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oceantornadoo · 2 days

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bloody perfect

this is so insane i am so sorry

ao3 link

roommate!simon riley x f!reader with a blood/period kink, dubcon, slightly mean!simon, blood as a symbol for love and devotion (two and a half steps away from cannibalism)

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the door to your apartment opened in a blurred flash, keys jangling from the door. you snapped shut the book you had been reading, jumping to stand at attention, like some poor imitation of a soldier. like your roommate.

“hi, simon. nice to have you back.” you squeaked out, forcing your shoulders to relax. simon had his back to you, gloved hands fiddling with the lock. his boots looked dirty, streaks of dirt staining the floor. your gaze lifted up to the back of him, looking impossibly bigger than before he left for deployment. he somehow filled out his jeans more, thighs and ass hugging them in all the right places. even his black sweatshirt seemed strained against his shoulders, fabric fighting the breadth of his wingspan. your eyes landed on his head, hair messy from taking off his balaclava. you felt yourself step forward once, twice, almost in a trance. it had been so long.

“can feel ya starin’, love. miss me?” simon turned around, his smirk mean around the edges. you were hit with the full force of his gaze, new scratches on his face, a bandage on his arm. “you-you’re hurt.” he gazed down at the bandage, as if just realizing it was there. “‘s nothin’. didn’t answer my question.” you gulped audibly, almost comically. the air was sticky sweet with your nervousness and his cockiness, getting thicker by the minute as he kicked off his boots and made his way towards you. you didn’t understand it, this sudden change in your dynamic. you’d been cordial roommates, sharing a few meals and a movie or two. it was nice to have the apartment to yourself (that’s what you told yourself on cold nights), nice to have the rent taken care of with an absent roommate. but something had changed. some hunger had festered, sickly growth set behind simon’s eyes. he met you in two steps, taunting you with his height as he forced you to crane your neck towards him. it was his nearness that threw you off, made you say some insane thing.

“i missed you.”

his eyes flashed, clearly not expecting your submissiveness. practically a bitch in heat, rolling over to show him your tummy. he could almost smell the desperation coming off you in waves, the need for intimacy, the need for him to darken your doorstep. he could almost smell something else.

simon lowered his face to that juncture of skin between your jaw and collarbone, nosing at it gently. “missed ya too, dove.” you hummed as he nosed further, like some battered K9 who never retired, practically foaming at the mouth. he slipped his gloves into his back pockets, silent as a ghost. “‘aven’t gone on any dates, hav’ ya?” you shook your head vehemently, almost knocking into his own with the force of your eagerness. “thas’ a good girl." he rewarded you with skin on skin contact, calloused hands brushing up and down your jaw. you practically moaned at the contact, your body sorely missing the touch of a man. he maneuvered you back to the couch, laying you down with controlled restraint.

“y’ve been lonely.” you opened your mouth to answer but he cut you off, one large paw covering the bottom half of your face. simon tutted, practically clicking his tongue like a scolding teacher. “wasn’t a question.” words escaped you, jaw opening and shutting with no sound. you settled for a nod, pretending you had some semblance of control over simon’s actions. his gaze trailed down your body, eyes stopping for a second at your heaving chest, noting the pebbled nipples behind your sleep shirt. you moved to take it off, hands shaking, but that same hand shot from your mouth to your hand, gripping it hard. “not tonight.” your brows knitted together. did he not do foreplay? you had been without sex for far too long to entertain that idea. just as you were about to voice this particular concern, he squeezed your wrist hard, resisting from twisting the delicate bones beneath him. “shut it. stop askin’ shit. y’re not in charge ‘ere.”

“now this.” his hands moved to toy with the hem of your pajama shorts. “can smell ‘er loud and clear.” he brushed a hand over your lower stomach, pressing into your flesh with a groan. you let out a small moan, practically a mewl, as the heat of his touch battled the simmering cramps you’d had all day. “simon.” you bit back a gasp. “simon, it hurts.” so frail under him, practically begging for ghost to come home and take care of you. he shushed you with a kiss to your stomach, lips brushing the fabric of your pajamas. he tore off your shorts with practiced restraint, the hands of a trained killer dragging down each inch like each one was its own mission. each glimpse of your segment of skin was the target, weapons trained on the underwear it revealed to him. ghost let out a groan, the sound rumbling through him to you, his body practically molded to yours. his thumbs found your hipbones, small circles repeating their path.

“simon, you’ll mess up the couch.” he grunted. “need a bigger one, anyway. shut y’r pretty trap, dove.” you followed orders immediately. he dove in nose-first to the seam of your underwear, trailing down slowly. “‘s sweet.” all saccharine under him, the beast within beating at his ribcage, screaming to be let out. ghost was a shark in the water, dangerous at the first smell of blood. the need to claim, to conquer, make use of the fertile body under him. to eat. to feast.

in one fell swoop he was tugging down your underwear, yanking off the offending piece of fabric and flinging it to the floor. you hissed as your skin met the cool air, unused to being so exposed in your vulnerable state. “there she is. come ‘ere.” there was no experimental lick, no hesitation at the sight of blood. ghost went from one battlefield to another, preferring bloodshed over the silence of domesticity.

he started at your outer lips, practically cleaning you up, movements made for his taste and not your pleasure. blood coated his tongue, mixed with your seeping wetness. one final lick and he moved to your hole, winking at him, welcoming him home. his hands pressed your back upwards, crooked nose set against your clit. “bloody perfect.” he chuckled at his own joke, chuckled at how your body was already shaking under him. he tongue-fucked you expertly, sloppily eating you up. the blood mixed with cum made a pretty pink on his pale skin, fingers digging into your back as he pulled you impossibly closer. the tension in your core was getting harder to ignore with every lick, every time he said here she is and some welcome home, dove. he moved the bottom of his palm to press down on your clit, rubbing his nose in it, and you were coming, core clenching around nothing as your body emitted the loudest sounds. “ther we go, com’ on.” whispers of encouragement to your cunt, thick fingers joining in to coax another orgasm. one turned into two, your slippery pussy welcoming him in desperately. all whiny under his touch, squirming as he banded the other arm to hold down your stomach.

“nowhere ta fly, dove.” that didn’t stop you from trying, hips bucking into the air as he added a third finger. you were unbelievably full, stretched out like his personal fucktoy. he changed the angle, reaching deeper with calm strokes as he found the spot to make you crazy, gummy walls touching his rough calluses. he beckoned inside you, like he was telling you to come here, and you did, cunt clamping around his fingers.

“simon, simon it’s too much i-“ he shook his head, making that beckoning motion again. you spasmed even more, months of tension releasing under him. “there we go, she jus’ needed sum attention, yeah? not working with your own fingers, hm?” you nodded your head, agreeing with him passionately. “gonna split ya with my cock soon, see ya all fucked out.” your lips formed a small “o”, the crassness leaving his mouth like it needed to be washed with soap. “‘s get you to a shower, dove. go’on.” you scrambled out of his arms, clothes forgotten on the floor as you flew for the safety of your bathroom. he knew his dove too well, knew you needed some option to fly away and recoup before going farther. he’d spent all of deployment thinking about you, tugging his cock in shared showers and metal-framed cots. simon cleaned off his fingers one by one, savoring the metallic taste as he fixed the mess you made. he’d order a new couch tomorrow, something that could fit more than two, five being ideal. he’d fuck you on his cock tomorrow, once you’d knocked all of those thoughts around your head enough to pass out in his arms. but for now, he’d settle for the pink stain on his chin and your taste on his lips.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #simon riley smut #ghost imagine #ghost smut #ghost riley #dark!simon riley #mean!simon riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x f reader

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throneofsapphics · 3 days

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Imagine being rhysands partner for centuries and having to wait for him in court while he’s under the mountain? Just to find out that the very day he is set free, he also mated with Feyre, the human girl that saved everyone? Perhaps he doesn’t tell her right away but over hears it after some time? Or Confronts him of how he treats her so differently from her? Asking why and confront how he acts now and he just blows up and says it? You choose!

like the stories

Rhys x Reader

Summary: Reuniting with Rhys isn't what you'd hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, angst

A/N: Thank you for the request!!

