s mouth was hot and greedy as it teased his own, and Nick could feel the smug glee that oozed from the man above him. “Takes one to know one,” he whispered against Nick’s cheek, before pushing Nick’s head all the way back and dropping his mouth to the curve of his throat. 

Somewhere in the back of Sapnap’s head, he registered that he could still hear the other boys. Their conversation, the video, the fight; it felt so much further away with Dream’s tongue abseiling down his neck, and numbly he wondered if the boys had forgotten they were there. 

The sweet trail of kisses that crept up the side of his neck were followed by a sharp bite to the skin just below Nick’s ear, and he couldn’t stop the cry from spilling from his mouth. Grinning lips and a cruel tongue smothered the stinging pain as Nick groaned; words of: “Fuck you, that hurt,” being followed by a moan he couldn’t bite back when Clay’s hand disappeared from his jaw and reappeared between his legs, pressing flat to Nick’s straining arousal. The flush of pleasure that wasn’t quite enough dragged a helpless whimper from his tongue as Nick tried to grind up into the touch only to have it vanish altogether. “Clay-” he moaned at the greedy sucking on his neck, loud and desperate and without a touch of shame. “Fuck, touch me- Please,” he gasped.

And that right there was his second screw up of the night. 

“Woah, WHAT!?” 

“FUCK, no, my ears!”

“Oh God, oh no, that’s- they’re not fighting anymore, that’s not fighting!” 

The clamour of voices exploded from Nick’s computer, their previous quiet conversation completely forgotten as all three men’s heads were undoubtedly flooded with scenes they didn’t want to imagine, ever. 

Dream vanished from on top of Nick within seconds, bolting to the computer as Nick scrambled to sit upright. His face was burning hot and he could barely catch his breath as he watched Dream smack a few buttons on the computer before rounding on him. 

His own cheeks were flushed bright red and the look of alarm would have made Nick laugh had their situation not been as embarrassing as it was for the both of them. “You didn’t mute your mic!?” Dream demanded and Nick stared back at him in disbelief. 

“What, was I supposed to anticipate that!?” he snapped back, squirming under Dream’s dirty look. He was still embarrassingly turned on from their… activities, and he had no idea what was even going to happen now. 

They were best friends who lived together, not horny teenagers who jumped each other when they got a little bit worked up! 

Dream rubbed his face with his hands, taking a deep breath and holding it. After a second of silence, he let it out with an exhausted laugh, shaking his head as he lifted it to look back over at Nick. “Well, that’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation,” he said simply, and Nick couldn’t help but laugh as well. What else was there to do?

“At least they weren’t streaming,” he offered and Dream snickered at the thought, tapping a few more buttons until the screen went black. Nick dropped back onto the mattress, hands on his face as he took a few breaths. His heart was still racing like crazy, and the pressure between his legs was starting to ache. 

When he pushed back up onto his forearms, dropping a hand to readjust himself as he lifted his gaze to Dream. Sharp, green eyes were locked on him, more specifically his hand, which paused in its movements under the intense stare. 

Nick watched with bated breath as a small smile twisted Dream’s lips, eyes dragging up over Nick as if considering all the things he could do to him. Wondering what was going through Clay’s head made Nick’s stomach drop and head spin. Dream slowly returned to the edge of the bed and Nick sat up further, unsure if he felt more scared of excited by the look in Clay’s eyes. He moved to drag his legs back towards him, but before he could get very far, Dream’s hands were locking onto his ankles, one hard pull dragging Nick to the edge of the mattress. 

He tipped his head back to look up at Dream, biting his tongue when Dream cupped his cheek, running his thumb along his bottom lip. 

“That’s an issue for another day,” Dream said, wetting his lip with his tongue as he tipped Nick’s head back further. He shifted back, arms barely holding him up as he tilted his head away from Dream’s hand. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a nervous laugh dropping from his mouth as he scooted back further. 

Dream nodded, grin unfazed as he crawled onto the mattress. A hand to Nick’s chest pushed him back onto the mattress, another hand sliding up the inside of Nick’s leg. “Yeah,” Dream said, ghosting his fingers over the front of his sweats and watching Nick bite back a whimper. “Kinda busy right now.” He dipped down, capturing Nick’s mouth in another kiss; this one sweeter and softer than any of their others. He coaxed a soft sound from Nick’s throat, sucking his bottom lip and drawing his tongue out to flick against his own. 

“Busy?” Nick gasped when Dream pulled back for a breath, both hands falling to the waistband on Nick’s sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” he said with a sly grin, “Really busy.” 

#dreamnap #dream #sapnap #fic #fanfic #steamy fic #this is the first and closest thing ive written to smut #in literally 9 months #so #go easy on me but let me know what u think- i know its messy #but i tried my best and i like it :)

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

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[sunmoonandeddie]

apartment 4d

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,621

summary: There’s nothing Bucky loves more than the widow down the hall and her son.

warnings: Tiny bit of angst and some cussing.  Mostly fluff.

a/n:  Thank you so much to @indyluckycharlie for commissioning this!  I hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes was a simple man.  He loved his family, Steve, his apartment, and you.

You, the pretty widow.  You and your son, Eugene, lived in 4D, right down from where he lived in 4A.  After your husband had died in the war, you’d been forced to move since you couldn’t afford the nice house you once had.

And maybe he’s sick.  He’s gotta be, considering the fact that you had lost your husband in the same war that he’d been fighting in, that he’d lost his arm in and almost his sanity with it.  He’s gotta be sick, right?

Because otherwise he wouldn’t dream of coming home to you and Eugene, of sweetly kissing your cheek.  He wouldn’t want to teach Eugene how to tie his shoes and shave his face when the time came.

Speaking of.

A grin spread over his lips as he came up the stairs and saw you trying to unlock your front door while also holding your baby boy on one hip and your groceries in the other.  Your son, clad in a cute little outfit that looked almost like a sailor’s uniform, whined as he tugged at your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed, wincing as you tried to not get upset.  It had been a really rough day and him pulling your hair was just making it a little harder since you were trying to open the door.  “Please don’t pull Mama’s hair.”

“Hey, you want some help?” Bucky called out from the top of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the rail.

His voice breaking the silence startled you, judging by the way that you jumped and dropped your keys.  “Oh, uh…  That’d be lovely.  Thank you,” you said, giving him an exasperated smile as he came over and grabbed them from the ground.

“Here, let me help,” He said after opening the door.  He grabbed some of your groceries, though he couldn’t take all of it since he’d left his experimental prosthetic at home.  Howard was still tweaking the design since it hurt if he kept it on too long.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you managed to get inside and you set Eugene on the floor with a few of his toys.  “Today has just been a nightmare.  Eugene gets overwhelmed so easily and the supermarket was horrifically packed…”  A snort.  “I’m sorry.  I’m rambling.  You probably have things better to do than listening to me complain.”

But there was almost nothing that Bucky would love more than to listen to you complain about literally anything for the rest of his life.  “No!  No, don’t worry,” he insisted as he stepped towards you.  “I don’t mind…”

Your eyes felt hot as you tried to fight tears, your cheeks flushed.  “Sorry…  I hate crying…”  God.  Here you were, crying in front of a man you hardly knew.

“You really don’t have to keep apologizing,” he insisted as he set the groceries he was holding on the kitchen counter.

The dark green countertop was a stark contrast to the white wood of the cabinets and a compliment to the soft green walls.  It wasn’t light enough to be mint, but not dark enough to be forest.  He could see the care that you clearly put into your home just from the kitchen, considering the fresh greenery that framed the circular window, a potted plant sitting on the sill.

Eugene was talking animatedly to his toys in the living room, completely unaware of their conversation in the kitchen.

Somehow, even with the nightmare you had claimed to be through, you still looked absolutely stunning.  There was a stain from what he suspected might’ve been Eugene’s lunch on your chest, and the victory rolls in your curls were starting to fall.  Your fiery red lipstick was a little smudged in the corner, and before he could even stop to think, he reached across the counter top and gently wiped it away.

“There,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible.  There was a sparkle in the depths of your eyes that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever.  A kiss at the corner of your lips.

And he didn’t deserve such sweet things.  Not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t stain you red with his sin, put a traitor’s ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, your eyes locked on his.

And it was like he suddenly forgot his own argument.

He’d fall to his knees at the altar of your love and beg for forgiveness.  He’d repent until he was repenting his own name and etching yours into his heart.

“Mama?”

And your son.  He’d do everything he could to love him and show him what a real man was if you’d let him.

If you’d let him love the both of you.

“Yes, my love?” you asked as you scooped him up and placed him on the counter.

The spell between you two hadn’t been broken, just… momentarily suspended.  There was still the magic that came from a moment clinging to the air.  The domesticity of it all was so apparent as your eyes met his for just a second.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” He asked, tripping and stumbling over his words like any toddler would.

A honey sweet smile spread over your lips as you looked up at him.  “Well?  Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” You asked.

And he did.  He stayed for dinner.  And then stayed for dinner the next night and the next.

Bucky stayed for dinner seventy-two times before you invited him to stay the night.

You two had shared a lot in the last few months.  You’d completely fallen for him, somehow letting all your walls down.

The sheets softly rustled as you climbed into bed, your heart pounding.  You’d made sure to wash them that same morning, wanting them to be fresh for when he came over.

Your nicest nightgown, a shift made of soft blue silk, slid against your skin as you peered up at him, watching as he slowly undid his shirt.  The metal of his prosthetic gleamed in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp.  Warm orange light lit up his face and made him look like some sort of Donatello sculpture.

“Um…  This isn’t too pretty, so I understand if you don’t wanna look,” he said, his hands visibly shaking.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, inhaling sharply when he let his shirt fall from his shoulders.

The left side of his chest was a spider web of pink scar tissue.  It stretched halfway across his chest and almost down to the waist of his pants.

Bucky grimaced as he reached up with his flesh hand and undid his prosthetic, biting his lip to keep from crying out.  It disconnected, and he carefully set it to the side.  What was left of his arm was even more scarred up, though it had clearly been operated on to make it easier for the prosthetic to be attached.  “I told you it’s not pretty,” Bucky grunted.

But you simply opened up the blankets for him to crawl in, watching as he toed off his shoes before letting his pants fall to the ground.  “All of you is pretty, James,” you murmured as he climbed in beside you.  Your hand found his cheek, your thumb running over the soft skin.  He’d recently shaved and the stubble had yet to grow back.

“Not as pretty as you, darling,” He said as he wrapped his arm around you to pull you to his chest.  His lips pressed to yours in a happy sigh, your foot running up his leg.

“James?”

“Mmhm?”

“I was thinking…”

He was still kissing you, though his lips had migrated from yours and were giving attention to your cheeks and your neck.  “Yeah, baby doll?  ‘Bout what?”

“Halloween is coming up…”

A kiss to your chest.

“Yeah…”

His hand sliding up your thigh.

“And I was thinking…”

His nose nudging against your collarbone.

“Mmm…”

His thigh moving between yours.

“What if you came trick-or-treating with Eugene and me?” You asked, flustered beyond belief.  Bucky and you had started getting frisky a few weeks after you met—it wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin, after all—but he still managed to get you all worked up in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, his blue eyes wide.  “Really?  You’d want that?” He asked curiously.  “But…  But we haven’t told him that we’re… you know.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly as your fingers ran through his shortly cropped hair.  “But…  I want to tell him.”  You kissed his forehead, your leg hooking over his waist.  “My…  My husband wasn’t a kind man.  He didn’t hit me or anything like that, but…  He wasn’t good.  I didn’t know men could be good until you came along.”  Tears pricked your eyes as you cupped his cheek, letting his head rest against your chest.  “I want you.  And I want Eugene to know what a good man is.  I want him to be a good man like you.”

He nodded, sniffling as he nuzzled further into your neck.  “I want you.  And I want him.  I wanna be your family.  Your husband.”

“Let’s start with trick-or-treating.”

It was a few weeks until Halloween, but Bucky went all out.  He got his mom, Winnifred, to make the three of you matching outfits, making you look like a scarecrow family.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said softly to the older woman as she helped you get Eugene into his costume.

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing,” she insisted quietly, taking a deep breath.  “You know…  They told me he was dead.  I got a telegram telling me that my son was dead because he fell from a train.”  Her blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, were already glassy with tears.  “And then one day…  He just wasn’t dead anymore.  He was on my doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and one arm less than when he’d left.”

Your heart ached for her, for the mourning she had done and the grief that still clearly lingered in her heart.  “I only got a telegram, too,” you said after a few minutes, letting her do your hair.  “When they told me my husband died…  I just got a telegram.  And the last thing…”  You coughed to clear your throat.  “The last thing I said to him before he left was if he signed up to go fight in a war while leaving me at home pregnant, then he wouldn’t have a home to come back to.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Winnifred said kindly, her calloused fingers gently twisting your hair into an updo.  She placed little pieces of hay here and there to match your costume.  “And I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes drifted to the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Eugene on his lap as he read to him, already in his costume.  “I’m lucky to have Bucky.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Winnifred said with a smile.  “I hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in months… and then all of a sudden he’s coming over for Sunday dinner and talking about some girl he met that lives down the hall…”  She took a step back, finishing up.  “There.  You’re all done and ready to go.”

It was rather chilly outside, but you weren’t really paying attention to the weather.  Your heart was too warm from watching Bucky walk with Eugene, hand in hand as he helped him go to each house to get his candy.  His sweet little, “Twick or tweat!” made you grin every time.

You didn’t get back to your apartment until almost ten at night, and it was way past his bedtime.  Giving him a bath was an adventure as you both worked to get him all cleaned up in a mess of splashing water and bubbles.  Eugene found it hilarious to try to get the both of you as wet as possible, his cheeks flushed with delight.

“Okay, buddy.  Story time, okay?” Bucky said as he tucked him in, the both of you sitting on either side of him.  “You get one book and then you gotta go to bed.  It’s real late.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes starting to droop.  Now that the rush had faded, he was quickly becoming more and more sleepy.  You gave it about five minutes before he was out like a light.

“The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,” Bucky said softly.  “There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid.  He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white.  He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.  On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.”

Your eyes were soft as you watched him, your fingers scratching your son’s scalp as he listened as intently as he could.  What had you done to deserve Bucky?  What God had you pleased so much that he deigned you worthy of his presence?

His voice was like deep velvet as he continued to read, smooth as molasses.  And if you weren’t careful, you were sure to fall asleep just like your son was.

“One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him.  Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop.  ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take your old Bunny!  He'll do to sleep with you!’  And

she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.”  Bucky grinned down at Eugene as he saw his eyes start to flutter shut, continuing to read, “That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed.  At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe.  And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse.  But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in.  And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

“I think he’s asleep,” you whispered as you looked up at him, having snuggled down in the bed.  The moonlight lit up the room, giving a halo-like glow to everything around the two of you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his arm sliding around both you and Eugene, bringing you two close as he continued to read.

You stayed awake for as long as you could, a faint smile on your lips.

"’Wasn't I Real before?’ asked the little Rabbit.  ‘You were Real to the Boy,’ the Fairy said, ‘because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone…’”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n

[yourwildsimp]

Journal

This did not at all go where I thought it would, but it’s here. This is my first X Reader I’ve done so if you have some input, it would be greatly appreciated-

includes: Levi, Y/N

warnings: Mentions of dark thoughts

length: 2,535 words

"Cadet!" 

You were quick to glance over your shoulder, wondering how you've messed up this time. You were just about to leave the mess hall, so you were probably going to be scolded for being the last one out, or for not eating again. Levi always snapped about how he needs you at your best.