Every day you waited. Not with the perfect, flawless, selfless i’ll-wait-a-thousand-years energy. Yes, you would wait a thousand years or longer, but certainly not patiently and there was a fair amount of cursing, screaming, and occasional binge drinking involved to cope.

Regardless, all you could do was wait, all you could do was your best to ignore the piece of you missing, the pain of that absence never abated, if anything it grew stronger over time. Until you had to rely on portraits to remember the exact detail of his face, until you couldn’t remember if he was citrus and sea or citrus and storms.

The stories, at least the ones you’ve read, only talk about the happy reunions. They never touch on the pain and misery of the separation.

Night after night you dreamed of a reunion. A few times you’d woken with tears in your eyes, the reunion dreams feeling more like a nightmare.

“I don’t want you anymore,” his voice was flat and so unlike him your chest ached.

“What did she do to you?” you whispered. That had to be the reason, she must’ve gotten into his head. The male you knew and fell in love with wouldn’t …

“She,” he spat, voice rising, “didn’t do anything.”

‘You, you, you.’ Rhys wasn’t in your mind, but the word echoed in his voice.

Mor, your closest friend and confidant, had to threaten to physically restrain you, to keep you from making your way right to the mountain, right to him.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said, voice hoarse. Half a promise, half a plea to the mother.

“He … he told you?” Your voice was low, quiet, disbelieving.

“He didn’t tell you?”

The world tightened around you, the air feeling dense, suffocating, too much. You saw Mor’s lips moving but couldn’t hear anything.

Like a bad omen, you felt his presence again, for the first time in nearly fifty years.

Mor’s eyes glazed, she glanced at you, lips moving in some kind of promise you didn’t hear before she winnowed away.

48 hours and he hadn’t graced you with his presence. Some kind of protagonist you were, you glanced at the bookshelf full of romance books, not very gracious and kind and understanding. The books had it wrong, you’d decided.

You knew his experience had been traumatic, and yours had been minimal in comparison, but you’d still suffered, hadn’t you? Still waited anxiously every night, not entirely sure he would return. Stuck in Velaris.

It took 72 hours.

Rhys stood across the room, watching you with something like longing and grief.

Barely fighting the urge to sprint and close the gap, you stopped a few feet away from him. His shoulders were tight, entire body taut, looking as if his muscles might snap at any second.

You held your arms open, letting him come to you. It seemed like the right thing to do.

One. Two. Three … Fifteen seconds before he closed the gap.

A three second hug.

You swallowed your disappointment. There’s no saying what he’d been through, and you’d only heard rumors. Perhaps it was wrong of you to assume he’d want any kind of physical touch.

“I missed you,”

“I missed you too,” the reply was too quick and missing the usual ‘love,’ or ‘darling’ on the end.

You could tell when you weren’t wanted somewhere, and took the hint. “I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you murmured.

He nodded.

Gods this was miserable.

You managed to excuse yourself with minimal extra embarrassment, and saved the tears for when you’d left the vicinity completely.

“A mate,” you whispered. Screaming didn’t feel right, it didn’t encompass the pure betrayal running through you. “When were you going to tell me?” Instead you had to overhear Mor and Cassian speaking of it. You kept going when he didn’t reply to you. “I thought you had more respect for me than that, I thought I meant more than that to you.”

“How could you compare to a mate?”

The words were stagnated, awkward, didn’t quite fit as a response to your statements and you knew he was just voicing his thoughts.

You understood what the stories meant now, when they said your heart dropped to your stomach.

Mouth opening, you didn’t need to be a daemati to read the words about to leave his lips, the backtracking.

One hand held up, his mouth snapped shut. Another time, another situation, you might have laughed at how easily you exercised that small bit of control over him.

The corner of your mouth tilted in a not quite cruel but not quite kind expression.

“Thank you for telling me how you feel,” you said flatly, adding “Rhysand,” emphasizing the last letter.

Irritation and hurt flashed across his beautiful features. Wanting the last word, you chose to stride through the doors, but paused to make sure they shut gently. He’d always hated slammed doors, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go that far.

Like the novels, where the protagonist gets her temporary revenge. Temporary. The pain will come later, but for now … you glanced at the nearest clock. Just before ten, Rita’s would be open for hours yet and you were a single female now.

Unlike the novels, he never came after you.

#acotar drabble #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

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theladycarpathia · 1 day

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I've seen too much stuff about Clipboard Buck and Tommy lately to not write this.

His boyfriend on a power trip should not be hot.

“See,” Chim mutters under his breath, leaning over the rail to watch Buck down below. “I warned you.”

“So you did,” Tommy agrees, keeping his true thoughts to himself. Buck has the clipboard clenched in one hand, pen in the other, and directs a reluctant Hen and Eddie as they perform checks on the ambulance and the ladder.

“He’s a menace,” Chim continues, with feeling. “He’s a dictator!”

“Uh huh,” Tommy says, watching the furrow in Buck’s forehead as he makes another tick. He gestures furiously towards something in one of the ladder’s compartments and Eddie puts down the jaws to argue back.

“We keep hiding the clipboards,” Chim says darkly. “I don’t know where he keeps finding them all.”

“Unfortunately for you, I think that’s something they sell at most major retailers,” Tommy quips and rests his arms on the railing.

He’s worked under power-crazed maniacs. He was in the army, and then he had Captain Gerrard. His own father was one fully for his way or the highway.

Buck being like this should not be hot. And yet all Tommy can think about is lying naked on the bed while Buck does things to him from a very meticulous and organized list.

Eddie makes an obscene gesture behind Buck’s back and Tommy smirks.

“And this is Buck on a regular Tuesday,” Chim says and pops his gum. “Wait until you see Buck in an emergency or organize an event. It’s a good thing you stopped by. You need to know these kinds of things about a person before you get serious.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Chim,” Tommy says, although stopping to chat to Chimney hadn’t been on his agenda for today. He and Buck have had conflicting shifts lately, and they’ve barely seen each other. Texts and a few brief phone calls have been all they’ve had to get them by and Tommy finally had enough of it. Bobby doesn’t mind Tommy swinging by the firehouse and seeing Buck if they’re not on a call. And today is apparently so quiet that Buck has time to do a thorough inspection of the vehicles.

“Are you?” Chim asks suddenly, twisting towards Tommy with a surprisingly calculating look. “Getting serious?”

Tommy just shrugs. He knows the answer, he’s just not entirely willing to discuss it yet. But it’s been long enough now that they keep toothbrushes and few essentials at each other’s houses, that they have evenings where they sprawl together in front of the TV, just happy to be together. Tommy knows about his sister, the loss of Daniel, the myth of Abby and has even read Taylor Kelly’s book.

Which he did in bed, reading several segments out loud, much to Buck’s horror and embarrassment.

“You seem to be,” Chim comments, and down below Hen throws a roll of surgical tape at Buck. “Not that I’m complaining. We like you, Buck likes you, you flew us into a hurricane…”

“I like him too,” Tommy says, because honestly he’s been smitten since Buck came up with that stupid motto back in the helicopter. “Funny to think that Evan and I never met before as he only got to join the 118 because I left.”

“You got there in the end,” Chim says. “I mean this as nicely as possible but you leaving worked out great for me. If you hadn’t left, there wouldn’t have been a space to fill. If Buck hadn’t joined us…”

“Then you would never have met Maddie when she came to LA,” Tommy says, understanding instantly. Funny how something that simple has changed so many lives. He doesn’t regret moving to Harbor, even with the closeness that the 118 has now. He wouldn’t be who he is otherwise, without that space to accept himself. If he didn’t have that, maybe he wouldn’t be the person brave enough to kiss Buck. “I get it.”

“Although,” Chim continues, still watching Buck down below. “We wouldn’t have the Clipboard Dictator if you had stayed…”

“You love it really,” Tommy says, because he knows Chim loves Buck. But then Buck’s eyes swing upwards, towards the first floor and the two of them.

“Oh shit,” Chimney hisses and then ducks below the railing. It doesn’t work because Buck just shouts “Chim, it’s glass! I can see you!”

“That wasn’t your best idea,” Tommy says and then offers Chimney a hand. “Come on. I’ll go down with you. Maybe I can make the tyrant a little bit sweeter.”

Chimney doesn’t look soothed by this.

“Hello, Chimney,” Hen says pointedly, sitting on the back of the ambulance. “Nice to see you. How funny you happened to be hiding in the bathroom when Buck gets his clipboard out.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Chimney mutters, eying Buck’s clipboard with apprehension. “Kinard, save me.”

“Evan,” Tommy says, snagging his boyfriend’s free wrist with one hand. “I came by to see you. Maybe we give the workforce a five minute break?”

Buck frowns down at his list. “I wanted to finish this before Bobby was done with his paperwork,” he says before looking suspiciously at his friends. “And if they leave, I don’t think they’ll come back.”

“Damn straight,” Eddie says under his breath. Hen just looks innocent, although Tommy is pretty sure they’re about to see three empty firefighter shaped spaces.

“Just ten minutes,” Tommy cajoles, stroking the soft part of Buck’s wrist with his thumb. “I haven’t seen you all week.” He drops his voice down for the next part, hoping that Buck is as desperate to see him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Buck practically throws the clipboard at Eddie.

“Taking a break!” he says cheerfully, half dragging Tommy behind the engine. “Be back in ten or I will hunt you down.”

“Will he do it with a chainsaw, I wonder?” Hen has time to ask (Tommy feels as though he should follow up on this later), before all three of them vanish. Tommy doesn’t see because he’s pressing his boyfriend up against the gleaming red of the engine and kissing the breath out of him.

“What can we do in ten minutes?” Buck asks, eyes glittering, running his hands up and down Tommy’s chest.

“Probably not a lot, as we’re in the open, in a firehouse, during your workday,” Tommy admits begrudgingly. A week is a very long time. Buck’s salacious texts and suggestive selfies haven’t been enough. “But we have time off in two days and I want to spend every second with you.”

“Good,” Buck says and the next few minutes pass very quickly. Buck tastes of coffee and he keeps both hands planted on Tommy’s rear - if he keeps squeezing like that, Tommy is going to have difficulty walking out of here.

“I think we order takeout and movies and don’t leave the house for twenty-four hours,” Tommy suggests, just as Buck licks the shell of his ear. Fuck. This kid will be the death of him.

“Fine by me,” Buck says and pulls him in for one last kiss. “But I really should get back to work. Call you when I’m off?”

There’s such obvious suggestion in his voice that want searches in Tommy’s gut almost instantly. He pushes it down and strokes Buck’s rather red jaw.

“Can’t wait,” he says. “And Evan? Go easy on your friends.”

But the others are waiting for them, standing in a line by the stairs, obvious glee written all over their faces. Eddie is holding Buck’s clipboard and Tommy deftly removes it from his grasp.

“Why, Mr Buckley,” Hen says, looking them up and down with a smirk. “That’s not a proper use of company time.”

“Ha ha,” Buck says mutinously, and with far more confidence than someone wearing a ridiculous amount of beard burn should have. “We have a lot to do. Where’s the…?”

Tommy hastily recaps the pen and hands it back to Buck, as though nothing is changed. He’d feel bad about it if it was an official document. But as it was Buck’s handwritten list of chores, he thinks the others might get some amusement out of it.

He kisses Buck on the cheek and waves goodbye, quickly ducking out of the firehouse before Buck notices.

“Who vandalized my list?” Buck shrieks indignantly and Tommy just skips all the way back to his truck.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #evan x tommy #buck x tommy #clipboard buck #911 abc #911 season 7 #chimney han #hen wilson #eddie diaz

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 days

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hello. I read your bg3 marriage headcanons and was wondering if you could do a follow-up on what their first anniversary would be like? also add rolan, even though he wasn't in the original. only if you want to.

BG3 - 1st Anniversary Headcanons

[original ask in question X]

Gale

What does Gale ‘grand gestures are my love language’ Dekarios have planned for your first anniversary? Oh nothing special.

Just all your favorite meals cooked & ready for you. Starting with breakfast in bed. A small, light picnic at your favorite shoreline spot to watch the tides come in and enjoy the sea air. Ending with a romantic candlelight dinner that would put some of the finest Baldurian restaurants to shame.

He gives you a book of love poems as your present. Paper is traditional for the first anniversary after all. It is furthermore inscribed with his own, original poem on the front cover for you.

Astarion

He actually isn’t aware it’s your anniversary. Until he is reminded by someone. It’s not that it’s not important to him. Astarion has just never celebrated one before. How could he, when none of his previous lovers ever even stayed the whole night?

He has to work fast. But luckily Astarion is extremely clever and resourceful.

Playing it off like it was his plan all along to ‘pretend’ to forget, only for you to be further surprised is simply part of his plan. He plays it off so well that you believe him when he tells you that he got you a new necklace because ‘it reminded him of your eyes’. He makes a mental note to remember next year and be more genuine in his efforts.

A!Astarion

Of course, Astarion remembers the day you officially became his. Body, soul, and now legally.

Part of it may just be the celebration of having something that’s his. He hasn’t had anything for so long that he goes overboard. And with you, his most prized treasure, he can’t help it either.

The day, like all your days, is just about the two of you. He has a portrait commissioned for the two of you and commits to having one done every year, so you remember what you look like & how happy you are together. The old ones are kept in an archive below for safe keeping.

Wyll

He’s been looking forward to this day almost as much as getting married to you, the love of his life.

If he chose to stay in the Gate and become the new Grand Duke Ravengard, Wyll will host a ball so that you can celebrate with all those you hold dear. Old and new friends. He has the bard’s college compose a new song to commemorate the occasion, one that he can lead his partner out to the dance floor with and waltz them around all night.

If he went to Avernus to continue as the Blade, they will waltz together, alone, on the stoney rocks of the Hells. While Wyll hums a private tune between them to keep the music going.

Halsin

Halsin isn’t much for ceremonies or constructs of time. Nature and time move hand-in-hand with one another without making much note of their relationship, and he feels that they should do the same.

But…he can appreciate that something like this should be marked & remembered.

He will make time to get away from his duties as ‘Daddy Halsin’ to be a husband for a while; no matter how short it might be. He carves them a beautiful ornament. Something of a remembrance of their year to hang on a tree by their home. Halsin tells them that he hopes, one day, it will be filled with as many happy memories as leaves. The tree growing as with their love for years to come.

+Rolan

Who has time for such frivolities? Rolan has an acclaimed magic shop & literary archive to run, along with the magical commitments he has as the new caretaker of Ramazith's Tower. Surely, as his partner, they must understand that.

Lia gives him an extremely firm talking to about how selfish and narrow-minded he is being. That it’s not just about him anymore it’s about them.

Though Rolan will never admit that she’s right, he does make it up to his spouse. Apologizing to them for being so callous and making an effort to be more ‘traditionally romantic’. He presents them with a single white rose. Enchanted, so that it will never die, never wilt, and never fade. “It will always be as pure and radiant as my love for you. Should I forget to tell you every day, look upon it and remember. Though, I will try to remember to tell you everyday until my last ones.”

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leonw4nter · 1 day

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I really like ur fics with Leon as a dad 🤍 can I request one where it’s angst at the start but happy at the end? I think with Leon’s job he’s probably alway moving to new places and his wife is kinda at the point where she just can’t take it and worried for their kid?