"You forgot this," the captain said, his stoney blue eyes narrowing as yours widened, "Or did you leave it on purpose?"

It was your journal, the one you were always buried in whenever you could be. You did leave it on purpose, hoping someone would find it and save you from yourself. Hoping that someone would notice all of the changes in your behavior, hoping someone would hear your silent screams. Yet, seeing that it was Levi fucking Ackerman who returned the journal? You wished you had kept suffering alone.

"And it has so many…" Levi hesitated, almost like he was trying to find the right words to string together. "So many horrific thoughts written inside of it."

You could practically feel how serious he was while he gripped your prized possession just a bit tighter. You couldn't handle the growing silence, so you broke it.

"I should know. It's mine, after all." He didn't find your joke very funny. 

Levi opened his mouth, picking his next words carefully, "What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself recently."

You mentally swore, fingers twitching at your side. Levi didn't fail to notice, making his abnormal concern grow.

"What do you mean, Captain? I'm perfectly fine." As much as you wished the forced chuckle in your voice would change his way of thinking, it didn't.

"I'm more than certain something is happening with you," his voice grew more pointed as he stared at you, "There's no point in trying to hide it. Just spit it out."

"Why would you even bother asking?" Your muttered question left your lips before you could stop it.

"I want to know because I care about you. That's something a lot of people can't say, so don't go off wasting my support," Levi's tone didn't change and you sucked in a much needed breath. 

You wearily watched him place the journal on one of the long tables in the room, the soft thud reminding you of how many hours have gone into fruitless attempts of venting out your pain.

"Stop being stubborn and tell me what's going on, cadet." He inched closer, and you stepped back in response, eyes darting to the table.

"Once again, Jean and Eren left their spots disgusting. Do you want me to clean up, or would you rather chew them out yourself?" You gave a tight smile, forcing yourself to look back at him.

"Don't change the subject," he growled, a strange blaze flaring up in his eyes. Levi noticed how you tensed and he sighed to calm himself. "The things that you wrote in that book," he started, never once looking away from you, "Those were some seriously dark thoughts, and if you honestly do feel that way, you need to talk about it. So, stop trying to be the coldhearted badass and let me know what's running through your mind."

He sounded like a parent trying to convince a child to admit they broke something. It was a bit frightening in all honesty. 

You didn't say anything, teeth digging painfully into your tongue so you would keep quiet. You had just now noticed you'd been staring at the wooden floorboards this whole time, and yet you didn't stop.

Levi noticed that you weren't going to contribute, so he did it himself.

"What are you afraid of? Do you think I'm going to be mad at you?" 

You could've kicked yourself when your panicked chuckle wormed its way into the one-sided conversation. 

"Look at me," he demanded. You didn't listen, a thick gulp being your only reaction. "Cadet, look at me." This time it came out as a snarl, and you obeyed out of pure fear. 

Levi shut his eyes for just a moment, a heavy sigh leaving him as he tried to compose himself again. You both knew that he wasn't great with feelings, but he was trying. 

"I'm not mad at you. You can tell me whatever you're going through and I'll listen. Don't ever be afraid to let someone know how you feel, that is the only way someone can understand you." You had to clench your jaw to keep a snarky remark from making the situation worse. "Stop hiding from people, stop holding on to these emotions, and thinking that by some miracle things are going to work out by keeping silent. Things don't ever work out that way, and it only prolongs the pain. It only gives time for shit to get worse. So, stop being an idiot and just tell me what's going on already." 

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," you muttered after letting his words sink in. 

You didn't get a response, so you let your gaze lower, but not drop completely. Levi waited for you. The Levi Ackerman patiently waited for you to let go of some agony. So you did.

"Sometimes," it was difficult for you to refill your lungs with fresh air, "I get these recurring dreams that make me think about the things I'd kill to forget." A fly could be heard over your quiet voice, but you had spoken, and Levi found it a big step forward.

"I see," he spoke more to himself than anything. "So that's why…" 

His words trailed off as he remembered walking past the cadet sleeping quarters in the ungodly hours of the morning and often hearing whimpers of fear and sleepy pleads for directions on what to do. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"You've been having those, too, haven't you?" He paused, knowing damn well that the night terrors weren't anything but a small piece to the puzzle. But it was progress. "It's not uncommon. Everyone gets those nightmares."

You resisted the urge to insist that's the reason why your problems weren't such a big deal.

"Having thoughts about the people that you've lost, the people that you'd cared about," Levi tightened his jaw, taking a deep breath through his nose and not saying anything for a heartbeat. He changed his wording, "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to grieve and to be angry, to be hurt." It was like he was reading from the list of your emotional insecurities.

It was starting to get painfully tense, so you attempted to redirect the topic of choice.

"That's funny, considering who's speaking. You only seem slightly agitated whenever you hear about the trouble Eren is constantly causing. I'm surprised you don't have grey's, old man," you laughed in spite of yourself, the noise tense and borderline frantic.

"Writing these thoughts in this book," of course he wouldn't budge. The man's like a stone wall, despite his height. "It's probably your way of coping with what’s happened to you." 

You swallowed, glancing away before sucking on your tongue to distract yourself.

"But, you have to be able to talk to someone as well, to be able to hear your problems leave you." Levi didn't say anything after that, quietly observing how you tilted your head up to stop your brimming tears from falling.

He surprised you by taking a seat on the table's bench, a good four or five feet from your journal. "Come here," he said gently, patting his legs, "You look like you need to be held. If you feel comfortable, that is." 

"On your lap?" You asked, chest tightening. You knew all it was going to take was one hug- just one god damned hug- and you'd crumble.

"Yes, on my lap. Come on," Levi couldn't care less about your height or weight, none of it bothering him in the slightest. 

You hesitated, the exit door seeming all too tempting. You didn't leave, though, and it wasn't because Levi would catch you if you were to run, nor that he would only confront you more forcefully in the future. You knew you needed this- that's the whole reason you had left your secrets behind. But, fuck, it was so hard to make yourself sit on his lap.

"There we go." His encouragement nearly ripped you to shreds.

"What are you? Santa Claus?" You mused, eyes burning holes into your lap with how determined you were to look anywhere but. 

"Go on, let it out," Levi pushed you to speak again, this time far more effective.

"Let what out exactly? My Christmas list?" Your voice cracked, heart painfully throbbing.

"Come on, cadet," Levi breathed again, sickeningly gentle eyes looking at you.

"I wish for a cup of hot chocolate with cookies on the side," you forced a twisted smile on your face as burning hot tears started to slip down your cheek. "Maybe at least one good night's rest. O-Or a chance to go back in time." 

You were breaking down, caving in on yourself as you choked on a sob.

"I've got you."

But you weren't alone. The captain was rubbing comforting shapes into your back.

You shook violently, tremors growing worse before you gave in completely. Harsh sobs thrashed your body as you buried your face into Levi's chest, letting every bit of your pain out.

"It's alright," Levi's voice warded off the ringing in your ears. "It's going to be okay. Do you hear me? You're going to be okay."

Promises of betterment and words of comfort soothed you as you soaked his uniform with tears. Tears that you've held in for far too long, tears that represented your suffering.

"You did all you could. Stop blaming yourself for whatever happened or you'll never be able to move forward. If all you keep doing is holding onto the past, you'll stay stuck in this shitty, painful cycle," Levi told you exactly what you needed to hear as he alternated between pats and rubs on your back. 

He took a deep breath, and you heard his heart rate kick up as your crying quieted, though you didn't- couldn't- stop.

"I had two friends who died on the same damn day. People I considered my family- gone, just like that. People I'd just met, people I had just been acquainted with that morning, died later that day, too," he shared his pain, opening castrated wounds all for you. "Sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers," he listed, voice wavering before he righted himself, holding you closer. "Dead. Gone. And who was in charge? I was." You felt his chest steeply rise and fall as you sniffled. 

"There are things that you'll have to live with, situations you'll be placed in that you'll have to get through." His thumb and index finger captured your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I just want you to remember that you don't have to find a way on your own. You don't have to feel like you need to take all the burden, all the pain, by yourself." 

The hand that was on your back navigated to the Scouts emblem on your jacket, gently thumbing at it. 

"That's why you have us," there was a smile dancing in his voice, though it never quite reached his face. "We can support each other." 

Your tears had calmed down to a few rogue leftovers, and you found yourself ready to slip off of his lap. Levi didn't seem to mind the massive wet stain that bled through his white button-up and onto his peck. Didn't seem to on the outside, but you knew he was a cleaning fanatic.

"My office, my doors, are always open," his tone turned sarcastically bitter, "Unless I have paperwork to fill in, or I'm cleaning up Jaeger's damn mess." He relished the small giggle that left your lips. "If neither of the two are happening, you can always come to me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, lightly flicking your forehead.

"You hear me? Always, cadet." He gently smiled at you. "Not only are my doors open, but my arms are open, too." 

You glanced away to hide the sparkle in your eyes. Your attention returned to the captain, however, when a warm hand found itself on your shoulder.

"I know that feeling of thinking everything is your fault," he swallowed, casting his gaze down before looking back at you. "That feeling of being disappointed in yourself, down in the gutter, beating yourself up and wishing that it was you instead." There was a solemn look in his eyes before he spoke again, "I know that feeling, and I know how it eats you alive." 

Levi pulled you in for another hug, resting his chin on your shoulder as he shuddered in another breath. 

"I also know the feeling of being comforted. Of being reminded that there is a tomorrow, and that things can get better." He gave you a small squeeze before pulling away, both hands on your shoulders now. "That if you make it past today, you can make it past tomorrow, too." 

He allowed you to sit back, and the words he spoke were more than welcomed.

"After everything that you've been through, there is no storm that comes your way that you're not strong enough to face," the proud gleam in his eyes spoke volumes. "And, if you feel like you can't handle it alone, you can face it with me by your side. I'll always be here to brace the storm with you."

Nothing could prepare you for what he said next.

"That is a promise, cadet."

Levi never made promises- not like this. The only thing he's ever promised was to dropkick Eren if he ever went so long without showering again.

"Now breathe," his voice reverted back to that gentle, but commanding tone. He took a deep breath with you, in and out before staring you dead in the eyes. "Everything is going to be okay. It might not be perfect, but we will make it through this. Every battle has an end. Don't go giving up until you find your ending." You felt the grip on your shoulder tighten, his Adam's apple bobbing as he continued, "Please... Hold on for me." 

That left you picking your jaw off the floor before Levi mentioned it, not able to do anything but nod. You, a cadet, had gotten him to say please.

"There is so much to live for in this life," he noticed your doubt before you even said a word. "Let's start living for the people who don't get to, who don't have a choice."

A comforting silence settled into the atmosphere. Levi smiled before standing, mentally double-checking if you were okay. "Oh, and one more thing?" You perked up when he spoke.

"I'll break your fucking legs if you talk about me being soft, cadet."

Ah. There was the Levi you knew.

"Wouldn't dream of it, captain," you said gently, proudly saluting him as he walked towards the back exit.

You would never know, but an extremely proud smile graced his features as he watched you hesitate before throwing the journal away.

#x reader #levi ackerman #levi #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot #attack on titan #comfort #attack on titan angst #is this enough tags #i am a mess

[writeformesinpie]

Zombies And Ice Cream

Tao x Fem!Reader

Word Count - 7.6k

Genre - Crack/Romance

Summary -

You and Tao are in the middle of an argument when an unexpected guest arrives. Will you both survive the uninvited pest? Is this the end of your relationship? And will Tao ever get his ice cream?

Warnings -

Suggestive / implied sexual content, swearing, violence, death and violence (non-major character)

A/N -

This fanfic is inspired by a similar scene in Shaun Of The Dead.

It is apart of the EXO collab The Undead run by @biaswreckingfics​. Please check out the Masterlist and the other writers of this collab!

KPOP Masterlist

   There they sit all in a row, polished and protected from the elements inside their glass encasings. A collector's dream. Perfect for daddy. Never aging. Never changing. Their creepy eyes unwavering.

   Tao’s beloved BearBrick Babies will live forever if cared for correctly unlike your delicate flowers which last less than a season. Their frailty is the draw for you. Unlike these obnoxious toys that he can’t seem to get enough of them, flowers are alive.

   Turning to look back outside the window, rage brews as you stare out the window, the obnoxious teal muscle car blocking the view of the garden you spent weeks planting. Is it too much to ask for this one small thing? It took painstaking effort to arrange the perfect garden. You had even done it with inferior tools. After planting your beautiful flowers, you had thrown the disastrous gardening supplies out in last week's trash. The new ones will be arriving any day now. Tools that are sure to make you feel as pretty as the flowers you plant.

   The sun room is a place where you’re meant to be able to escape and you can’t even have that. The anger crescendos into a squeal of frustration as you realise the angle of the car suggests the flowers you placed into the ground just yesterday have been run over and are currently shredded under the flashy tires of the eyesore Tao decided to buy on a whim. He might as well smash all your fine china as well, just destroy everything you love.

   The floorboards squeak above as the plant killer himself makes his way from the bedroom down the stairs. Each step creaks from wear and tear, a reminder of another thing that needs to be fixed. Of course, instead of coughing up the money for house maintenance, Tao decided to buy a ferrari.

   “Why are you carrying on so early? I was trying to sleep.”

   If this were a cartoon, there would be flames rising from your exaggerated, beetroot-stained face as you turn to address the oblivious man. He didn’t even bother to get dressed, adorned in his Dragon Ball Z socks and the boxer briefs he found online with his face (his own face!) on them, a toothy grin spreading across his manhood. And of course he had to ask you to suck him off that one time while he was wearing them. You'll never forget that horrific moment no matter how deep you hide it in the back of your mind. Just one of the many ridiculous experiences Tao decided he couldn’t live without trying.

   Looking at him, you're surprised by the tousled hair and dark rings. He had gone to bed early last night after throwing a fit about you eating the last Cornetto. Carmel. It was delicious and you’re glad you ate it.

   “The flowers.” The words are soft as you hold back your fury, you don’t want to start another fight. Not on the first work-free day you’ve had together in over three months.

   “What flowers? I don’t see any flowers.”

   “You don’t see the flowers because your nasty vehicle destroyed them,” you say, your fists tight balls. “I thought we agreed to park in the garage, which is why we bought the damn thing.”

   The clench of his jaw signals the beginning of an argument. He’s stubborn and even though he knows what he’s done is wrong, you’re willing to bet he’s about to push back, probably bring up something he feels you’ve done to justify his mistake.

   “It’s a bit hard to fit in the garage when you practically double park. You shouldn’t be allowed out on the road with the way you drive.”

   Bingo. He knows how much you hate to drive. It’s something you avoid whenever possible. The idea that other people's lives are in your hands every time you get behind the vehicle is enough to keep you from enjoying it. Walking is just easier. If it’s somewhere close, like say your mother's house, it’s easier to just walk.

   “Well at least I didn’t buy some ridiculously overpriced pussy magnet.”

   “Pussy magnet?”

   “Pussy magnet!”

   “How is that-”

   “We all know the only reason you bought it is so you can soak in all the heart-eyed girls from work. And your incel friends that think of you as their God,” you say, your voice pitching up as he tries to interrupt. “Pride is a sin, baby. It’s such a male ego move and you must know that as they praise you, they’re all thinking about what it is you're overcompensating for.” As you finish you hold up your pinky and wiggle it around.

   “Fuck off. I don’t have a small dick.”

   “I know that but they don’t,” you say with a shrug. You're sick of his constant need for validation.

   “God, you’re a vindictive harpy. Why are you such a bitch in the morning?”

   “Why do you care so much? Because you know I’m right.”