My Baby Here On Earth Showed Me What My Heart Was Worth

Husband!RE:Damnation!Leon x F!Reader

“The kids are sleeping now,” you quietly tell your husband as you get into bed with him.

He hums a response, setting aside a copy of William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury as he gets up. To go look at the kids one more time for the night, he says as he walks around the foot of the bed and towards the door. You wait until Leon noiselessly closes the door, his footsteps growing fainter as he grows more distanced from you, to sigh deeply, sitting up to lean against the cold headboard as you bury your face in your hands for a moment. You love Leon and you know that he loves you and your kids too but he’s grown increasingly distant with each passing day after coming home from deployment to the Eastern Slav Republic. You’ve done your best to show that you’re there for him, initiating conversations and even giving him simple compliments but the most he’s done is look in your direction and nod. A hum and a forced smile, if you’re lucky and he’s feeling less bad about himself. He still took care of the kids, driving them to school and playing with them in the afternoons but it’s clear that his mind is far from home. Even the kids could sense just how weary their father is, doing their best to cheer him up by giving him colorful drawings and letters. “Don’t be sad, daddy! Me, Ollie, and mama are here for yuo!” one of them reads, the word ‘you’ misspelled but Leon loved it nonetheless. For a quick moment he genuinely smiled whenever he read the letters and saw the drawings again before the frown took its place in his face again as he put the artwork in a folder and placed it back in the drawer cabinet.

You lifted your head from your hands when Leon walked back in, silent as always as he headed back to his side of the bed. You stared at him, urging him to say something–anything, just to dissolve the wall that he put up around himself but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t speak. He checks the time on his phone and decides that it’s far too late to continue reading his book and sinks down beneath the covers, muttering a nearly inaudible ‘goodnight’ to you before he closes his eyes and drifts to sleep. Hurt, you scoff at how distant he feels. Physically, he’s home and with you but you know that emotionally and mentally, he’s still on the other side of the world and dealing with Tyrants, Lickers, and corrupt leaders. Turning the lamp off, you sink into the sheets as well and turn to face the wall. You have so much to say, so much to express to him but you’re afraid that this will only push him further from you even more. Worst case scenario, he packs his bags and sleeps in a hotel for a week before coming home plastered. He’s never done that before but you don’t want this rift to widen to the point he even considers doing that, maybe even leave behind the family he has with you for the enigmatic woman in red. Inhaling deeply, you shut your eyes before you speak to him. You don’t even think deeply about what you’re doing before your fears get to you and force you to shut up again.

“I can’t keep doing this, Leon.” You shakily begin. “We can’t keep doing this. I’m here for you, so are the kids, but you’re pushing us all away.”

“I need space.” He responds. Short and curt, straight to the point but you wish he said more.

“What does ‘space’ mean to you, Leon?” you gently ask as you sit up and face him who is still curled up on his side, his face hidden away like a secret. “I just want to know what I can do to support you while also giving you some time alone.”

“Leave me alone. There. That’s the kind of space I want,” he grumbles as he sits up, facing you. You stay silent for a moment, your sympathetic gaze on him but his eyes are elsewhere as he runs a hand through his dark hair, not wanting to see the look on your face.

“Okay. But let’s still talk, okay? Let’s voice out how we feel and communicate, I want to be able to provide you with what you need–”

“Why are you doing this?” Leon interrupts, not out of irritation but rather out of wonder. Your eyes widen for a quick moment before you inch a little near him, hesitant to reach out and place your hand on his hand.

“Because I care for you, Leon, and I don’t want to see you suffer alone. I want to be here for you and share the weight of the world on your shoulders too. You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, I can see it eating away at you.”

He doesn’t stop you when you take his hand, feeling the scars and calluses on them. He quite misses your touch, actually, but he felt like he was throwing himself a pity party whenever he thought about asking you for a hug or a kiss.

“I don’t want to bring home anything from work,” he explains. “I don’t plan on mixing it– work and home life… and I didn’t expect for it to get to this. That I’m pushing you and the kids away. I don’t… I don’t want my family to even think about how the monsters I’ve killed looked like or how I killed them. Something as precious as you three don’t deserve that. Our little ones, most of all.”

Pulling him in for the first hug in nearly two weeks, after two weeks of Leon trying to avoid your physical display of affection, he gives in. He leans his forehead on your shoulder but doesn’t wrap his arms around you and instead, lies limply on his side.

“Oh Leon,” you delicately whisper. Sushing and humming the same tune you used to hum when your toddlers were still tiny babies, you tenderly sway Leon from side to side in order to ease all the anguish he bottled up and refused to share. It doesn’t take long for his tears to wet your shoulder, his large frame shaken with stifled sobs. He went by “Condor One”, “Agent Kennedy”, and many other aliases required by his job but at the end of the day, he is your Leon Scott Kennedy. “Daddy”, as his dear children would call him.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon slept in your arms, his head buried in your side with an arm slung around your stomach, for the first time in the longest time. He still shook and spoke in his sleep, flinching at times, but his sleep appeared to be much more restful. It was your turn to be unable to fall asleep now, a hand gently patting Leon’s shoulder blade with a watchful eye observing him. You were tired from the entire day and the crying you did with him hours ago but you couldn’t find it in you to doze off; you thought about your kids’ future and raising them, along with considering the fact that Leon was rarely home for a long time and was always moving to new places for indefinite periods. Each mission brought the fear that this would be the last time you’d see Leon alive, to be talking to you in person and that what would come home to you are two agents holding a folded flag, an urn, and what remained of his gear instead. It would be cruel for Leon, who proudly proclaims that his life has only begun when he met you. Leon, who knew what it meant to truly live when he found out that you were pregnant with his children. You knew that it also hurt Leon to leave at ungodly hours of the night when he was going to be deployed for a mission and to think that his kids would wonder where their daddy is and why he’s always gone. You’re used to Leon’s constant absence but it doesn’t hurt any less each time he has to go. His job is bad for your heart, constantly putting it in a state of worry and fear. It always stung whenever your kids asked if they could go with Leon when he had to leave on an “adventure” because they wanted to spend more time with him. You hated breaking the news to Leon that he’d have to miss out on another one of their school events, having to phone Chris or Patrick to attend in his place; he sounded so pained whenever he asked about the details of the event, his dreams of walking up the stage and being active in his childrens’ schooling playing in his head every time he closed his eyes for a quick nap before being back on his feet and killing monsters. Ultimately, you decided to give the kids a day trip with Leon since their only trip with Leon was when they were still babies. Sighing once more before giving sleep another try, you start to mentally compile all the things needed for tomorrow’s road trip.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“She’s already got a stain on his shirt and the ice cream hasn’t even melted yet,” Leon says with an amused grin as he tries to wipe the chocolate off of Euphemia’s pink shirt with a wet wipe. You’re preoccupied with watching over the other twin Ollie, who’s trying to call a stray cat and give the kitty a lick of his vanilla ice cream. You look back at Leon, who’s giving his daughter kisses as he got the stain to look a lot less dark than it was earlier.

“Pheme still tends to get ice cream everywhere,” you softly tell him as you offer another set of wipes, to which he declines since the stain isn’t obvious and the wipes could be used for later. Leon smiles when he notices you use the nickname he gave to Euphemia; he’s managed to get you to use this one instead of his other loving nickname for Oliver, “Rolliver Polliver”, derived from when Ollie almost ate a roly poly bug.