   “You sound like your mother.”

   “Fuck you.”

   “Two harpies living in the same city is bad enough as it is and then she just had to go and move in just two blocks from us. She just had to, didn't she? Like a leech she follows you wherever you go and it’s me who’s always stuck dealing with her.”

   “Like you can talk! You think your mother is a saint?”

   “Don’t bring up my mother!”

   “Then don’t bring up mine!”

   “I can’t keep living like this. Every day I want to wrap my hands around your pretty little neck and snap it like a twig,” he says, venom dripping from his lips as his eyes bore into yours.

   “Go ahead then. Snap my pretty little neck,” you say, jutting out your chin in an act of defiance. He would never touch you, not like that. Tao may be a lot of things but he has never hurt you and you know he never will.

   “I’m going for a drive,” he says, turning towards the door but stopping in front of the window.

   “Just go then.” What is he waiting for?

   “There’s a girl in the garden.”

   “Oh? Go on, then. If you think you can do better. Run off with your new girl.”

   “No, there’s really a girl out there. Look.”

   At first you think he’s talking about his car until you see her too. Her strawberry blonde curls fall across her slack, ashen face as she wobbles back and forth behind the teal car. “What the fuck? Is she drunk?”

   Tao taps his knuckles against the window, swearing under his breath when she ignores him before using sweeping gestures with his arms to get her attention. It works. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as her head lolls to the side. She starts to shuffle forward, her white slippers with Sheraton written across the side kicking up dirt as she walks towards the window. She must have walked over from the hotel - it’s only a five minute walk from here. She must have gotten turned around in her intoxicated stupor.

   As she gets closer you can see her dirt-crusted elbows and knees and a strange red smudge across her nose and her left cheek. Even with the blemish she is practically perfect. No makeup but under the white robe is a black lace lingerie one piece that pushes her up in all the right places, making her look like a Barbie doll. Frowning, you tug at your shirt, pushing your breasts up and wiggling them back and forth. They don’t compare to her and you look over at Tao with a glare. Of course he’s looking at her. Pig.

   “She’s pissed!” Tao laughs before shaking his head, walking in the direction of the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll go and chase her out.”

   “I’m not worried but Tao...”

   “What now? I thought I was doing you a favour here.”

   “You’re in your underwear.”

   “Yeah? Well maybe our new friend shouldn’t have gotten shitfaced last night,” he says with a stubborn flick of the brow before opening the front door and walking out of view. You dig into your purse hanging off a hook in the hallway, apply some lipstick then follow.

   “Excuse me but I need you to get off my property.”

   “Our property.”

   “For fucks sake,” Tao says, looking over his shoulder at you from the walkway connecting your door to the driveway before glancing back at the girl standing by the window. She turns back towards him with staggered steps, one of her Sheraton slippers lost in the grass, forgotten behind her as she makes her way over to Tao. “We’re just trying to have a quiet morning and I can’t do that with some rando in the garden.”

   “Technically it’s just the lawn.”

   “I swear to God, woman.”

   “Well it is. The garden is the area your ridiculous little car is currently parked in,” you say with a shrug as the drunk girl gets closer, her eyes locked in on Tao as he turns around to you.

   “Is this really the time? Why are you always on my dick? I am-” Right as he steps towards you, the drunk swipes at the air behind him, a soft gurgling sound erupting from her small frame. “Holy shit, lady.”

   “She’s smashed!” you laugh, starting to walk down the path to the pair, adjusting your hair as you walk.

   “Looks like you had a great night,” Tao says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Whoa, whoa hands to yourself there.”

   “Oh, another one of your fangirls?”

   He’s gorgeous. People flock to his sexy aura but this is getting ridiculous. You have to be worried about these desperate freaks coming to your home now? This one is half naked and practically throwing herself at him, her hands grabbing at his naked skin.

   “Very funny,” he says while trying to push the lush off, her hands caressing him as she starts to bite the air right by his face. He stumbles and they both fall to the ground.

   “Oh wow, looks like she’s got the hots for you.” This wanton slut. “I mean, don’t let me stop you, just pretend I’m not here, I guess.”

   “She is attacking me,” Tao says, his voice starting to lose its lighthearted edge as his muscles tense to keep her in place.

   “And with our relationship already on the rocks.” You bend down to take a selfie with the pair on your phone. “Proof for the lawyers.”

   “She’s bloody strong! Help me get her off,” Tao sputters, avoiding her gnashing teeth.

   “I can’t help but think this is exactly what you deserve,” you say but after seeing his wide eyes and pressed lips, you grab her arm, pulling her back. Tao rolls out from under her and you let her fall face first to the ground. No guilt; she shouldn’t have gotten blackout drunk, she shouldn’t be on your property and she shouldn’t be touching your Tao.

   She moans in pain on the ground, trying to get back up. Well, maybe a little guilt. She does have such a pretty face.

   “Ma’am, we need you to leave now. You’ve had your fun. Now this is getting old,” you say as she gets back up to her feet, no more Sheraton slippers. “Just go home and sleep it off.”

   There are grass stains on her white shirt. Her feet are bare as she hoists each leg one after the other in peculiar, jagged movements, each grueling step bringing her staggering towards you.

   Stepping back, you look over to Tao who shrugs. “Just call the police.”

   You pull out your phone and start to dial as he looks around the yard for supplies. He jogs over to the side of the house. The girl turns to watch him, her whole body jerking in his direction before turning back to you. The sounds of Tao ransacking the shed drift to the background as the polite message from the emergency line tells you ‘all lines are currently busy’. Too bad if this was a real emergency. What is this city coming to?

   “Shit,” you say, the phone slipping from your fingers and crashing to the cold concrete below. Shattered. Fuck.

   When you stand up, smashed phone in hand, the drunk girl is disturbingly close. Her stale breath is warm against your face and her dirty hands push roughly against your shoulders. Her teeth are tinged pink inside her wide mouth and smelling of rancid meat. You can’t help yourself - you scream out for Tao.

   Her fingertips cling for a moment before being ripped from your shoulders. The girl flings back a few feet where she then stumbles and falls. Tao is holding a large rake in front of him, both hands holding the wooden handle, the metal tines edging threateningly towards her. As she starts to get back up, you wonder why she’s doing this, why she won’t just leave.

   “Get back woman, I mean it.” Tao jabs the rake a few times towards her but it doesn’t deter her.

   “I doubt a rake is going to scare her.”

   “It’s the only thing in the damn shed worth anything. There is so much junk in there, do you ever clean it out?”

   “I guess I’ll add it to my list of things to do,” you say as you both back up a little towards the wall as she approaches painstakingly slow. “I ordered new tools. I was going to try and tidy it up then.”

   “I’m warning you,” he says to the drunk, pushing against her roughly with the rake, his back now up against the red brick of the house. “Did you call the police?”

   “They didn’t answer.”

   “They didn’t answer?”

   “That’s what I said. They were busy.”

   “Well, try them again.”

   “I can’t.” He glances over at you from the corner of his eyes, exasperated as he continues to hold the girl back. “I dropped my phone. It’s broken.”

   “You have got to be kidding me,” Tao almost growls, his fingers digging deeper into the handle. Pushing back the woman while spitting out profanities, he digs the prongs of the rake into her ribs. She doesn't stop, instead turning towards you, her hands outstretched. Before she is able to get close, Tao jams the rake into her chest, the tines drawing blood as they gouge deep into her skin. “Get lost!”

   “Holy shit, Tao!” She falls on her back flush against the manicured lawn, the erect rake sprouting out of her flesh. “You killed her!”

   Tao steps back, his face blank, then turns to you. His eyes flicker across your face and body, his hands joining in their search. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

   “No. What do we do?” Your whispered breath is shaky. “We can go buy a shovel and bury her under the garden. This isn’t so bad. In fact she’ll make great fertilizer.”

   “What the fuck? It was self defense,” he says, an incredulous look on his face. “I appreciate the ride or die mentality but-”

   He stops mid sentence as you gasp, your eyes widening as Sheraton Barbie rises, arms out stiff in alignment with the wooden handle still protruding from her chest.

   “There’s no way.”

   The wood sticking out of her body flails senseless and free, back and forth as she sways, each staggering step creeping closer. Tao looks over and you both burst out laughing, the image of the rake thrashing about while still embedded within this undead woman is too much to bear. You continue to laugh until she’s too close to ignore, stepping back a few spaces before you both run to the front door. Leaning against the door, you look over at each other and laugh again.

   “Let’s call the police,” Tao says, grabbing his phone from the living room table. Pushing a few buttons, he presses it to his ear. After a moment of silence he says, “It’s busy.”

   “I told you.”

   “Yes, but it’s still busy,” he says, handing you the phone. “Hold that and let me know when they answer.”

   “Where are you going?”

   “We need to find weapons. Something to use against that- that thing.”

   “She’s dead. You killed Sheraton Barbie.”

   He looks at you with one eyebrow raised before he nods. “I’m well aware of that.”

   “I mean, I think she might be a zombie.”

   “Don’t be ridiculous.” A loud thump on the door makes you both jump and when you turn to look, the Sheraton Barbie is outside. Her grubby hands press against your window and the wooden rake sticks out lengthwise against the glass as she chews the air looking right at you. Every time she moves the rake moves with her, thudding hard against the window.

   “She’s going to break it,” you say, looking up at him. “What do we have down here that we can use? What about your Bearbrick Babies?”

   “Don’t even joke.”

   “They’re right there. It’s in the name. They are freaking bricks, Tao,” you say, pointing towards the case holding his collection, the pristine gleam of the clear glass calling out to be opened. The banging of wood on glass from outside punctures the silence every three to four seconds. “We don’t have many options.”

   “I would rather that trashy, drunk undead ‘Barbie’ break in here and rip out my intestines while I’m still alive. We are not hurting the Bearbrick’s. We have other options.”

   The banging increases. It’s every one to two seconds now. The audible sound of glass cracking ringing out throughout the room. “Well you better find something else quick or we won’t have a goddamn window.”

   “Fuck.” Tao squeezes his head, the force of his hands against his skull turning his knuckles white.

   “Ah!” You dive to the bottom of the display case's shelf, the one covered in a light blue marble. You slide open the door and pull out two large metal boxes and slide them across the floor. “What about this?”

   “The Rolexs?” He frowns, hesitant. Another crack echoes off the walls as the zombie outside tries to get in.

   “Well I don’t think throwing the table or lounge chair is gonna do it.”

   “Why do I have to throw my precious collections? What about your china?”

   “The fine china? My fine china? Why would I-”

   Another crack, this time right before the window smashes inward. Sheraton Barbie on the other side is already starting to climb in. Behind her you see another zombie at the edge of the lawn, close to the road but making his way toward the house. The sound of this stupid, dead bitch breaking your window must have gotten his attention.

   The fuck nut zombie inside knocks over your kaleidoscope-coloured crystal vases and your fine china tea sets with that stupid, stupid wooden stick and you scream out in frustration. First your garden and now your fine china. Is nothing sacred? Your vision starts to blur on the fringes of your eyesight as a wet rage builds.

   “Just do something!”

   “I don’t think freaking out about your little tea set is going to help the current situation,” he says, lunging over the sofa and jamming his palm onto the wooden stick to hold back the zombie.

   “I am calm,” you growl, giving each word emphasis before grabbing one of his silly little watches and throwing it towards Sheraton Barbie. It hits her straight in between the eyes then bounces, ricocheting off the handle and slingshotting back up against her chest. It lodges itself in one of the widening holes created by the rake.

   “What the hell? Did you just throw my Rolex? Did you throw my Rolex? Did you just throw my damn Rolex and now it’s got zombie gunk on it?”

   “Well, wasn't it last season anyway?”

   “Last season? It doesn’t really work that way and if it did, no ‘season’ is any less important than the last when it comes to a Rolex. They’re timeless.”

   “There’s a zombie in the living room, Tao.”

   “I am well aware of what is in the house, sweetheart,” he says, accentuating the last word as he nods towards the undead woman.

   “Well, what about this one? When did you last wear this?” The silver watch dangles from your index finger as you hold it in front of your eyes while you use your other hand to search for the next sturdy Rolex to throw.

   “I wouldn’t dare to wear that one.”

   ‘Oh, great, then this one?” You throw the watch and this one bounces off her temple. Gnashing teeth turn your way. Tao moans, his staggered breath punctuated by moisture building up around his eyes as he holds steadfast. Good. He deserves it. “It’s not working. They’re too soft, Tao.”

   “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.”

   “We need to use the Bearbrick Babies. They are good for nothing. Literally useless,” you say, jumping up and running towards the case.

   “Fuck that. Hold this,” he says, leading the zombie over and shoving the handle into your hand. Pain trickles throughout your palm from what you are certain will be splinters. “Hold her and stop throwing my stuff.”

   “Wait.”

   He doesn’t. He runs past you and around the corner before you hear the familiar sound of his footfalls on the wooden steps as he continues on to your bedroom.

   Her stench is unbearable; you can smell death on your lips. Turning to look out the window, you notice the other zombie is halfway across the yard. His lifeless eyes lock on the shattered frame.

   This is not how you want to die. Where is Tao? As long as you don’t die before he gets here, it should be okay. He won’t let anything happen to you… right?

   Right as a tear rolls down your face, the moisture seeping into your dry skin, you hear the thumping sounds of Tao running back down the stairs. He dashes out from behind the corner now wearing jeans and a white sleeveless shirt. Yesterday's outfit that was carelessly thrown across the room last night. There’s something off about him. Searching him over a few times, you notice it. At first you had mistaken the silver glint as an accessory.

   “Is that a gun?”

   “If it looks like a gun and acts like a gun then I guess it must be a gun.”

   “Where did you get that from?”

   “Not in the safe, that's for sure,” he says, bitterness on his lips as he raises the weapon towards the zombie that now has you pinned against the wall, her arms flailing out in every direction, desperate for your flesh. “Nope, couldn’t put it there. Not after you randomly changed the code on me.”

   “You kept that gun in the house? After I told you to get rid of it?”

   He’s upset because you needed a place to keep your documents and all his friends know his combination, which he in turn said wasn’t a big deal. It’s not that you don’t trust his friends, but why should everyone have the code? If everyone can get into the safe, what’s the point of it? And you bought it after all, it’s only right that you be the one that makes the code.

   “Yeah, that's right. It's a good thing too,” he says, waving at Sheraton Barbie with a crooked smile.

   “A zombie apocalypse is an outlier, Tao!”

   The zombie lurches forward, the rake squelching inside her undead skin until it passes completely through to the other side, leaving you face to face with her bared teeth. Screeching, you push against her chest, leaning away from the overwhelming stench of decay leaking from her mouth as the other one starts to paw at the windowsill. This is it. This is where you die. This is how your pathetic life finally comes to an end. What has it all been for?

   Fireworks penetrate your thoughts. Two loud pops. Sheraton Barbie falls to the floor with a thud and your eardrums vibrate.

   “Gross! What the fuck, Tao!” A tremble rumbles across your skin and you feel pressure like when high altitudes pop your ears. After a few seconds, your hearing resets to its original level of capacity. Your face scrunches up as you pluck pieces of Sheraton Barbie out of your hair. “My eardrums might never recover.”

   “Don’t be dramatic.” He puts the gun into the holster and upon noticing your glare he continues. "You’ll be fine. It will settle in a few minutes. It’s only a 45mm.”

   “Only.”

   “And what would you suggest instead?”

   “I don’t know, a knife?”

   “And use the good cutlery? I’d never hear the end of it,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It’s not your fault that whenever he tries to make something in the kitchen something ends up broken. It’s not the cost of replacing the item, it’s the inconvenience.