All of you finish eating ice cream without getting any more stains or a cat being fed something it shouldn’t be fed and get back to the car, hitting the road once more. Queen, Hall & Oates, Elton John, and The Flamingos have been traded for nursery rhymes and songs to induce sleep in toddlers in order to get them to nap a little bit. Instead of Leon sitting in the passenger seat with you, he decided to sit at the back in between the kids in order to spend some time being near them on the road trip. The twins seemed to have gotten their habit of sleeping with their head leaned back and mouth slightly ajar while softly snoring from Leon, who is also asleep with his hands on their child car seat. Caught in a red light, you quietly observe this tender moment in the front and snap a few pictures of them with your digital camera from 1989 that still surprisingly works well. You giggle at the sight behind you, heart melting at seeing your husband and children look so adorable. His jacket is on your lap when you told him that you were feeling a little chilly, insisting that he’s fine in the back without one. Just earlier, he was making funny faces and holding a serious, one-sided conversation with his little ones, making them laugh and giggle at his every word and now they’re all asleep together. If it means having more moments like this, you’re ready to fight the D.S.O. for keeping your husband occupied on the other side of the world. You guess that it’s also moments like these that Leon continues to fight bioterrorism so that other families can safely enjoy moments like this one without worrying about monsters coming to harm their loved ones. Since the red light is still going and you seem to have been caught in a moderate traffic, you take out your video cam and film the soft scene behind you. “Papa and the kiddos are sleeping together, their snoring isn’t in sync so there’s no moment of silence for me but I don’t mind. I love you all so much and momma is very happy right now.”

After nearly four hours of driving, you four finally get to the cliff overlooking the great wide sea. Parking your car to a safe place, you take out the picnic basket and start preparing your spot. You two chose a spot underneath the shade of a thick tuliptree, a cover from the hot sun. The kids have been asking so much about finally being able to play soccer and ‘helicopter’, a game where Pheme and Ollie hang from Leon’s arms as he spins around (the twins have promised to never, ever play ‘helicopter’ again because they got dizzy but they seem to have ‘forgotten’ it this time) and you explained that they can play an hour after having the picnic and when the sun isn’t so hot anymore. Leon agrees and although the twins don’t seem too happy, they don’t appear to mind it that much since they’re eager to help Leon in unloading the car (he gave them the lighter tasks). As soon as the food is set and most of the bugs have been successfully warded off, the twins gather to sit beside you but before everyone can take a bite of the sandwiches, Leon gets up and takes the digital camera and snaps a couple of pictures, even attempting a selfie at one point. Soon, everyone digs into their sandwiches and stuffs their faces full of the snacks you and Leon prepared together in the morning.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After what felt like the nth picture Leon has taken of you and the twins, he finally puts the camera down and puts it back in its case but picks up the video cam instead. The twins groan, urging their dad for more playtime even if they’re drenched in sweat with dirty knees.

“5 minutes,” Leon says as he starts recording. “Papa’s back hurts. Why don’t you ask mama?”

“Mama already played! She can’t carry us and she says she’s also tired! She’s reading now!” Pheme exclaims.

He points the camera towards you, reading a pocketbook in the picnic basket while dabbing your forehead and neck with a towel. He laughs and calls you, causing you to look up from the book you were engrossed with and blow him a kiss. He laughs one more time, ‘catching’ the kiss and placing it inside his shorts pocket which gets a giggle out of you.

“My beautiful wife is uhh sitting there, she’s reading.” He narrates as he zooms in. “Very beautiful, the sunlight is hitting her just right. Gosh, she makes me nervous and she doesn’t even know. Love her very much.”

He zooms out and zooms into his children, who decide to take interest in the rocks and starts flinging them towards the cliff with the intention to try to fling it to the ocean, which is quite far from where they are.

“Hey kiddos,” he says as he walks up to them and pats them with his free hand. “What’re you doin’?”

“We’re trying to throw rocks into the ocean!” Ollie and Pheme cheerfully explain, showing their rocks to the lens before flinging it with all their tiny might.

“Ooh, that’s quite far honey,” Leon comments. “Want me to try?”

The twins cheer and he takes that as an opportunity to throw one, the recording being temporarily shaky.

“Woah! You threw it far, papa!” The twins say and clap, determined to throw it as far as he did. He helps the twins throw it, focused on teaching them how to aim and the force they need to exert to fling it a little farther.

After several minutes of flinging rocks and random conversations with your husband and your kids, you call them over to look at the pictures Leon has taken. Everyone gathers around you as you look at each one, oohing and aahing at Leon’s photography skills. Leon focuses the cam on the pictures popping up in the digital camera, chipping in with his thoughts.

“Mommy looks amazing there,” he breathily says. “Divine. What’d you think, Pheme?”

“So pretty!” She beams before giving you a big kiss on the cheek. Ollie giggles and snuggles closer to you, occasionally pointing to the pictures.

Like you guessed, most of the pictures are of you, the kids, or both. Observant like their dad, they picked up on this as well.

“Pa, you’re not in a lot of the photos! It’s always us or mama!”

Leon chuckled, ruffling his kids’ heads. He extends a pointer finger to a shadow in the image before you switch to another one, pointing to the tall shadow once again.

“That’s me,” Leon explains. “I’m the shadow.”

His twins seem confused, falling into silence along with you, who is also intrigued by Leon’s words.

“When you look at these pictures when you’re bigger, I want you all to know that I’m always here. These are proofs that I’m with you because I’m the shadow and I’ll always look out for all three of you,” he explains

The twins say ‘aww’ at the same time and tackle his legs, hugging him tight. While you set the camera down and look at Leon with a small pout and slightly glossy eyes. Leon chuckles softly and places a free hand on your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek before you join your twins in giving him a big bear hug as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I love you, Leon.” You softly tell him, warm breath fanning against his neck.

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you more.” He tenderly responds as he hugs you and the kids back.

He’s thankful that this tender moment is caught on camera so he can rewatch it several more times before he goes to bed.

NOTE - I hope you liked this fic anon!!! At first, I wasn't super confident about writing this or how it'll turn out but I think it turned out nicely ngl :) YALL. I finally got my driver's license. I can drive. Do I know how to? I know the theoretical aspects of it but driving itself? Running a motor vehicle? I have yet to learn (it's on June 20-21 and my dad will teach me until I get better)... I also scarfed down a big spicy bowl of ramen coz I didn't have breakfast this morning <3 Also, It's not rlly embarrassing for me to be writing fics while my parents r sitting at the back (I'm at my living room) but making the border??? Looking for pics of Leon??? It's embarassing for me 😭😭 My dad said that my Chris capcorom looks like a Bánh bò and ngl I kinda see it 😭😭 There's a Japanese mall where I live and I'll be going there tomorrow so hopefully yk there's a copy of any RE book or manga (PLEASEPLEASEPLE) Anyways, that's it and thank you for readings my fics!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The wavy divider was made by @kaitsawamura , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

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reidsdimples · 21 hours

Text

Feverish- 2

Spencer Reid x Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI‼️

Part 1

Spencer’s inhibitions are still lowered which causes him to escalate things in the shower

You startle awake as Spencer flips over the side of your bed and pukes. You’re still pinned beneath him, his full weight on your legs. So you scrunch your nose and attempt to hold his hair back.

An awful groan escapes him along with a mumbled apology.

“I’m going to move you off of me so I don’t throw up on you and make this worse,” you say gently and help him roll to the other side of the bed.

At least he got into the small trash can you placed there.

Once you dispose of it you return to check on him, the two of you only having been asleep for about four hours. The sun had set and you figured you should attempt to give him more medicine.

Fumbling around in your cabinet you locate some drowsy flu and cold medicine that you didn’t realize you had.

You whip up some soup and grab him a Gatorade before padding back into your bedroom. He’s approached that level if misery where all he can do is lay there and groan in pain. It was awful to watch, Spencer was usually so calm and put together. In the six months you dated, you never saw him sick.

His eyes flutter open when you sit next to him and he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“You have to try to eat something so I can give you the medicine. I put ginger in the soup to help your stomach,” he nods. His hands are shaking so you opt to spoon feed him slowly.

Between bites you feel his forehead to discover he’s still burning up. You frown at him sympathetically. He definitely had the same awful flu you had two weeks ago. No doubt about it.

“Water, the sports drink will dehydrate me more without water in my system,” he says when you try to give him the Gatorade.

“Okay,” you bring his glass of water to his lips and he takes it down greedily. His hands linger on yours against the glass for a moment and he meets your eyes.

“Here,” you hand him the dose of the liquid medicine.

He scoots away from it.

“No pills? I hate the liquid,” he whines.

“No, you have to take this now. I’ll get you the pills tomorrow,” you grab his chin and turn his face back towards the medicine. “Don’t make me force this down your throat. I will,” you threaten.

He knows you’re serious, so he takes it throws it down before chasing it with water.

He only took a few bites of soup but it would have to do.

You help him back under the covers and place a thermometer under his tongue. You needed a true reading to monitor his progress.

“103.2 F,” you tell him. “You’re bad off.”

He nods in agreement.

“Drink this,” you give him orange juice with an immune boosting shot in it. “After this you can go back to sleep,” you promise him.

He looks so tired, so sick, that it makes your heart hurt.

“Stay with me,” he pleads.

“I’m not going anywhere Spence,” you place a hand on his face and brush his hair behind his ear. He gives you a thankful smile. “Just keep your tissues on your side of the bed,” you grimace at his now growing pile.

He smiles softly before groaning like it hurts.

He wakes some hours later with at least some clarity in his eyes. He’s on his face when he lifts up to look at you. He smiles sheepishly before groaning and rolling onto his back.

“You smell awful, you were sweating morning your sleep,” you place the book in your lap and look down at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You make him take his temperature.

“101.8 F, better,” you show him.

He throws his head back on the headboard and runs his hands through his long hair with a sigh.

You look for signs about whether or not he remembers kissing you so desperately the day before. He gives none.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” you pop up.

He doesn’t protest and he’s able to walk, albeit slowly to the bathroom on his own. He sways as if his head spins but he’s able to brush his teeth. You’re grateful for that.

He leans with he’s head on the wall as he scrubs his tongue, clearly getting up is taking a toll on him.

“I made sure it’s not too warm,” you tell him after turning on the shower head.

He looks between you and the shower expectantly.

“What?” You ask.

“Aren’t you going to leave so I can take these off?” He asks, some humor in his tone.

“I’m not leaving you to your own devices. I’ve seen you naked, it’s fine Spencer,” you reason with him.

“But-“

“Not up for debate, you’re not falling and dying in my shower. Now come on,” you tug his arm towards you.

He doesn’t catch himself as quickly as he should be able to and barrels into you. You’re pinned between him and the wall when he places his hands on the wall on either side of your head to stead himself.

His mouth is partially open, he has no choice since he can’t breathe out of his nose. But somehow that mixed with his shirtlessness and messy hair is driving you crazy.

You hook your index fingers into the front of his boxers, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to break his eye contact.

“Lose these and get in the shower, Spence,” you whisper. He nods and obeys.

You move into the shower behind him. He’s leaning on the wall with his arms holding him up, his head dropped between his them as the water flushes all of his hair over his face. You take in the muscles in his lean back, his ass…

Then he turns to you. His eyes are heavy again, his breathing labored. He looks like hell.

You bring a new loofah between you and add soap. He reaches for it but you snatch it away. His eyes can’t help but to move over your wet naked body. You begin to move it over his chest, making slow circles until the soap lathers. You get his arms and move to his stomach. He seems to be getting closer to you.

He grabs your hand with the loofah before you trail down further, his eyes wide. You can see his arousal between his legs despite him feeling terrible.

You let him take the loofah and he turns you around and pulls you close. He wraps his arms around you. His tall lean frame, partially depending on you to keep him standing.

He squeezes out the loofah over your breasts and massages it down between them, his other hand gripping your left tit. His strong arms are wrapped around you as his hands start to cover you in soap. He’s slow and teasing about it.

You can feel his cock pressing upwards against your ass, a small groan escaping him.

You turn to him and make him take a step backward so that the water runs over you both. He watches you, unsure.

You pour more body wash in your hand and place in flat against his stomach, letting it run down over his hardened cock. You push him to lean against the wall. The coldness of the stone causes him to wince but he doesn’t care.

“Ah,” he moans when you wrap your hand around him.

“Would this make you feel better?” You whisper. He swallows hard and nods frantically.

“I need you so bad,” he whimpers.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand and tightening it around him.

He leans forward on a moan when you speed up, he drops his head to the crook of your neck and begins kissing and sucking on your skin.

It doesn’t slow you down, you tighten and twist your hand just how he likes it until his leaning on you with his hands gripping your ass. The water falls over both of you, heating your body.

He twitches and moans, his knees getting weaker in his sickened state.

“Please,” he whines and takes your face in his hands.

His forehead is against yours as he pants for air.

“Ah,” he groans.

He drops his head to kiss your breasts as his cock begins to pulse. He shudders and you pump him harder until his hot cum is shooting outward. He grips your hips and slowly lowers himself to his knees before you.

He presses his face against your stomach, kissing and moaning, worshiping you. You take in the sight of him. Half out of it, half panting with satisfaction.

Unexpectedly though, he keeps kissing and sucking on your skin until his mouth trails down to your pussy. He looks up at you through the splashing water as if pleading to taste you. You nod.

He’s not gentle about it and he doesn’t take his time. Probably because he feels awful. But you don’t mind.

He leans his face up and burries it into you, his tongue trailing between your folds. He latches onto your pussy and sucks and licks frantically. You push your hands into his hair, spreading your legs to angel him just right.

“Yes baby,” you moan.

This beautiful man on his knees before you looked like a god with his soaked mane of hair. He was breathtaking as his eyes fluttered closed and he devoured you. He moaned into your pussy as he enjoyed feasting on everything you had to offer.

His nails dug into the flesh of your ass, urging you to grind on his face.

You oblige, screaming out at the intense sensation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant as you ride his face. He continues sucking on your clit and pushing his tongue into your entrance.

It’s so good, your legs start to shake and the world blurs. He doesn’t let up and you think he must be exhausted. But he wants to please you. He’s always been like that.

“Spencer!” You scream as your orgasm ravishes you. Your pussy clenches and pulses as he sucks down your cum. It’s like he’s starving the way he does it.

You try to focus your eyes on him, you can’t believe he just did that.

He pulls his knees out from under him and sits back against the shower wall.

He closes eyes as and you can see them shifting behind his eyelids.

“Are you okay?” You crouch down in front of him.

“Dizzy,” he whispers.

“You shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have,” you start to apologize. He shushes you.

“Don’t say that,” he urges weakly and shivers.

“Oh Spence,” you feel so bad. You weren’t even thinking. Clearly he wasn’t either.

You wrap a bath towel around him and help him up.

Once he’s dried off you get him back into bed and add an extra layer of blankets. Even in his sickened daze his eyes follow you around the room because you’re still naked.

“Here,” you make him take the medicine he hates along with a fever reducer.

“No more of that,” you gesture at the bathroom.

“What about when I’m better?” He grins. Your cheeks turn red and you can’t help but to smile.

“Just sleep, Spencer,” you lean over and kiss his forehead.

#spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds #mgg pics #dr reid #spencer reid one shots #spicy spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid smut

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bigdumbbambieyes · 2 days

Text

They used to have sex every single day.

Hot, rough, quick sex whenever and wherever they could.

In their cars, in their rooms, on the recliners by Steve's pool, on his mother's perfectly kept cream coloured couch.

Always frantic, always desperate.

But, that was then, and this is now.

Billy feels shame. And guilt. A lot of it.

He takes antidepressants now and they're helping a lot, but not in other ways.

He can remember the flash of disappointment in Steve's eyes the first time he couldn't get it up for him. The humiliation and shame of not being able to get his fucking dick hard for his hot as fuck boyfriend who loves him and wants him -- it had been too much.

Even the soft touches and whispers of 'it's okay' weren't enough to push those feelings away. He pulled away, ran away, to the bathroom to hide in his shame, tears in his eyes.

Because he's always been good at sex. Always ready to go. It was what people had always wanted from him, what he was good for, and now?