   “That’s it!” You are done. You refuse to be in the same room as this Neanderthal for a moment longer. The way he prances around the house, fists beating against his chest. The way he makes you feel like you can’t do anything right. “I’m going to my mother’s house.”

   “In the middle of a zombie apocalypse?!"

   “I’d rather die out there than be stuck in here with a plant killer like you.” You grab your envelope clutch from the entryway table, slamming the door on the way out. “I’d rather die out here than live in there with you.”

   A pout forms on your chapped lips as you walk down the walkway thinking of all the cutting words you could have said instead, the ways you could have hurt him but didn’t. You restrained yourself yet again for the betterment of the relationship. You always put him first and here he is sending you outside when he knows you left your keys inside and he knows you’re too stubborn to turn around and get them now. How could you when you’ve already gotten this far? Why would he send you out into the cold in the middle of a zombie invasion?

   Reaching the footpath in front of the house, you turn in the direction of your mother's house that, as Tao so eloquently put it, is only two streets away. The walk will do you good - the fresh air and the quiet. The deafening silence is just what you need. The empty streets, the absence of children's laughter and blaring horns. The empty red Buick with all four doors open, its front bumper wrapped around the wooden telephone pole while smoke spirals from its engine. It’s all so refreshing. The absence of humanity.

   Continuing down the next street, the smell of rot and rust in the air, you turn the corner and run straight into a crowd of the restless undead, their mouths slack and their eyes lifeless. There’s about fifteen of them and they’re blocking the walkway. They haven’t seen you yet, their attention instead on the young couple in front of them. The pair are holding hands up on trash cans that look ready to cave in at any moment.

   The issue is how to get over to that side of the street without the horde noticing, because although they seem oblivious to you right now, the couple they currently have their eyes on have taken notice. What a bother.

   “Help!” the woman yells out. You point to your ear and shrug, pretending you didn’t hear before trying to creep past them. “Please! We can’t hold them off for much longer!”

   And just what the fuck do they expect you to do?

   Before you can reply, the man tears his arm from hers and pushes her towards the zombies. Her screams quickly become gurgled gulps of blood as you stare slack-jawed after the prick now shimmying up one of the poles holding the awning above. So much for true love. Must all men be scum?

   Turning away, you shake your head and decide to take this moment, the death of another hopeless woman in love, to not let her death be in vain. Right as you step out onto the road, a loud tearing sound echoes out over the groaning of the hoard of zombies.

   “No, no, no. No!” It’s the dickless fuck. He’s hanging from the railing. The soft material of the awning now split in two, its nonchalant flapping drawing several of the mob. The ones not eating his girlfriend start to surround him and claw towards him, reaching with hungry sweeps of their arms. He looks to you with pleading eyes and calls out, “Help me. Please!”

   You give him a thumbs down and mouth the words, ‘die bitch.’

   And he will die. The first zombie that reaches him when his hold on the pole finally weakens digs her teeth into his ankle. It’s his partner. Poetic justice. He squeals and falls to the ground, his high pitched screams soon snuffed out by the crunching of teeth on flesh.

   Shuffling as quietly as the tips of your shoes will allow, you dart across the street to the promise of safety and it pays off. They didn’t notice you, instead immersed in the meal already caught. Resisting a triumphant shout of achievement, you continue to walk down the pavement, your eyes glancing back at the group every so often to make sure you haven’t been seen.

   Turning back to face the street ahead you’re caught off guard when a lady dressed in classic black skinny jeans, a white tucked in shirt, business black kitten heels and a tan blazer walks out from the boutique and slams right into you. Her face is perfect, eyebrows plucked and lined, not a single lash out of place. If it wasn’t for the small smudge of her red lipstick spread across her slack jaw you might not have noticed anything was wrong.

   Fuck. You should have thought of the stores. What an amateur move.

   Before you have time to ponder your mistake, hands grab you from behind, a hoarse moan accompanying the stench of wet dirt and old pasta sauce. It’s too much. The thought of it ending this way, sandwiched between this cheap business woman and the man who loves meatballs a little too much, it's depressing and not at all the type of threesome you wanted. You scream. It’s a guttural noise that reverberates from chest to throat in a painful spiral.

   It’s a mistake of course. The booming sound echoes out across the street, bringing the unwanted attention of the horde of undead looking for something more exciting to snack on now that the asshole has gone cold. Caught between the two creatures, you kick the woman hard in the chest, causing her to stagger backwards. Ducking from the tall man still leaning over you with his teeth bared, you crouch down while kicking out your leg and slamming it against his knees. He topples over in time for you to turn back to the woman who is now lunging at you on the floor. You roll to the side and let her fall face first into the concrete pavement.

   Fuck.

   Three more are behind her, exiting the boutique. Tears spring to your eyes out of frustration. Not fear. You refuse to be scared. Scared people act stupid in these situations and get themselves killed. No, you will not be dying here today.

   You take a quick look at the three zombies. There’s a queen of hearts sticking out from the breast pocket of one of the old women and when you see it, a glint of metal catches your eye. One of them has a cane. Sorry Grandma but this firecracker refuses to be taken down by an old bridge group.

   Spinning on your toes, you dart out of their direct line of contact before kicking the old lady square on the left knee. She buckles and as she goes down you grab the silver cane. Is this considered elderly abuse? You can’t think for long because the other two are coming towards you and the one you took out is already wobbling to her feet.

   “Let’s do this, you ugly bastards.”

   Holding the cane out in front of you with both hands on the end, you jab at them Three Stooges-style: one in the eyes, one in the gut, one across the ear. In quick succession you jab at them over and over again until your arm aches. Then you dash past them, holding them back by the length of the wood.

   “Haha!" Cheerful glee drips from your words as you continue down the street. Looking over your shoulder for the last time, you poke your tongue out and turn down the next street. You ram into another zombie. This one grabs your arm to take a bite. You kick him in the shin and start to beat him over the head with the cane when he folds over in pain. “Just die, you bastard!”

   “What the fuck!"

   It’s Tao.

   “Oh my god! I thought you were one of them!”

   “What the fuck!?”

   “Oh Tao! Tao!” You squeal, pulling him up to his feet and hugging him. “Thank God you’re here!”

   “That hurts like a bitch,” he says, holding you with one arm as he shakes his leg and rubs the top of his head. He’s so strong. You know it doesn’t even hurt him at all. He’s come and saved you. You’re safe!

   “Oh, Tao.” Holding him tighter, you let your legs give way underneath you, finally allowing the stress of the day to wash over you. “You came for me. You came to save me. I knew you would. I knew you couldn’t live without me, Tao!”

   “Well, I mean, I knew you would get yourself killed out here,” he says, dragging you by one arm into the alleyway right as the limping, caneless grandma from the previous street turns the corner and walks past aimless and hungry, followed closely by her slack-mouthed friends. Tao’s quick thinking saved you again. He’s so brave. He’s so smart. He’s such a man.

   “I-” He holds a finger to your lips, stopping you from drawing attention to your hiding spot, and you can’t help but admire his reflexes. Instead of pushing him away like you usually would, you step closer. His base scent of pink pepper, limes and amber wood is provocative and you want the taste of him on your lips.

   Grinning up at him, you grab his finger still hovering in front of lips and suck on it, taking it in all the way to the knuckle and making a soft plop sound as you pull back to his fingertip. You kiss each digit, your eyes glued to his. The quirk of his brow is the only response as you kiss up his hand, his arm and his shoulder. A glint of something you haven’t seen in months flickers across his face before he pulls you into his embrace, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other circling your neck.

   It’s fire. The look in his eyes. The look he lost. It’s desire in its rawest form. He wants you and you can’t blame him - you’re quite the catch - but after today you can admit that he is too. A hero. The type of man you can depend on no matter the situation.

   Biting your lip, you lean into his chest. An animalistic urge to take him where you stand in this dirty back alley, wild and free of worry, builds up inside, right next to the searing heat within your gut. Heat that threatens to spread like wildfire and burn you both down for being so foolish to play with matches in the forest. The type of fire that leaves nothing. Spontaneous and unyielding.

   Your thoughts start to muddle as his lips press against yours with the same desperate need that mirrors your own. Your hands grasp with reckless lust, clawing at this shirt, needing skin to skin contact. His chest is tight under your fingertips that mark and claim his body. He belongs to you and to you alone and you wonder why things were even going south lately. He’s fucking sexy. The burning desire and aching love you feel for Tao now might well be the same as the first time you realized he was your one love, your other half.

   He places creamy kisses across your neck before biting your bottom lip. He sucks on your tongue as he squeezes your ass. The taste of him is salty and bitter like that of a margarita on a warm summer's night. A small moan exits your lips and his eyes shift to the entryway of the alley before he pulls you closer, your hips flush against his as he lifts you like a doll, defenseless in his arms. Defenseless but safe. His toned arms engulf you as he continues to fuck your mouth with his magic tongue and you can’t help but think of all the things you want him to do with it.

   As if the heavens themselves are opening up for you, a light drizzle of rain starts to fall upon you, deepening the romance. The dark cramped alley, Tao covered in blood, and now it's raining; it’s as if you are in a movie. A romantic comedy, Tao and you the stars. The signs out on display, it was fate that you and your soulmate had saved each other from a fate worse than death.

   Grinding against him, you nip at his tongue with a muted chuckle, your swollen lips crushing against his. Then his sweet, salty taste starts to change into something less appealing. Something… sour, acidic yet metallic.

   “What the hell?” Separating, you both look up, the romantic rain actually rusty, red water coming from the pipe off the gutter above you. It stains your clothes, Tao’s white shirt turning an atrocious shade of pink.

   “It suits you,” you say, laughing before slapping a hand over your mouth and looking down the alley. No movement. Yet.

   “Yeah, yeah. It’s hilarious,” he whispers with a tilt of irritation on his lips. He grabs your hand, entwining his fingers with yours as he leads you back to the street's entrance. “Let’s go home.”

   “Okay.” Although you are closer to your mother's place you don’t argue, knowing he must have one thing in mind for when you return, your hearts and bodies now aligned. He needs you as much as you need him and you’ve proven that today. After all he was your saviour, your knight in shining armour, cutting through the hordes of beasts in the way of his one true love. He’s amazing.

   “Jesus Christ,” he says under his breath as he looks down the street. His face is scrunched up in pain as he says, “That guy's dick has been chewed straight off.”

   “He really is a dickless fuck.” When Tao quirks his brow, you shake your head. “It’s what he deserved. Believe me.”

   Making your way back down the streets that separate you from your home, Tao is ready to jump in front of you whenever danger strikes. Although there are less zombies on the way home, there is a close call with a Chihuahua. Once the crisis is averted, Tao limps down the street in remembrance of his brave act. It takes less time to return. Most of the zombies wandering the streets are in pairs or alone, easy to evade.

   As you turn onto your own street, your home in view, you lean into Tao and let him guide you up your driveway with your fingers still entwined with his. Nothing can ruin this moment. Not the broken window or the dead zombie slumped under said window, not even the crushed flowers under Tao’s ridiculously overpriced pussy magnet muscle car. And although yes, a small part of you was hoping that he would carry you inside bridal-style, you don’t let that get to you either, because nothing is perfect and that’s okay. It’s okay because it's almost perfect.

   You don’t let the fact that Tao didn’t remove Sheraton Barbie from the living room get to you. It’s not like you’re strong enough to get her out of here, anyway. A delicate flower like you should be taken care of and you know you will be. You know that Tao will get rid of her soon. He was just in too much of a rush to come and find you. If the house looked like he had cleaned up, it would be suspicious. Kind of like the fact that his watches are all put back inside the case inside the glass cabinet. His watches are all safe and packed away. How lovely.

   No, you refuse to be brought down in this moment, a moment of pure bliss by anything. Not even by Tao turning on the TV and flipping through the channels.

   “What are you doing?”

   “I want to see if there’s any news about what’s been happening,” he says with a frown as he stares at the television, each channel providing the same blank static as the next.

   “I thought we were gonna, you know,” you mutter, touching the ends of your pointer fingers together. “I mean, that whole rescue thing got me pretty hot.”

   “Yeah, it’s hot out there.” He continues to switch through channels as he walks over to the bookcase behind the couch, grabbing the ancient satellite radio.

   “Are you kidding me right now?”

   “What?”

   “We had a moment, Tao! What about our moment? It was romantic!”

   “Are you crazy?” He is looking at you now, finally paying attention to you. “Are you talking about that psycho move you pulled in the middle of a fucking zombie apocalypse that ended in us being drowned in rusty pipe water? That romantic moment?”

   “Yes, Tao! It was a sign that we are meant to be together. Didn’t you feel it?”

   “A sign?” he laughs, shaking his head while fiddling with the radio. “I felt an intense desire to fuck my kinky wife who was obviously going off the rails after dealing with this whole traumatic event and you obviously needed comfort and who was I to deny you that? But a sign? It’s literal Armageddon out there and I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

   “It needs batteries and we have none that size in the house.”

   “What?”

   “The bloody radio, arsehole,” you yell, turning your back to hide your tears. How had he not felt it? It was as if he hadn’t been there with you at all. It was like magic and he was denying everything you felt. “I thought you cared about this marriage. I thought you cared about us.”

   “Hey.” He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tight enough that you can’t breathe for a moment as he lifts you in the air and swings you around. “I do care about this marriage.”

   “Could have fooled me.”

   “You know, when you left I thought, 'Good riddance, and don’t come back.'” He ignores your huff as he continues, “I did. I thought about how peaceful it would be without you. But then the longer you were gone, the more deafening the silence became. There was a knot forming in my chest and all I could think about was what I was meant to do without you if you didn’t return.”

   “Really?”

   “Of course, you idiot.” He pushes his pointer finger against your cheekbone before lightly touching his forehead to yours, your breath connected in unison. “I didn’t realize it was that bad out there or I wouldn’t have let you leave at all.”

   “As if you could have stopped me,” you say, biting the inside of your lip.

   “You think I couldn’t have?”

   His eyes sparkle with a mischievous gleam, a smirk spreading across his face as he spins you towards the recliner and pins you underneath him. Leaning close he whispers your name as he brushes his lips against yours. Squeezing your ass, your hips lift up to his as he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours, singing a song only they know the words to. Your hand digs into his hair and you suck on his tasty lips before he pulls back with a start. He leaps up to his feet and walks towards the door.

   “What? Where are you going?”

   “I’m going to the store - do you want anything?”

   “Are you serious right now? I swear to God,” you say the words behind clenched teeth, your hands balled up into little fists. How can this man be so oblivious? “Also I don’t know if you noticed this but there just so happen to be zombies out there!”

   “Yeah? So? I want a Cornetto. I think I work hard enough for this household to give myself a treat.”

   “Oh and I don’t, I guess. It’s always I work so hard. I do this. Well I work hard, too! I cook, I clean. I do a lot around here and I am sick of your condescending attitude!”

   “Listen. I’m going to get some batteries and a Cornetto and at this point I might not get you anything!”

   “Get me some chocolate milk. The expensive one. The cheap ones upset my tummy,” you say with a pout.

   “Anything for my princess.” He kisses you on the temple with a sly chuckle before saying, “And when I get back we can fuck since I know you want to so bad.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this content! If you did, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging and/or following, and check out my masterlist for similar content. Have a great day!

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[morganaspendragonss]

´till death do us part

@911lonestarangstweek day 4 - m is for...mcd, mourning

if you saw my posts about the 'crying fic'... this is it

thanks to liz and @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 5.5k | major character death, hurt/comfort, mourning, non-linear narrative, car accidents, hopeful ending

This is a mistake.