It's been over a month now. Billy doesn't even want sex, which is a startling and unsettling feeling, but he's getting used to it.

He knows Steve isn't, though. Or, at least, he assumes, because Steve will still and try to start things late at night and Billy will tell him that he's 'tired' or 'not in the mood' and he hates the way Steve mumbles a soft 'okay', like he's given up.

Steve had even tried to bring it up one day over dinner, but Billy shut that conversation down immediately. He couldn't even look into his boyfriend's eyes when he did.

He knows he's a coward. He always has been.

But, Steve isn't.

Which is probably why, tonight, he's crawled into bed beside Billy and wrapped himself around him so tight.

Pressing his cheek into Billy's shoulder, and when Billy glances over at him from his book, he sees those big Bambi eyes staring up at him, and those pretty lips part to abruptly say, "Even if we never have sex again, I'll be here."

It makes him blink, caught off guard by it, and he feels that nagging shame telling him to push Steve away or get out of the bed, but Steve wraps his legs around his and holds him tighter, his gaze unrelenting.

His pretty boy presses a tiny little kiss to his shoulder and mutters, "I read the side effects of your meds."

It makes his skin prickle to know that.

"Billy," Steve breathes, frowning, "I love you, y'know?"

Billy nods, swallows thickly and mutters, "I know."

"Then talk to me."

Staring down at Steve, into those earnest eyes, filled with so much love and frustration, Billy knows he should. He owes Steve that much.

"It's," his voice catches, feels a lump form in his throat, "It's hard to."

"Why?" Steve whispers, thumbing over his skin where he's grabbing Billy's other freckled shoulder.

He gives a shrug, wishing he could just tell his boyfriend to drop it, but he can't do that to him. He's trying to be better.

There's tears in his eyes now, he can feel them wobbling on his lower lashes, but he decides to be brave and push past that shame and embarrassment to confide in his boyfriend, his best friend, his goddamn everything to whisper, "It's...so fucking embarrassing."

The tears stream down his cheeks, his face twisting as emotions creep up his throat, and Steve's face softens immediately -- and then he's bringing Billy into his chest, letting him hide there for a moment as he sobs, rubbing his back and kissing his hair, comforting him.

He feels so small like this, whenever Steve cuddles him into his chest, but it's also so safe. He knows he'll always be able to have this because Steve always puts him here, whenever he needs it, and it makes him breath just a little easier, even as he cries.

"What's embarrassing about it?" Steve whispers, his tone soft and curious, encouraging Billy to open up.

And again, Billy fights back the instinct to clam up, to shut down, and mutters into the soft fabric of Steve's sleep shirt, perhaps a little bit too mean, "I can't fucking get it up for you."

"But it makes sense, with the pills," Steve mumbles, not even bothered by the harshness in Billy's tone because he's used to his boyfriend being sensitive, "Like, you still like me, right?"

"Obviously," Billy mutters with a sniffle, furrowing his brows as he continues, "It's just...so frustrating. I--we used to fuck all the time, but even if I try to get hard, I just...can't."

If he wasn't so fucked up he'd fuck Steve all the time.

"It's not your fault, Billy," Steve murmurs, his voice firm, "Not having sex doesn't mean I don't love you. You mean so much more to me than just fucking -- please tell me you know that."

And, he does. Billy does know that. "I do," he whispers, realizing, "It's just...more of a 'me' thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like..." he pulls away from his hiding place, just enough so he can see Steve again, in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, and it gives him enough courage to continue, "I've always thought that sex was...all that I was good at. That it was, y'know, what everyone wanted from me. So...when I realized that I couldn't do that, with you, I just...felt so embarrassed and ashamed."

Steve's eyes soften again, his voice just as soft as he mumbles, "Baby--"

Billy can't stop, "I know I'm shit at telling you things and how I feel, so I try and show you instead. And sex was always easy for me, to show you that I love you, because I got to make you feel good and that made me feel good, but...but now I don't know--"

"Coffee."

Billy's mouth snaps shut, confused, as he asks, "What?"

Steve smiles gently and reaches up to brush Billy's hair back, "You make me coffee every morning. You cook my favourite pasta whenever I'm sad. You massage my shoulders whenever you see me rubbing them, and even when I'm not. You always give me the blue piece whenever we play board games because you know it's my favourite colour. You're always the first one to reach out when we hold hands."

Oh.

"You do know how to love me, Billy," Steve murmurs, sliding his hand down from Billy's hair and to his cheek, thumbing over it with such tenderness it makes tears well in his eyes again, "I feel loved by you all the time. With or without sex."

Billy can feel his chin wobbling a bit as the new tears fall, because no one has ever loved him like this. He hasn't let anyone love him like this before. He feels stupid for ever thinking that sex would make or break them when they've fought literal monsters together.

"Do I make you feel loved?" Steve asks.

"Yes," Billy answers immediately, even nodding as Steve holds his face, "You tell me all the time and I feel it."

He feels it every time Steve praises him. Whenever Steve buys him a little something just because it reminded Steve of him. Whenever Steve lets him cry in his arms, like this. He feels loved when Steve encourages him to talk to him about how he feels because no one has ever fucking done that for him -- held space for him like Steve has.

"Good," Steve smiles, a little relieved, "And, I'm sorry, that I didn't realize it sooner -- I wouldn't have tried to, like, initiate and stuff. I feel like a dick, like I was pressuring you."

"You weren't pressuring me," Billy mumbles, reaching up to place his hand over Steve's on his cheek, "I felt fucking horrible for even saying 'no'."

"Never feel bad for saying 'no', baby," Steve insists, "It's nothing personal, I know that now."

Billy nods in understanding, the both of them staring quietly at one another, and Steve gives him a small smile that Billy returns weakly.

"I love you," Steve murmurs, scooting forward a little more just so he can brush the tips of their noses together affectionately, "I love you so much, Billy."

"I love you, too," Billy whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling back, lowering his mouth a little more to press his lips against his boyfriend's in a gentle kiss.

He feels Steve kiss him back, soft and loving, so patient and understanding that it makes Billy's heart ache in gratitude and adoration.

He'll never love anyone else like he loves Steve, he knows that much.

"I'm willing to try, soon," Billy murmurs when they pull away, their hands still intertwined on his cheek, staring into those dark eyes.

"Sex?" Steve murmurs, his brows lifting.

"Yeah," Billy whispers, leaning into Steve's touch.

"Not because you feel like you have to?" Steve questions, worry in his tone.

Billy shakes his head, "No," and adds a little playfully, "I still want my boyfriend to fuck me, even if I can't fuck him."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at that and leans in to kiss him again, nodding in agreement, "Yeah, we can do that. Whenever you wanna try, I'm ready."

Where there had once been shame and embarrassment is now a soothing feeling of being understood and known, so sweet that it makes Billy kiss his boyfriend again and again, wanting to say 'thank you' but knowing that Steve already knows.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #hurt/comfort #this made me fall in love w them all over again idk #I love it when they're healing together and will never get tired of writing it #bambiwrites

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contact-guy · 2 days

Note

Where do you read the Sherlock Holmes stories? Do you have all the books? Im really interested in reading them all, should I just bite the bullet and start buying and reading them? Sorry for all the questions your art has just reignited the fire of my Sherlock Holmes obsession again and I can feel it start to take over my body. Btw love your art!!

I DO have all the books (x2 - some paperbacks I picked up on a whim, like someone buying a cursed object they will never be able to put down; also a Baring-Gould annotated edition I got for cheap off ebay) BUT Project Gutenberg and various other websites have all of them to read online for free! Great for when I want to read a few stories side by side and don't wanna flip between volumes, or to find a quick quote.