It’s been a long time since Carlos last did this, but not long enough at the same time. His friends would disagree with him—they tell him he needs to get back in the game, and it’s well-meaning, but they don’t get it. They don’t know how hard these past few years have been for him.

They don’t know what it’s like to lose the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with; they don’t know what it’s like to go from being engaged one day to alone the next. In fact, there’s only one person Carlos knows who even has a hope of understanding, and he really doesn’t appreciate the irony that it’s the one person he’s guaranteed to never see again.

It’s not that he meant to turn himself into a recluse after it happened; he knows that’s not what he would want for him.

Thing is, Carlos isn't sure that he gets to have an opinion anymore, since he was the one who left. Carlos doesn’t blame him for what happened—that would be stupid—but sometimes, sometimes, he just gets so damn angry at him.

(he always feels guilty for it after, which is equally as stupid as the anger. there’s no one left for him to direct it at, after all)

Carlos sighs, shaking his head as he steps into the bar. He doesn’t want to be here—he wouldn’t be here, but Michelle had threatened to make a special trip back to Austin specifically to kick his ass if he didn’t at least give this a try.

This, being the blind date his friends had insisted he go on. Technically, he could leave and still not be lying when he tells Michelle he went—he is in the bar, after all—but Carlos has never liked the idea of standing someone up, no matter the circumstances.

So here he is. Alone at a bar, nursing a lukewarm beer, and wishing he were anywhere else.

Someone slides into the seat next to him, and Carlos barely gets a second to prepare himself before he’s met with a winning smile and sparkling green eyes.

God, why did they have to be green?

“Hey,” the guy says, still smiling. “Carlos, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Domenic.”

*

Carlos is still trying to catch his breath, his head thumping back against the wall of the bathroom stall they’ve ended up in, when lips brush his ear, hot breath sending electricity down his spine.

“I’m TK, by the way.” The whisper is rough, a smirk laced into it, like TK knows exactly what he’s done to him.

And Carlos is so far from fully-functioning that the only response he can come up with is a breathy, “I know.”

TK pulls back, his brows furrowing though there’s a wry quirk to his lips. “Didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan, but okay.”

Now it’s Carlos’s turn to frown as his addled brain struggles to put together TK’s thought process there. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Well. This took a turn. Carlos has no idea what’s going on, but there is something in the back of his mind that tells him he must have sounded like a creep, telling this guy he’s pretty much only just met that he already knows his name. He gestures lamely towards TK in explanation. “Your turn-out coat at the scene the other night. I thought it probably stood for something but then one of your team—Marwani, I think?—called you. So.”

Carlos shrugs, embarrassment quickly catching up with him, which seems absurd given what they just did. Then again, it’s been a long time since he’s done anything like this; he’s more of a wine-and-dine kind of guy than the type to make out with a near stranger in a less-than-sanitary bathroom.

But there’s something about TK Strand that has Carlos wanting to know everything about him.

And if everything starts here, well. He’s more than happy to take it.

Thankfully, TK seems to pick up on the sudden awkwardness in the stall. He takes a couple of steps back until he’s leaning against the opposite wall, which doesn’t really put that much space between them, but Carlos appreciates it all the same.

“So, do I get a name, or…?”

The question has Carlos flushing all over again, turning a bright red when he sees TK’s smile. He clears his throat and smiles, trying not to wince. “Carlos.”

“Carlos,” TK repeats, dragging the syllables out like he’s testing the sound of them on his tongue. Carlos shivers a little, his breath catching in his throat at the small smile that spreads across TK’s face.

Then a phone is being thrust in his hand, unlocked and opened on the Add contact page. “Put your number in,” TK says. “In case you ever, you know. Feel like doing this again.”

A thrill runs down Carlos’s spine at the thought that TK wants to do this again. Maybe he’s not the only one who feels this connection. Maybe…

Well. It’s too soon for that. But as he types in his number, Carlos can’t help but wonder where, exactly, this road might lead.

*

His house is quiet when he gets home. It’s a familiar kind of quiet, one that’s lain over the place like a blanket ever since that day three years ago. Carlos has gotten used to it over time, and he thinks that maybe it’s eased a little—but only a little.

Things haven’t changed much over the years. TK’s stuff still decorates the house, not as much as it used to, but Carlos hadn’t been able to bring himself to remove the stuffed bear that sits on the chair by their bed, or the plastic duck TK had insisted they have in the bathroom for ‘the vibes’, or the hand-sewn heart a little girl whose parents TK had saved had gifted him, which hangs proudly in their front window.

And the pictures; Carlos refuses to take the pictures down. The one sitting on his nightstand had been turned over for a long time after the accident, but now he can’t imagine going to bed each night without seeing it. It’s from their engagement party, a candid captured by Evie, a professional photographer in the making according to Tommy.

Carlos is inclined to agree—the photo, showing him and TK looking at each other, wide smiles on both their faces, is his favourite thing in the world.

His phone rings, making him jump. Carlos sighs heavily when he sees Michelle’s name flash up on FaceTime and he briefly considers declining, but there’s no way she’d be deterred so easily.

He takes a second to get himself together, then answers, plastering a smile on his face. “Hey chica.”

Michelle doesn’t waste a second in getting to the point. “So,” she says, leaning forward and grinning, “how’d it go?”

“It went.”

Her smile falters and she frowns, scrutinising him. “Did you even go?”

“Yes.” Carlos purses his lips, not wanting to get into it anymore, but Michelle is insistent and he’s too tired to make excuses right now. “His name is Domenic, he’s nice, I’m not seeing him again.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Carlos.” Michelle sighs, her voice going quiet. “It’s been three years.”

“That’s not a long time.”

“I know.”

“I still dream about him, ‘Chelle,” Carlos cuts in, sudden tears overwhelming him. “I still—I still think about what I could have done differently to save him, I still imagine the future we could have had. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. I don’t know if I can stop.”

“When Iris disappeared—”

“It’s not the same,” he snaps, harsher than he means to. “You always had that hope, right? Everyone was telling you Iris was dead, but you always believed that she would come back. And she did, and I am so happy about that, I am, but guess what, Michelle? TK is dead. He’s dead. I’m never gonna see him again—in fact, the last time I did see him, it was when his body was lying in a morgue, and he was so cold and so still and so—so not TK that I could barely believe it was him.

“But it was, because he’s dead. It’s not the same.”

He’s properly crying by the time he finishes his speech, and Michelle has tears in her eyes too. Carlos feels a little guilty now, but he can’t bring himself to be fully sorry for what he said. Still, Michelle looks crushed, and Carlos can’t lose his best friend.

One more loss would kill him, he thinks.

“Michelle, listen—”

“It’s fine, Carlos,” she interrupts, swiping a hand under her eyes. “You… You’re right. It’s not the same. I’ll just. I’ll leave you alone now. I’m sorry the date didn’t work out.”

Then she’s gone, and Carlos is alone again, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.

*

Their first real date is painfully awkward, reminiscent of covert high school meet-ups with boys in the nearby diners, or like that one time Carlos tried using a dating app. That had been an experience he’d wanted to forget, but now he finds himself recalling it in horrific detail as he and TK sit on opposite sides of a table, a plate of limp fries slowly cooling between them.

“So—”

“I was thinking—”

They both speak at the same time, and an embarrassed flush rises on Carlos’s cheeks. He swallows past the lump in his throat and gestures to TK, barely able to look him in the eyes. “You should go first.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “I was about to tell you the same thing. Since when have things been this awkward between us? We fucked on the floor of your front room about a week after meeting, surely we should be well past this stage by now.”

He has a point.

Carlos laughs too and finally works up the courage to meet TK’s gaze. “I mean, it’s not like we were doing much talking back then.”

“Things are a lot simpler without clothes,” TK agrees, a suggestive lilt to his tone and, somehow, it’s all that’s needed to break the tense silence they’d previously been suffering in. Carlos grabs a fry, grimacing at the grease that instantly coats his fingers, and points it at TK.

“Cool it, Strand,” he warns. “You aren’t going to find it that easy to seduce me anymore.”

TK grins, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Officer.”

*

Carlos is surprised when he wakes up the next morning to a text from Domenic.

Hey, it reads. Sorry about last night. I know that you’re not into me or whatever and that’s cool, but I like you. Do you think we could maybe still be friends?

He sighs and drops his phone onto his bare chest, arm flopping onto the other side of the bed. It’s funny, he thinks idly; before TK, he’d tended to sleep closer to the middle and it had never bothered him. Now, it feels weird to break from the way things used to be—in Carlos’s head, the left side is still TK’s, and the right his.

He knows what Domenic’s text implies. ‘Let’s be friends and then we can see how it goes’. Carlos could tell him now that it’s not going anywhere and save them both the trouble, but he kind of...wants a friend.

It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears, but all his friends are either fellow cops, the 126, or Michelle, who’s in another state. And Domenic was nice. So, really, what’s the harm?

Twenty minutes later, they have plans to meet at a coffee shop.

Ten minutes after that, Carlos arrives.

*

Carlos startles as TK’s arms suddenly slip around his waist, his chin pressing into Carlos’s shoulder. He quickly relaxes into the hold, covering TK’s hands with his own, but TK isn’t fooled.

“Where did you go?” he murmurs, breath tickling Carlos’s neck.

“Nowhere,” Carlos answers. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well…” He hesitates, biting his lip, then spins to face TK, letting their still-joined hands swing in the minute space between them. “This is crazy, right? Not, like, bad crazy—well, a little bit bad crazy; our last place did burn down—but all of this. Getting a house together. Three bedrooms. All of it. It’s crazy.”

TK grins, the little frown that had emerged at Carlos’s first words quickly melting away. “Completely,” he agrees. He kisses Carlos briefly, then steps away, breaking their hands apart to tread a slow circuit around their new front room. Carlos watches him fondly, somehow falling even more in love with him.

“You know,” TK says suddenly, his eyes roving around the empty space, “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He waves his hands, gesturing at the flaking paint on the walls and the lack of furniture. “Decorated a house. I had an apartment in New York but that came fully-furnished and I didn’t exactly have a ton of stuff to add. And then when I moved here with my dad, I didn’t care too much about how the house looked, and you know how my dad is about interior design. It’s a little...scary, thinking about doing it now, with you.”

Carlos’s eyes widen, his heart clenching at the words. “Do you… Do you not want to do this?” he asks, half-dreading the answer. He’d thought they were both on the same page here, but what if… What if…

“What?” TK frowns, crossing the room in three quick strides to meet Carlos. “Babe, no, of course I want to. It’s a good kind of scary, I promise.”

“You sure?” Carlos scans his boyfriend’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or anxiety. But there is none, and TK just smiles, kissing Carlos’s cheek.

“A thousand percent,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

(‘Fun’ isn’t the word Carlos would give to what came next. ‘Frustrating’, possibly. Or ‘exhausting’. Maybe even ‘interminable’.)

(But, at the end of it all, they have a home. Their home. And Carlos can see their future taking shape before his very eyes.)

*

Domenic grins when he sees Carlos approaching him, and a part of Carlos regrets even agreeing to come. But he can hardly turn around now, so he forces a smile and slides into the chair next to him, extending a hand to shake. Domenic sends him a strange look at that, but obliges anyway, shaking Carlos’s hand with a surprising firmness.

“Hey,” he says, still smiling.

“Hey.” Carlos sighs, taking in Domenic’s bright eyes and warm, hopeful face, and decides, fuck it. “Look, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m not looking for anything right now. My friends set me up on that date with you—and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good guy, I honestly do, but—”

“Carlos.” Domenic appears to be fighting off laughter, though he’s not entirely successful in it, a brief chuckle slipping past his lips. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I really am okay with being friends. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes, but…”

He trails off, seeing what must be obvious doubt on Carlos’s face. “Look, I’m kind of new in town, alright? I don’t really know many people around here, and I’m just...fuck, man. I’m lonely. So if you wanna be friends, then that’s incredible and more than enough for me. I swear.”

And Domenic is looking at him so earnestly that Carlos really has no choice but to believe him. He feels himself flushing a bright red, embarrassed at how self-centred and narcissistic he must have seemed, and a stammered apology is halfway out of his mouth when Domenic reaches over and lays a firm hand on his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, patting once before drawing back. “I do want to ask, though, if you don’t mind? Why did you come on the date if you didn’t want to? Not many guys would.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “My friends think I’m turning into a hermit. It’s an assessment that I...wouldn’t disagree with. Let’s just say you’re not the only one looking for a friend.”

Domenic’s eyebrows quirk up in interest. “Oh? Anything to do with your unwillingness to date? I mean, a guy like you—it’s hard to imagine that you don’t have men practically throwing themselves at you. Maybe even literally. How come you’re still single? Is there...someone else?”

Carlos’s whole body tenses at the question, his gaze dropping to his hands and his heart in his shoes. Tension lies thick in the air, and he feels the sudden urge to flee, but he’s rooted to his chair, stuck under Domenic’s scrutiny.

“Shit,” Domenic says, voice hushed. “Carlos, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Fuck, forget I said anythin—”

“I was engaged.”

Carlos hadn’t meant to say it. He doesn’t know why he did. It’s just… He hasn’t really talked about TK properly with anyone in the three years since; his friends were all TK’s friends too, and they all knew him—knew them.

This is the first time he’s actually spending time with someone who didn’t know, and it’s not freeing exactly, but it’s the first time he feels free to speak about TK the way he wants to, without anyone else’s memories looming over it.

“I’m not anymore, obviously,” he laughs wryly, finally managing to look back up at Domenic, finding shock on his face. “It was… It ended.”

Domenic’s mouth opens and closes several times before he’s able to pull himself together enough to speak. “Who called it off?” he asks—which was not what Carlos was expecting. “Because if it was him, man. He really missed out there.”

Carlos hesitates a moment, then answers, “It was him. But it wasn’t on purpose.” He breathes out shakily, swallowing hard. “He died a month before the wedding.”

*

Carlos smirks as he hears a groan at his back, glancing over his shoulder to find TK pretending to bang his head on the table. “Having fun, babe?”

Another groan. “Let’s just elope. Let’s get married in some random courthouse by some random Texas official. That way we wouldn’t have to figure out stuff like a seating plan or—or what kind of cake knife to use. I mean, babe.” TK sends a pleading look in Carlos’s direction, and Carlos can’t help but laugh, cruel though it feels when TK’s wounded expression just gets worse.

“I’m pretty sure my mother and your dad would kill us if we did that,” he points out, causing TK’s mouth to twist.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t.” Grinning, Carlos turns back to his chopping, except, when he reaches out for the next ingredient, he only meets empty space. “Mierda. TK, babe, can you run to the store? I forgot the chilis.”

“Can’t you just leave them out?”

There’s a hopeful note to TK’s tone, but Carlos stands firm—his cooking is the one thing he’s able to resist TK for. “You’d think you’d be used to spices by now,” he comments. “And the answer is no; go on. You’ll barely even taste them.”

TK mutters his disagreement, but he gets up and leaves anyway. Carlos watches him go, shaking his head fondly before returning to dinner. Technically, he could leave the chilis out, but he’s been brought up to consider even the mere suggestion as sacrilege, and he’s not planning on letting TK persuade him otherwise any time soon.

Twenty minutes later, he’ll regret that decision more than anything else in the world.

*

“Carlos, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to—”

“I want to. As long as you’re okay with it; I don’t want to just unload all over you.”

“It’s okay, I promise. What are friends for?”

*

Carlos frowns, checking the clock. TK should have been back by now; the store is only a five minute drive from their place, and surely he would have texted if he was going to be delayed. He’s about to call him himself when his phone starts ringing, TK’s name flashing up on the screen.

He sighs in relief, answering the call. “Did you get lost or something?”

Silence.

“TK?”

Nothing again, and Carlos’s panic starts to skyrocket. “TK!”

And, this time, he gets an answer.

“C-Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart drops into his stomach at the rasp of TK’s voice. He sounds like he can barely breathe—in fact, if Carlos strains to listen, he can hear stilted, ragged breaths coming through the phone’s speakers. TK is hurt, probably seriously, and, fuck, it was Carlos who sent him out in the first place, this is his fault, he—

“Carlos, please.”

He breaks out of his spiral and clutches his phone tight to his ear, racing around the house to get his shoes on and grab his keys. “TK, where are you? I’ll find you, I promise I will, and you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”

TK doesn’t speak for a few seconds, before, “No.”

Carlos screeches to a halt. “What?”

“I don’t—I can’t tell you where I am. I don’t know. And there’s—there’s no time. No— Someone found me, they called 9-1-1, but they won’t—there’s no time.”

“TK, don’t you dare give up, okay, don’t you dare talk like that. You just need to focus on my voice and stay awake for a little while longer and then they’ll get you to a hospital where they’ll fix you up. You’ll be good as new right in time for the wedding.”

“The wedding. Carlos, I—”

“And if this is your way of getting out of making all the decisions, then it’s a little bit over the top, you know? I mean, point proven and all that, but you could have just told me.” He’s getting hysterical now, he can feel it, standing in the middle of his front room trying to keep his fiancé alive and talking when he’s god-knows-where in god-knows-what condition.

But, as always, TK is there to centre him again. “Carlos, stop, please.”

Carlos doesn’t know if it’s the way TK’s voice is getting quieter and quieter, his energy obviously flagging, or if it’s his pleading tone, but he’s suddenly struck completely still. He can’t move a muscle, every sense tuned into whatever is happening on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t—I don’t want to spend the time we have left lying to each other,” TK eventually says, his words riding on broken breaths now. “I don’t want to leave you, but I think… No, I know that I have to now. I’m s-so sorry. I wish… I wish we…” A gasp, and a horrific cough that sounds like it’s tearing TK apart. “I love you.”

Carlos doesn’t get a chance to reply before there’s a loud thud, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what caused it.

TK dropped the phone.

TK passed out.

It’s salt in the wound when, seconds later, Carlos hears the wail of sirens approaching the scene.

*

There are tears dripping down his face as he tells Domenic of the sheer, gut-wrenching panic and fear of those next few minutes.

How he’d been unable to put the phone down, instead listening as the screech of machinery and the raised voices of firefighters and paramedics drifted through the speakers.

How the noises had dimmed when they extracted TK, and how Carlos had strained to listen as the paramedics began to work on him.

And how, when he’d heard those final words, his world had come crashing down.

“I’m calling it. McRae, radio it in to the ME’s office.”

*

This isn’t happening.

Carlos cannot be sitting in his parents’ backyard, at his fiancé’s wake, in the same place and wearing the same suit that he was supposed to be getting married in a month from now.

He—

Fuck.

Carlos presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and curls in on himself, barely suppressing a moan of agony at the pain in his chest. He’s distantly aware of everyone’s gazes on him, but he can’t stop this tidal wave of emotion anymore than he can turn back time and change the fact that TK is dead and that Carlos failed him.

TK died all alone, and Carlos didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or tell him that he loved him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak at the funeral—the one thing, the last thing he could do for the love of his life.

Instead, when it was his turn to speak, he’d been frozen in his chair, eyes locked on the coffin—(and, fuck, TK was in there, that was TK, fuckfuckfuck)—and Judd had had to take over.

Carlos hadn’t heard a word he'd said, though he’s sure it was beautiful, and everything that TK deserved.

Everything that Carlos couldn’t give him.

He failed him, he failed, he—

“No,” a hushed voice says, warm arms pulling him into a tight hug, and Carlos must have been talking aloud without realising because the voice keeps reassuring him. “You didn’t fail, sweetheart, you didn’t, I promise. You were there for him at the end and that’s all that matters; that he wasn’t alone when it happened. I know it hurts but it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

Carlos tenses, wanting to scream at whoever’s holding him because how could anything possibly be okay? But when he pulls out of their grip, he sees that it’s Gwyn, her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and all Carlos can do is fall apart in his not-quite-mother-in-law’s arms.

She keeps whispering that it’s okay, and Carlos knows that it’s as much for her own benefit as for his.

*

“Hey sweetheart,” Carlos whispers, getting out of his car and leaning against the closed door. He always comes here when he wants to remember TK; it is where they said goodbye to him after all. And it’s the place where they had so many important moments—it’s where they became official, and where they finally spoke openly and completely with each other for the first time, and where they got engaged.

It’s their place, ridiculous as it might sound.

“Remember that night?” he asks, even now feeling a little self-conscious talking to the air. “I made you a picnic and we came out here to eat it and you somehow managed to get chocolate on your nose from the chocolate-covered strawberries.” Carlos chuckles, then sighs wistfully. “You were so beautiful. I had this whole plan to propose to you, but one look at your face and that damn bit of chocolate and I forgot the entire thing.

“I just blurted it out, right there and then. ‘Marry me, Tyler Kennedy’, and you said yes, and it was perfect.”

He blinks furiously, tears beginning to blur his vision. “I thought… But it was too perfect, I guess. Perfect things never last, and since I was never going to leave you, the universe forced you to leave me.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s nothing you don’t already know, and I’m not sure if I even believe that you can hear me. I never used to, back when we were together, but things change when suddenly the one who’s gone is someone you love. I’d give anything, Ty, anything to talk to you again, so I’m here.

“You know… Just in case.”

His hands tremble and he swallows reflexively against the pain and grief crawling up his throat. He reaches inside the car through the window and grabs the bouquet of flowers he brought with him off the passenger seat.

It’s the same one he always brings whenever he comes out here—red camellias, hydrangeas, blue salvias, and forget-me-nots—all flowers that have meaning to them and their relationship. Hydrangeas for understanding; it had been the first flower TK had given him, his way of saying thanks for sticking around even after their disastrous beginnings.

The camellia, Carlos had gifted TK one anniversary. It means ‘you’re a flame in my heart’, which TK always was, always, and Carlos had found it a little funny too, given TK’s background. TK had loved it, and had made sure to tell Carlos in as many ways as he could think of that he felt the same.

The salvias were something they both did, often and at random, sometimes with no particular reason. Just whenever they wanted each other to know they were thinking of them—though, that was something they knew anyway.

Carlos had added the forget-me-nots himself after… After it had happened. It’s a reassurance, both to him and to TK, that he’s not forgetting; that he never will.

That he can’t, even now, three years down the line.

On shaky legs, he walks over to the tree a little distance away, laying the bouquet between the roots almost reverently. Carlos stares down at them long after he’s straightened back up, leaning against the tree, and he allows the memories and the pain to overwhelm him for a moment.

“Can you believe it’s been three years?” he asks the empty air, shaking his head. “I swear, I still miss you like it was yesterday; it doesn’t seem real that I haven’t seen you or kissed you or heard your voice in three whole years.

“I’m going to see your dad later. He’s… He’s doing okay, all things considered. He misses you—we all do—but I think he tries to hide it, like he has to be the strong one for everyone else. Don’t worry though, Ty, we’re looking after him. Making sure he doesn’t, you know. Do anything stupid.

“Your mom helps out a lot too, her and Enzo and Isaac. God, TK you’d be so proud of Isaac now—he’s started school, making loads of friends, and he’s just… He’s such a good kid. I wish you could see him; he was so young when you— You’d be amazed at how big he’s getting. And, hey, we’re making sure that he knows who his big brother was, so...so don’t worry about that either.”

Carlos hesitates before continuing; it feels weird to talk about Domenic here. He doesn’t need to, he knows—technically, there’s nothing even going on between them, though Carlos couldn’t deny how good it had felt when Domenic had hugged him when they parted ways after coffee. But there’s been a weird lump of guilt sitting in his stomach since that first date at the bar, and Carlos figures that TK deserves to know about it.

Even if he’s three years dead and probably can’t hear any of this.

“I met someone, you know,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s not like that, we’re just friends, but I think… I think maybe it could be like that? Maybe? I don’t know, Ty. I thought I’d never be able to love anyone in that way ever again, but Domenic is so kind and sweet and he makes me wonder if there’s a chance.

“I’m terrified. It’s—It’s stupid and selfish, but I’m so scared of getting hurt again, of having to go through what I went through with you again. Not that I blame you for the accident, it’s just… I can’t do it again. I can’t.

“God, even considering this feels like I’m betraying you. I do hate you a little for that; you still own so much of my heart and I’m never getting it back, whereas all I have of you are your hoodies and your mugs and that goddamn stuffed bear. Why did you have to go and ruin me like that, huh? Why, TK?”

He’s almost shouting now, but the question fades unanswered into the air, and Carlos’s anger vanishes with it. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t hate you. I love you so much, and I always will, but I think maybe it’s time for me to let some of that go. I can’t carry on like this for much longer; you understand that, right?”

And maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the breeze picks up a little then, gently ruffling Carlos’s curls, and it feels like… It feels like peace.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s like he can feel TK there, like he never left at all.

I know, it feels like, his voice ringing loud and clear in Carlos’s head. I love you.

“I love you, too,” Carlos whispers, opening his eyes. TK isn’t there, of course, but, somehow, he doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Then, with one final glance at the flowers, Carlos turns and walks away, his heart feeling lighter than it has in three years.

#911lsangstweek #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #michelle blake #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userbones #userjillian #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyeslonestartag

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 6: The Dog & The Heart-to-Heart

Summary/Author’s Note: Max has another run in with Kevin that winds up putting the both of you in a very...awkward situation. The two of you have your first talk that doesn’t involve just ripping each other to shreds with insults. Is Max opening up? Are you? Are either of you prepared for what is going to happen when those walls start coming down? (This chapter is BIG guys. No smut yet but we are getting closer. Also I know the gif is not of Max Phillips but it is pretty spot on for what I picture Max to look like out of a suit.) Gif credit to @pajamasecrets

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count:  4.1k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ - so naked. so wet. Nudity, hilarity, banter, flirting, sexual innuendos, mutual sexual harassment (although is it really harassment at this point with you two?), feelings, confessions, soft!Max

[Chapter 5] [MASTERLIST]

You hated running. You hated it with every fiber of your being but you wanted to be breathless, you wanted your lungs and your limbs to ache, you wanted to punish yourself. So this morning when you rolled over and saw that it was still dark out, you had pulled on wool socks, insulated leggings, and an old hoodie. Tip-toeing around Max’s sleeping form with your sneakers in hand, you laced up on the porch and watched the fog roll off the water.

You could do this--one foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat. You put your iPod in the small pocket of your leggings as you took off, but not even the fast paced music could drown out the thoughts that refused to stop coming. Fuck it. The path that you took along the gulf and through the woods felt familiar and you were glad for it because it meant you thought less about where you were going and more about your situation.

Max was winning over your family one day at a time and the way your mother's face lit up when he put his arm around you made you feel sick. She just wanted you to be happy. And if you said you were in love with Max Phillips, then she believed you and supported you. And it was all a lie.

"Fuck," you cursed quietly as you started to pant and you shook your head, changing directions down a smaller path.

Despite everything horrible that no doubt lay on the horizon of this half assed plan, it hadn't been as terrible as you had imagined. When he wasn't making your life a living hell or having you keep track of his daily planner, Max... wasn't that bad. He was charming, but you already knew that, that wasn't the interesting part. What made you pause was every time he laughed, he made a joke, or he did that god damn grin that caused the corner of his eyes to crinkle gently. It was confirming what you thought you always knew--the business tycoon and prince douchebag that he donned every day like a suit, was all an act.

Then there was your dad. You knew you shouldn't be surprised, but he held narrow-minded thoughts about Max and his vampiric nature, and he was still holding out the hope that you would throw in the towel and move back home. Your dreams meant nothing because they weren't achievable to him. Being born in a town like Sitka meant you grew old with your highschool sweetheart, a white picket fence, and at least two children balanced on your hip--no thank you. That would never be you, you longed for the unconventional, and the way your dad saw it, choosing Max as your fiance went far beyond unconventional. It was down right crazy.

At some point you had turned back towards the house, on the path that led out of the woods and around the barn at the edge of the property. Your mom had been decorating a setting up for a get together for the last two days and you were not looking forward to the potluck and barn dance that she had no doubt invited the entire town to. Of course you had no one to blame but yourself--if you came home more than every couple of years, maybe she wouldn't make such a big deal about it.

Sweat dripped down your temple from your hairline and was chilled almost immediately by the cold autumn air. Your legs were sore and your stomach growled as it reminded you that a hot cup of coffee and a warm muffin was far superior than this self deprecating jaunt.

You put your hands on your head to open up your aching lungs and breathe deeply as you walked back to the house. This was going to be the easiest part of your day and you wanted to soak up every last bit of it. Hopefully everyone would still be asleep so you could take a shower and drink your coffee in peace.

--

Max had been awake when you quietly left this morning and it had been incredibly tempting to reach his hand out and grab your ankle. You would have probably tripped and it would have been hilarious, but he refrained. Christ, he was off his game lately. As the door clicked closed and he listened to the fading sound of you going down the stairs, he opened his eyes and rubbed his hand down his face.

"Fuck," he cursed as he folded his hands on his chest and looked up at the ceiling.

Another night of restlessness and listening to you sleep quietly ten feet beside him. He had made sure to eat before going to bed last night and yet you still smelled delectable. It was driving him crazy, he felt insatiable, like a man half crazed, and it worried him. He had been a vampire for a little over a decade, he had control of himself, but you made him want to bury his face between your--

"No, nope, no," Max shook his head and sat up, stretching his arms above his head and letting out an exasperated groan.

In five years he could count the number of times you had seen his fangs on one hand, and he knew for a fact you had never seen his true face. The one that morphed when he was pissed, when he lost his last shred of humanity, when his features pulled together and his snarl was permanent. His eyes would go yellow and his skin would darken, and he once had it described to him as going full-blown Buffy--and that wasn't far from the truth.

He could continue to sit here and argue with himself about how much he didn't want you, or he could get in the shower and wash away whatever these feelings were. He didn't have a better idea yet, but maybe one would come to him. Great ideas were always hatched in the shower, right? Right.

--

Max turned off the water and was no closer to finding a solution to his current problem. Now he was just wet. Wet and frustrated. He threw back the curtain and shook out his hair, shoving it back from his face as he looked around and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Towel? Towel. Where's a fucking towel?"

He looked at the rack, the counter, and the wicker laundry basket and there was nothing that he could even use as a towel. Fuck. He stepped out onto the rug and wiped his feet as much as he could so he wouldn't fall on his ass on the tile. He thought he heard the sound of the door and froze, but nothing followed. Then he remembered, the armoire, the one with the goddamn baby maker blanket, there were towels in there.

He cracked the door and leaned his head out, looking around the bedroom. He called your name, but no one answered. Letting out a deep breath, he put his large hand over his groin, just in case, and hurried out to the cabinet. A high pitched bark made him jump as he turned around and cursed loudly, making eye contact with your horrific fuzzy demon of a dog.

"Shit!" Max glared and pointed at the Shiba with the hand that wasn't currently cupping his dick and balls. "Listen, I just need a towel--you little fluffy bastard--fuck!"

It continued to bark at him, hopping slightly with each noise and the action put it closer to him. Max involuntarily took a step back each time and he swallowed the lump in his throat as the beast started to growl.

Before he was turned, he loved dogs. His family had owned one when he was a child, but that had changed when he got back from Romania. It was as if the creatures could sense something was wrong with him, something not human was staring them in the face, and they hated it.

"Look," Max continued to try and reason with the orange canine. "I've never once thought about eating you. That should count for something, right?"

By now the animal had backed him back into the bathroom and he let out a frustrated growl of his own through his nostrils as he looked around for a weapon of some kind. His eyes fell to your cordless hair dryer on the edge of the sink and he couldn't help the smirk that overcame his face.

"Bingo." He scooped it up and grinned as he aimed it at the dog and flipped it on. The handheld device whirrrrr'd to life and the dog leaned back away from it as the warm air rippled its fur away from its face like it was in a wind tunnel. "Yeah--that's what I thought. Who's your daddy, now?"

Max dropped his hand from his crotch to hold the dryer with both as he aimed it like a six-shooter and took a few careful steps out of the bathroom towards the dog.

"That's it. There ya go," he chuckled as he aimed the dryer and made the dog switch places with him. "That's a good boy, that's a good, dumb dog," his voice dropped and cooed at him like a baby as the dog pranced backwards towards the bathroom to avoid the stream of air.

As soon as the dog crossed the threshold of the bathroom, Max lunged forward and grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut. He let out a yell of triumph as he effectively locked the beast in the bathroom and ensured his own safety. He spun around to toss the hair dryer on the bed and instead collided with your naked body as you walked in from the deck, your headphones still in your ears from your run.

In the time it took Max to realize he didn't have a towel, you had come home and back into the bedroom. Max was nowhere to be found and it was still dark so you had grabbed a towel, stepped onto the covered balcony, and stripped off, leaving your sweaty jogging clothes in a pile. Your loud music thumping in your ears had left you oblivious to the cowboy western showdown that was happening in your bedroom. And now you were pressed against your boss, both of you as naked as the day you came into this world and not only did he hit you with force, but he was very wet and very slippery.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god," you said, as your headphones fell from your ears and you started to fall. You would have welcomed the bruised ass because it meant you would have stopped touching him. What you didn't expect was for him to put his arm around your waist to keep you from falling. All it wound up doing was making him fall to the ground with you in a tangle of limbs and an ungraceful thud.

"Max??" "Fuck!"

The two of you looked at each other with wide eyes and open mouths. You were suddenly hyper aware of your breasts pressed flush against his chest as your hands found his shoulders for balance. He caught himself as much as he could with his hands on either side of your head but you still felt... something pressing against the inside of your thigh--and it was much larger than you had imagined it would be. Not that you had ever thought of such things...about Max fucking Phillips.

"Why are you naked?!" He yelled as he finally found his voice.

"Why are you wet?!" You yelled back as you slapped at his damp chest and tried to push him off of you. "Get off me!"

"Gladly!" He snarled as he rolled off of you. You scrambled for the towel that you had in your hands before he caused you to drop it and covered your breasts and the apex of your thighs. "Ugh, goddammit!" Max picked up the baby maker blanket to cover himself and once he realized what it was, he tossed it aside and grabbed one of the pillows off the bed.

"Get your dick off of my pillow! I use that to sleep!" You gestured to it as he gripped it tightly and pressed it firmly to the front of his waist.

"Okay, well it's either this or I drop it!" He snapped back and you groaned.

"Why are you wet and naked in my bedroom?" You asked.

"Our bedroom--forget it," he growled and threw an arm out to gesture towards the bedroom. "I showered and there were no towels--and then the dog--"

"Kevin?" You looked at him like he was crazy and looked around but the dog was nowhere to be found. You looked at the shut bathroom door and quickly opened it as the dog gave a yip and sprinted out of the bathroom and out the slightly cracked bedroom door. "What is it with you and this dog??"

"He hates me--"

"Oh, yeah, my mistake. You're right," you put a hand to your chest and gave a mock gasp. "Barely got away with my life just now."

"Oh, shut up!" Max rolled his eyes at you. "Go shower, you stink!"

"Fuck you, Max!" You gave a frustrated groan and made sure the towel covered your ass as you started towards the bathroom.

"Nice tattoo!"

He got one last jab in and you realized he could see the ink that he had only guessed about previously on your ribs. You stuck up your middle finger at him before you slammed the door so hard you hoped it didn't wake anyone up.

--

You and Max avoided one another for the rest of the day. Which was easy to do as your family was content to keep you both busy helping to prepare food and decorations for the party. Your mother insisted it had nothing to do with your engagement and that she had had it planned even before you and Max had given them the good news. Good news…if that's what she was calling it.

So that's how the day went, with you and Max on opposite ends of the table, in separate corners of the room, refusing to make eye contact with one another. Without even looking at him all you could think about was how soft those broad shoulders actually were. You were surprised how muscled his thighs were and how they lead to what was even the most surprising, which was his---nope. No. Definitely not. You refused to think about Max in that way and the fact that the thought made you blush like a schoolgirl, pissed you off even more.

You decided to go to bed early and when he followed you upstairs you almost stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing. But your mom was watching you both with so much adoration that it made you take Max's hand as you told your parents goodnight and retreated to the comfort of your own space.

After an awkward dance of taking turns using the bathroom to get changed and trying not to look one another in the eye, you laid your head down on the pillows with a loud huff. The soft crackle of the fireplace brought a warmth and a glow to the room that made your shoulders relax slowly. You should have thanked Max for making it but you didn't, it was just better to say goodnight and go the fuck to sleep and forget this day ever happened.

"Goodnight, Max." You said bluntly, pulling the covers up over your shoulder and closing your eyes. When he didn't respond, you opened them back up but stayed still.

Max had heard you but as he folded his hands on his chest and stared at the ceiling, he said quietly, "So...naked."

You sat up and looked in the direction of his spot on the floor. "What was that?"

"I said, you were so naked. I saw... everything." He grinned even though you couldn't see and you groaned and laid back down.

"No you didn't--"

"Oh, yes I did."

"We're not talking about this--"

"You're thinking about it, aren't you? You saw my dick."

"I didn't."

"Yes you did," he insisted. "I saw your tits--well, felt them--"

"Max enough! Good. Night."

The two of you were silent again for another few minutes. The fire popped and the crickets chirped and you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to open his mouth again. And sure enough, without fail, he said the next best thing to piss you off.

"So, what's the beef between you and your dad?"

"I honestly would rather talk about how you saw me naked."

Max chuckled. "As tempting as that is, I want to know. You two seem to really hate each other."

"I'm sorry but that question isn't in the binder. Please play again." Your voice was that of a sarcastic game show host but he was relentless.

"You really think INS won't ask about family drama? Because I think--"

"Max. Not this. I--please."

Maybe it was the 'please' that finally made him drop the topic, but you were thankful regardless as you thought about the conversation you had with your dad yesterday and your throat became tight. Your eyes started to burn and you rubbed them furiously. This was not a topic that you wanted to discuss with the man on the floor, not now, not ever. A silence fell between you again and when Max cleared his throat you prepared for him to continue to press the issue, but he didn't.

"I like the psychic network." He said flatly and you opened your eyes.

"What?"

"We need to start learning the binder right?"

"I guess…"

"Well, I like the Psychic network. And no, not in a ha-ha, look at those idiots believing in that trash, kind of way. I actually kind of enjoy it. I mean vampires are real, maybe other shit is too, ya know?" He shrugs and lets out a heavy sigh. "Um. Let's see. I took piano lessons in the sixth grade. Lynda Carter was my first crush when I was nine. I don't like giving flowers to women or having them in the house because they remind me of funerals. I try to read Wuthering Heights every year at Christmas--it reminds me of my mom. My dad thought it was trash but that wasn't the point." He paused and let out a sad chuckle and you bit your lip gently as you listened to him. He let out a heavy sigh and waited and when you didn't say anything, he prompted. "Your turn, sweetheart."

"I...sorry. I'm just processing," you said honestly and he chuckled again.

"Take your time."

"I also took piano lessons when I was little, but I was so terrible I quit. My fingers aren't long enough," you said quietly as you flexed them in front of you as if to show him. "My first record my dad gave me was Lionel Richie. Uhh..I haven't slept with a man in eighteen months."

"Wait--"

"Shut up, you said it was my turn." You cut him off before he could draw attention to that particular factoid. "The tattoo on my ribs--they're birds, just your typical basic girly silhouette type but I got them when I was sixteen. They're mid-flight to remind me that I don't want to stay here for the rest of my life. That no matter what anyone says, it's okay to leave and live my own life." You swallow hard and blink quickly, feeling like an idiot for continuing to get emotional in front of the one person you were pretty sure didn't have emotions. "And despite the front I put out there, I went in the bathroom and cried the day that Evan called me a poisonous bitch and reminded me that I was never getting promoted. Because then my dad would be right--I took a risk, made a big deal of blazing my own trail, and I have nothing to show for it."

Max lay patiently with his hands on the edge of the blanket, playing idly with the fringe as you told your facts to him. His eyebrows furrowed together and his heart felt like a rock within his chest. As if he didn't already hate Evan before, your confession made him want to beat the little prick down 5th avenue. He quietly committed everything you just told him to memory, like you had done moments before when he was the one making his confessions.

"Um...are you still there?" You asked quietly.

He realized he had paused for too long and the meek tone in your voice made a lump form in his throat. "Y-yeah. I'm here."

"Say something, please." Your voice sounded small even to you but you know he heard you.

"You really haven't slept with anyone in eighteen months?"

The laugh that bubbled from your chest broke whatever tension had been in the air before. It felt real, and that's because it was. The question was so on par for Max that it felt good to know that despite what had happened in the last few days, it was still him. He was still the same man.

"That's all you took from that? Of course it is."

"I'm just saying, that's a long time." He said, holding out his hands in self defense.

"Yeah? Well, I've been a little busy. My boss is just a tad demanding."

"He sounds like a prick," Max scoffed.

"He's not all that bad," you shrugged without hesitation and the statement made both of you pause as the awkwardness returned once again.

"Who--um," Max coughed, changing the subject. "Who's Lionel Richie?"

"Seriously?" You sat up and looked at him with wide eyes. "You know 'hello'? 'Dancing on the ceiling'? 'All night long'??"

He shook his head and looked up at you as you crawled to the end of the bed to look at him. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Not ringing any bells."

You looked up and silently cursed yourself for what you were about to do but you decided to throw caution to the wind. You fought back the blush as you very quietly started to sing the chorus and bob your head. "All night long. All niiiiight. All. Night. Long. All niiiiight."

Max leaned up on his elbow and looked at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes. His expression made you lose the fight with your blush as you felt your cheeks burn red and you wanted to crawl under the bed.

"Is that you singing?" Max teased.

"Maybe! I just can't believe you don't know who Lionel Richie is--"

"I know who Lionel Richie is, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear you sing it." He grinned and you gaped, but it felt good and before you knew it you were laughing again. The laughing only intensified as Max started singing, too, making sure you didn't feel too singled out. "Everybody sing, everybody dance. Lose yourself in wild romance.."

"We're gonna party--" you joined him and the two of you both bobbed like there was a beat somewhere to be heard.

"Karamu.."

"Fiesta.."

"Forever.." He paused and tried to make his voice go higher. "All. Night. Long!" His voice cracked and he shook his head, "I haven't been able to sing that high since my balls dropped."

You fell into a fit of giggles and flopped back against the pillows on the bed. It felt good to laugh for real for the first time in this hellacious trip, and you would have never guessed it would have been because of Max. When you gave a snort, your hand flew to your face to cover your mouth and Max laughed even harder. He had a good laugh, it was warm and deep, and not at all superficial or fake like it was when he was trying to make a sale.

Eventually the laughter died down, and you both stared up at the ceiling in silence. Except this time, the silence didn't feel overwhelming or awkward, it was soothing.

"Sweetheart?" Max asked quietly and you felt your breath catch at his tone.

"Yeah, Max?"

"Don't," he let out a heavy breath before continuing. "Don't take this the wrong way...but you are a beautiful woman."

You put your knuckle to your lips and failed to suppress the smile that came with his words. He had said something he had never said before. He wasn't talking about your tits, or your ass, or the way your pencil skirt complimented your curves, no, this was different.

"Goodnight, Max." You said quietly as you rolled on your side and tried not to think about how hard your heart was beating.

"Goodnight."

--

Its already like an hour late so I am posting it without the tags and reblogging it with tags so enjoy!

#max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro character fic #the proposal #with cherries on top

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 12// Illusion of a dream

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse

Chapter Summary | Wanda helps you stay out of HYDRA’s control

Warnings | kissing, swearing (maybe?)

A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Hands interlaced, fingers tangled together and arms brushing lightly, y/n and Bucky wandered leisurely down the streets of Brooklyn. Casting shadows of burnt orange swooped down from the apartment blocks which towered high above them, the thin smattering of clouds blotched across the sky and petered out to reveal the star-speckled night-sky.

A soft sigh filled the space between them, a content smile stretching y/n's lips as she felt Bucky squeeze her hand a little tighter. The sound of her kitten heels clicking on the pavement echoed beautifully, the sound bouncing behind them as if someone were following them.

A squeal, high and playful, slipped through y/n's lips as Bucky suddenly jerked her to the side, her body caving to follow his.

"Bucky!" Y/n gasped, grunting softly as her back settled against the scratchy bricks of the tall building, the darkened lighting of the small alleyway engulfing them as Bucky chuckled.

"What?" The soldier grinned, a mischievous sparkle to his eye as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Y/n's face broke into a grin of her own, the smile stretching wide over her face as her eyes darted between Bucky's.

"Kiss me." She mumbled, hands resting flat on his chest, the dirty-green uniform soft beneath her touch. "Kiss me, soldier." Y/n whispered as he leaned further into her, his breath hot on her cheeks as his nose bumped against hers.

When their lips met it was awkward, clumsy even, with teeth clashing and giggles shared between mouths. Bucky finally pulled away, a hint of adoration could be found within the depths of his steep-blue eyes, a shadowy hue to add to the mesmerising merge of colour.

"I'm sorry - I don't really know what I'm doing." Y/n admitted sheepishly, cheeks growing hot as she looked away from him. Bucky's fingers found their way to y/n's chin, lifting her head up so she was looking into his eyes once again.

"You're doing perfect, doll." The soldier murmured, leaning forwards to connect their lips again.

This kiss was better, less messy. It was slow, languid, lips massaging lips and tongues slipping into each other's mouths. Y/n couldn't help herself from moaning into it, something that made Bucky's lips curls into something of a smirk as her hands grasped his uniform tighter.

"So much for not kissing me on our first date." Y/n mumbled as she pulled back this time, a little breathless as she let both Bucky and the wall behind her carry her weight. Bucky flashed a boyish grin, pearly-white teeth on display as his hands gave her hips a little squeeze.

"I couldn't help myself, doll."

...

"Do you have to go?" Bucky mumbled against Steve's neck, lips pressing to the column of his throat. Steve sighed heavily, hand rubbing soothingly against Bucky's shoulder as he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss into the brunet's hair.

"I'm sorry, Buck. But sadly the world doesn't stop when something bad happens. We've gotta find these guys, if even just a few HYDRA members are out there, we could be in danger. All of us." Steve explained, his heart aching at how tired Bucky sounded.

Sure, he was probably just knackered from how hard he had just been fucked, but Steve knew there were other factors contributing to his boyfriend's dropping eyelids and weak voice.

"I love you." Steve mumbled, interlacing his free hand with Bucky's, their legs tangling together.

"I love you too, punk." Bucky murmured, the ever-growing urge to sleep consuming his words with a lace of exhaustion.

"Jerk." Steve shot back, but a fond smile had found a way of twisting his lips as the word fell from him mouth.

...

The music was loud, but the boisterous sound of clicking heels and joyous laughter were louder. Y/n giggled, hand clasped tightly in Bucky's as he dragged her onto the dance floor.

"May I have this dance?" The soldier asked once they'd got out into the crowd of dancing people, holding y/n's hand still as he dipped into a bow before her. Y/n felt her cheeks grow hot, the sight of Bucky's blue eyes peering up at her through his lashes one she decided that she'd never grow tired of.

"You may." Y/n smiled back, voice playful as Bucky stood up straight and placed a hand on her waist.

"Bucky!" She gasped as he tugged her into him, her body flush against his as his feet begun moving. Y/n quickly found his rhythm, her feet gliding over the floor in time with his as she clasped his hand in hers, her other hand resting against his shoulder.

What she didn't expect, was for him to dip her. He dipped her low, so low that her hair fluttered over the wooden floor and their noses mingled. Bucky paused, and the room seemed to melt away.

Their eyes captured each other, breathing low and laboured as Bucky dared a glance at y/n's slightly parted lips.

"Can I kiss you?" He mumbled, lips almost brushing over hers as he spoke.

"Please." Y/n breathed back, and his lips were on hers. The kiss was sweet, loving. It was more tame than the one in the alley, but no less passionate.

I love you, soldier, is what y/n wanted to say in that moment. But she couldn't will herself to do so, she'd only known the man a few months - was it too soon?

The room seemed to fade back in as he pulled away, the song ended and a break for the band being announced and y/n took a deep breath. The moment was gone.

...

Wanda sighed, her hand turning the door handle before she was walking into the lab. Bruce looked up as she walked in, a small, sympathetic smile tight on his lips.

"Hey, Wanda. Do you need something?" He spoke, placing his clipboard on the table before leaning against it and facing the girl.

"Yeah- I, uh, have you had any luck with y/n's blood yet? Have you found anything?" Wanda asked, tugging at her sleeves as she spoke. Bruce's brows pulled into a brief frown before he was standing straight again, striding across the room.

"I'm getting there. It seems to me that whatever HYDRA did to her, is very similar to the super soldier serum. When I compared her blood to both Steve's and Bucky's, they all have it in common." Bruce said, fiddling with something on his desk for a moment.

"So why is she losing control? Bucky said they never used mind control on her like they did on him." Wanda pondered. Bruce huffed a sigh.

"Well, that's where it gets more complicated. I think she's being...tampered with." Bruce explained, scratching the back of his neck.

"Tamper with?" Wanda repeated.

"My theory is that they must've implanted something to help control her if need be, but it's been damaged or interfered with so instead of actually controlling her, it's making y/n lose control over herself." Bruce elaborated and Wanda nodded slowly.

"So we need to keep them out." She continued, and Bruce nodded. "I can do that. If I keep her mind occupied, you can find a way to fix her, right?"

"I think so. But it may take some time."

...

After dancing, Bucky insisted on walking y/n home. Of course, she wasn't going to argue. The streets were empty, slightly dark as the faint orange hum of the street-lights hovered over them like a halo.

All of a sudden, Bucky stopped. Y/n looked at him confused, her confusion only growing when Bucky grinned at her.

"What are you doing, soldier?" She tilted her head to the side, squealing a little gasp as he pulled the file into his and spin her around. He ended her movement with a dip, her hair brushing over the floor once again as Bucky's hot breath hot her face.

"I missed my chance earlier. So I thought I'd give it another shot." He mumbled, placing another sweet kiss to her lips before pulling away. "I love you, y/n."

Y/n couldn't contain her smile, eyes alight with joy as Bucky smiled down at her.

"I love you too, soldier."

...

Peter was...guilty, to say the least. He was sat wallowing, head in his hands and knees tucked to his chest. He couldn't stop thinking about it, thinking that everything happening was his fault.

Sure, y/n was the one that almost killed him, but he also provoked her. He lit the fuse, he made the fuse with tears of torment, exclusion and neglect. He made sure that Tony paid her no attention, because he wanted it himself.

And now, y/n was locked up, the CIA wanted to read charges, and it was Peter's fault.

And he hated it.

The boy took a deep breath, closed first hovering an inch or two away from the closed door. He'd been stood there so long, fist curled so tight that his knuckles where spotted with patches of bleeding-white, trying to muster the courage just to knock.

When his hand made contact with the wood, the sound was dull. Hollow. Fuck.

Peter instantly finding himself retracting his hand as if it had been scalded with hot water, his teeth gnawing on his knuckles in nervousness as he slowly backed away from the door.

But then, it swung open.

He looked exhausted, to put it politely. Bucky's hair was ragged, strands falling out of his lose braid to frame his face whilst the actual plait was fraying with frizz. His eyes were heavy, pulled and dragged by offensive bags hanging low to crown his cheeks, whilst his brows knitted together with a mix of confusion and fatigue.

If anything was clear, it was that Bucky hadn't slept well since y/n had been locked up.

But then again, neither had Peter.

"I have a plan." Is all Peter said, weak and frail as his voice cracked.

Bucky nodded, his large frame tilting as he stepped to the side with an outstretched arm. Peter spring to step, feet moving quickly over the carpeted floor as he made his way into the super soldier's room.

#stucky image #stucky x reader smut #stucky x reader #stucky fluff #stucky #stucky x reader fluff #stucky smut #bucky Barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #marvel smut #marvel #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #winter soldier

[fics-of-culture]

Nightmares and Angels

Requested by anonymous

Summary: The littlest Winchester has been experiencing hallucinations and nightmares of her brothers covered in blood. Can a certain whiskey eyed angel come to the rescue?

Words: 2,123

Warnings: Blood, Hallucinations, Nightmares. Reader has PTSD. Possible misrepresentation of mental illness. (I personally don’t have many experiences with PTSD or hallucinations so take everything here with a grain of salt.) 

It was late. And you found yourself milling around the bunker. Again. Trying to find anything to occupy your time with in order to avoid going back to your room. You were positive that if you went to bed you’d have nightmares. You’d been having them a lot recently. Along with some other... issues that you’d yet to address. Today had been especially difficult for you in that regard. Your older brother Dean had been in the kitchen making dinner when you had another one of your ‘attacks’ as you called them. 

“You want bacon on your burger?” Dean turned away from the veggies he’d been chopping to face you. You were seated at the kitchen table, nose buried in a book and just enjoying your brother's company when he had asked. Being caught off guard by the question, you let out a little ‘huh?’ “The burger.” Dean repeated. “You want bacon on it or- Ah shit!” He exclaimed suddenly. You stood from your chair to check on your brother when you saw it. A steady trail of red streamed from his thumb onto the cutting board. Apparently Dean had nicked his finger while he was distracted. You froze in place. Images flashed rapidly before you as Dean grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding. You watched in horror as the blood seeped through the towel. Slowly, it continued to spread until it was running as a steady steam down his arm pooling around his shoes. You took an unsteady step back, priming yourself to run out the door when a pair of fingers snapped in front of you. Dean was staring at you with concern. Hand wrapped in a towel completely devoid of blood. “I said can you get me a bandaid?” Dean asked. Watching you curiously as you stood there. Shaking off your latest trance, you gave Dean a sharp nod before turning to locate your first aid kit.

It wasn’t always like this. Some days were just worse than others. You had gotten so accustomed to seeing your brothers steeped in blood that you had started to see it even when it wasn’t there. Your brothers didn’t know about this. No one did. And you intended to keep it that way. They always looked as though they had the weight of the world on their shoulders and you couldn't bear to stress them out more with your personal problems. You sighed as you wandered into the kitchen. It was empty now. Your brothers had gone to bed hours ago, meaning you could roam around freely without your brothers worrying about why you were up so late. Knowing you’d be awake for a while longer, you decided to brew some coffee. You were pouring yourself a steaming cup of coffee when you heard wings flap behind you.

“Is that for me? Oh sweetheart, you shouldn’t have.” Gabriel speaks in your ear as his arms wrap around you to pull the cup out of your hand. You roll your eyes as you turn to face him. You cross your arms as you stare at the angel who has been your best friend since he’d been ‘brought back to life’. A smug smirk graced his lips as he kept your beverage from you.

“Gabe, that drink does not have nearly enough sugar for it to be for you.” You sass him as you reach out to take your cup back, but he continues to withhold it from you. 

“I’ll tell you what, you give me a little sugar right now and you’ll get this drink back.” You cross your arms and groan in annoyance as the mischievous angel taps a finger to his cheek. “Come on hon, one little kiss and I’ll stop buggin’ ya. Besides, I’ve been gone for weeks! Don’t you wanna welcome me home?” It is true that he had been gone for quite a while. He and Cas had been working overtime in heaven trying to keep the lights on. Uncrossing your arms, you sigh in mock defeat as you step closer to give your favorite angel a kiss on the cheek. He lets out a dramatic gasp as you give him a quick peck. You turn your face slightly to hide the blush spreading on your cheeks. If Gabriel notices your sudden bashfulness, he doesn’t say anything.

“You only get a kiss because I did miss you.” You mutter quietly. Gabe gives you a soft, genuine smile. “Now can I have my drink back?” You raise your arms and make little grabby motions with your hands as you wait for Gabe to give your drink back.

“Hell no!” He basically shouts, showing no concern for the other sleeping tenants of the bunker. He swiftly raises his right hand and snaps the coffee out of existence. Your arms fall to your sides as you regard your friend with a look of betrayal. You open your mouth to whine at him before being quickly cut off. “You have any idea what time it is, sugar? You don’t need coffee. You need sleep.”

“You promised you’d give it back.” You said, giving Gabriel your best pout. Maybe your patented Winchester puppy dog eyes would distract the angel from the lateness of the hour.

“Honey.” Gabriel’s voice was suddenly lacking that playful tone from before. “I know you and the rest of the mystery gang are used to burning the midnight oil, but you need to take care of yourself. Are you guys even on a case right now?”

“No.” You muttered quietly. “But!”

“But nothin’ sweetheart. You gotta go to bed. Unless there's something you’re not telling me?” Gabriel had suspected that something had been up with you for a while, but damn if you weren’t a tough cookie to crack. You just huffed out a little sigh before saying goodnight to Gabriel and heading to your room. You were certainly not interested in explaining your lack of sleep to Gabe. You figured that you could probably get away with loading up Netflix on your laptop and staying up a bit longer, but Gabe was right. You desperately needed sleep. Chuck knows you’d been lacking it for the past couple weeks. You resign yourself to your fate as you get ready for bed. Maybe with Gabe in the bunker, the dreams won’t be so bad you think to yourself as your eyes slide closed.

-

Sam was suddenly woken to the sound of your screams. His bedroom being situated directly across from yours gave him the benefit of being the first one to hear your destress. In less than a second, your brother sprung up from his bed, blankets violently tossed to the side as he rushed toward your room. Once he was in the hall, he shouted once for Dean, but didn’t linger to wait for him. Instead, Sam burst into your room, shotgun in hand. Expecting some sort of intruder, Sam was caught off guard when all he found was you screaming and writhing blindly on your mattress. 

“Y/N!” Sam shouted your name as he rushed to your side. Jostling your shoulder in order to wake you, your brother watched in horror as your eyes opened suddenly, falling upon his face. Instead of his presence soothing you as he thought it would, you instead jerked away from his touch and let out a scream of what he could only describe as haunting despair. From your perspective, you weren’t seeing your sweet brother Sammy as you normally would. Instead, you watched as your brother’s face was covered in blood and contorted in anguish. Desperate to get away from this haunting image, you pulled away from his grasp and pinned yourself to the headboard of the bed. As far away from your concerned brother as possible. Vaguely you recognized that he was speaking to you, but you couldn’t pull away from your panic long enough to hear him. All you could do was stare at the blood pouring down his face, repeatedly jerking away from him each time he tried to touch you or otherwise get near you. A few moments later, you were curled into a ball on your bed when the door swung open once more. It was Dean. He stood there staring at you with a worried expression similar to Sam’s, apparently having heard the ruckus you’d made. But you couldn’t focus on that. All you could see was the copious amounts of blood dripping from what appeared to be a stab wound right where his heart was. Just like when Sam approached, you jerked away from Dean when he got near you. You were unable to do anything in this moment other than tremble and sob at the horrific images of your bloodied brothers before you. You truly tried to calm yourself, but nothing seemed to soothe you. And the presence of your brothers were just making your stress worse. You couldn’t get the picture of your blood soaked brothers out of your head. Subconsciously, you desperately cried out to the only being you thought might be able to save you. You didn’t even register the new presence in your room until you felt the bed dip. Your head jerked up, frantically searching for the new intruder when you saw Gabe. He wasn’t covered in blood or half dead. He was just your Gabriel. You let out a little cry of relief when you saw him. Instantly moving to crawl into his lap for comfort.

“Hey hon, what’s going on?” You hear him whisper as he wraps his arms around you. From your spot in his lap, you couldn’t see the confusion and worry on his face as he tried to figure out what was happening.

“I can’t- I can’t make them stop!” Your voice sounds pathetic to you as you speak frantically. Gabe runs his hand through his hair, not entirely sure what to do. 

“What’re you talking about? What won’t stop?” His hand falls to your head and he lets his fingers card through your hair as you whimper into his chest.

“The hallucinations! I can’t make them go away.” With your head buried in his chest, you don’t see the grim look Gabriel sends your brothers. Your brothers turn to share a look as if to say ‘Did you know about this?’

“What’re you seeing?” He turns his attention back to you. He kept his voice gentle as he spoke to you, not wanting to spook you more than you already are.

“Sam and Dean. Covered in blood. Oh God make it stop.” The trickster was positive he felt his heart break when you said this. He knew you’d been having some sort of problem that you weren’t sharing with him, but he never imagined it was anything this severe. And according to the shocked looks on your brother’s faces, they hadn’t known either. He sucks in a breath and steadies himself, wanting to be confident for you.

“Look again.” He speaks calmly. And you pull away to look him in the eyes for the first time since he arrived. You let out  a little ‘what?’ He’s patient as he speaks to you. “Look at your brothers again. It’ll be okay. I promise.” Hesitantly you do as he says. You turn your head to look at Sam and Dean as they stand helplessly in the corner of your room. Clearly unsure how to help you. To your shock, they looked completely normal. A little ruffled from getting out of bed so suddenly, but they didn’t have a speck of blood on them.

“Ho-how?” You can’t wrap your head around the sudden change. 

“A little angel magic. As long as I’m here, you won’t have to worry about those pesky images.” You let out a little sob as you hugged him with renewed vigor. Gabe cuddled into bed with you and when you seemed calm enough, your brothers left the two of you alone. Dean was grumbling a bit about leaving his little sister alone with the trickster but Sam just shoved him out of the room. You were sure that they were going to have a long talk with you tomorrow, but for now they seemed content to just let you relax.

“Gabriel?” He let out a distracted ‘hmm?’ as his fingers continued to comb through your hair.

“Stay with me tonight?” You spoke so quietly that if Gabe hadn’t been an angel, he wasn’t sure he would’ve heard you.

“Anything for you, sweets.” The two of you made your way under the covers. You laid your head on Gabriel’s chest and slowly allowed yourself to succumb to sleep. Knowing that for the first time in months, you would be getting a peaceful sleep.

#spn #spn gabriel #gabriel #gabriel x reader #gabriel imagine #spn gabriel x reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #fanfic