#sherlock holmes

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qveerthe0ry · 1 day

Text

Naked in Manhattan

Summary: Marcus has never slept with a man, Dieter's willing to remedy that - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 3: Sex/kissing Word Count: 7,730 Pairing: (college aged) Marcus Pike x Dieter Bravo Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: coming out, discussions of sexuality, brief mentions of homophobia, oral sex(m), (lots of) hickeys, frottage, cum eating, armpit stuff Betas: OBVIOUSLY @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar the loves of my life 💖A/N: I highly suggest listening to Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan before/while reading this. Totally got the vibes of this entire fic by listening to it on a walk one day

Dieter’s learned a lot in his five and a half years of college. Not really much about statistics or geology, but about people. He’s been around long enough to know that the sad little guy on his front porch steps, avoiding the party, and chain smoking cigarettes is having a rough go of it.

“Hey buddy,” Dieter says, quietly, as not to startle the slumped figure.

Marcus looks up at him through misty eyes and a cloud of stale Winston smoke.

“Hey.”

He’s not crying, but he’s definitely crying for help.

“You okay?”

Dieter takes a seat on the step below him.

“Yeah, fine. Just needed air.”

Marcus gestures with the cigarette in his hand, then huffs out a laugh at the irony.

“You’ve been getting drunk a lot lately.”

Maybe Dieter shouldn’t pry. It’s not unusual for his rented house to be filled with students coming and going at all hours of the day, between classes on weekdays or all day on the weekends. The cheap beer just shows up, as does the weed, and he doesn’t usually question it.

But he’s closer to Marcus. So he notices more. He usually only sees him here on weekends. During the week he’s commonly found in the library or the student union, books sprawled out in front of him. He’s driven, pre-law, and has a better head on his shoulders than most people he hangs with.

But Marcus has been at his place every night this week, either stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning or sleeping late on his couch or floor. It concerns Dieter in a way that surprises him.

Usually it’s none of his business.

“I haven’t had a sip,” Marcus tells him.

And his voice doesn’t have that sharp, defensive tone Dieter was expecting. It’s more defeated than anything.

“Yeah but what about last night?”

Marcus shrugs.

“And the night before? And every other night this week?”

“Just having fun,” Marcus mumbles through another drag of his cigarette.

Dieterlooks around at his empty porch.

“Are you?”

Then Marcus laughs. It bubbles up out of him in an almost terrifying way, and damn near immediately turns into sobs hidden behind his hands.

“Fuck, dude, are you tripping?”

Marcus shakes his head. Dieter didn’t think so. He’s strictly an alcohol guy, won’t even touch weed. Something about the FBI and polygraph tests. Dieter finds it charming if not a bit manic.

He keeps crying though, so hard he has to flick his cigarette out onto the dimly lit street so he can rub at his eyes.

Dieter’s not sure what to do. Normally he’d offer someone drugs, but that won’t work.

His hand hovers over Marcus’ shaking back for a few moments before he rests a heavy palm between his shoulder blades.

He can feel the way Marcus’ breath shudders out of him, and tells him to start taking slow breaths. When it works, Dieter’s kind of amazed at how great he is at damage control.

“That’s it man, just breathe.”

Marcus nods, finally removes his hands from his face. He’s always been pretty in a very preppy way, with his perfect hair and teeth and his little dimples. He looks even prettier now, as much as Dieter kicks himself for that thought. His face is red and wet and his brown eyes are wider than they’ve ever been before.

A few deep breaths in through his nose and out his mouth later, Marcus is sufficiently calm enough to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Dieter waves him off.

“Don’t be. Looks like it felt good, I might have a cry later too.”

Marcus lets out a wet chuckle and shuts his eyes as one last salty little droplet brushes past his long eyelashes.

“Everything okay at home? You’re not failing a class, are you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s stupid.”

“Girl problems?”

Marcus laughs again, and Dieter startles a little, afraid he’s going to start back up sobbing at any moment.

He doesn’t though. He’s quiet and avoiding Dieter’s gaze as he frantically gets another cigarette from his pack and lights it up.

Dieter thinks he’s hit the nail on the head until Marcus takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales.

“I’m fucking gay.”

Dieter opens his mouth in shock, or understanding, or maybe to try and say something, but Marcus continues.

“This whole time I’ve been gay. I don’t even— I’ve had so many girlfriends. I think they’re just nice. I’ve never— I fucking hated sleeping with them. I thought it was because it was awkward, and we’re all inexperienced? It sucked, Dieter. And I thought all guys were curious about other guys, you know? They all talk about their dicks with each other, since middle school. I just thought— and then there’s this guy… in my intro to psych class. And he’s so nice and handsome and I just always want to hang out with him. And I didn’t know why. But I want to kiss him. And I never felt that way about any of my girlfriends. And now I realize I’ve just— I’ve just been gay this whole time.”

He’s out of breath when he quits talking, but he sucks down more of his cigarette anyway. Dieter isn’t quite sure what to say to him. Usually when someone comes out to him, it’s in a less… frantic manner, more proud than anything. But this poor freshman has been on a gay crisis bender all week and is more than a little traumatized by all of it, and it’s just different with Marcus.

“That’s um… Sounds like you’ve been going through a rough time with it.”

Marcus sniffles and nods.

“Been through all five or whatever stages of grief already. It’s been a long week.”

“Are you… Upset? That you’re gay?”

Marcus’ head lolls back to thump against the porch railing.

“No… I’m more upset that I didn't figure it out until now.”

“You’re still plenty young, Marcus. You’re what— nineteen?”

“Eighteen. Skipped a grade.”

Jesus. Dieter feels even worse now about thinking he’s pretty when he cries.

“See? You’re a spring chicken, dude. You figured it out plenty quick.”

“When did you know?”

Dieter chews on his lip, considers lying just for Marcus’ sake, but decides against it.

“I pretty much always knew, honestly. But I mean— I was weird anyway, you know? Never really fit in or felt I had to play a certain part or be a certain way. It just made sense. Also, my dad always said I was as queer as a three dollar bill so… that helped.”

Dieter steals the cigarette between Marcus’ fingers to take a drag himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, man,” Dieter tells him.

Marcus stares at where Dieter’s lips wrap around his cigarette for a bit too long, and Dieter hands it back, if only to try and stop whatever it is that’s bound to happen next.

But Marcus takes another drag himself, and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip, and Dieter has never been called strong-willed.

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“To be with a guy? What’s it like?”

Dieter shrugs.

“Depends on the guy.”

Marcus sighs.

“Are you uh— how do you like… it?”

“Are you asking if I’m a top or a bottom?”

Marcus’s face flushes a cute color in the yellow of the porch lights.

“Both,” Dieter shrugs, “but I haven’t really done that with a lot of guys. Kind of a hassle, you know?”

Marcus nods, but then his brow quirks up in question.

“What do you mean? What do you— what do you do, then?”

Dieter chuckles.

“All kinds of things, babe.”

He watches Marcus’ breath catch, the little stutter of his chest.

“Would you show me?”

Dieter rolls his eyes to distract them both from the fact that he really, really wants to.

“C’mon, man. You don’t wanna fool around with me. I’m a loser. Go find a pretty finance boy to shack up with.”

Maybe he’s less weak-willed than he thought.

Marcus’ shoulders slump again, and christ, though, is he supposed to just let him leave like a kicked puppy?

“There’s no intro to psych guy.”

It’s quiet, mumbled around his cigarette, and his eyes won’t leave his feet.

“What?”

“It’s you, okay? You’re my— gay awakening, or whatever. Why do you think I’ve been here all week?”

Dieter’s heart is hammering against his chest at that admission. This was not how he figured his Friday night would go.

“Free beer?”

His joke doesn’t land. Marcus rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like… I’m not like in love with you or anything. I just… always wanna see you. And you’re— well, you know. You’re hot. And you’re really nice to everyone. And I get this… I feel so weird when I’m around you, like, nauseous. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Marcus flicks yet another cigarette to the curb and makes to get up, but before Dieter can think better of it, he grips him on the shoulder to keep him seated.

“That’s… actually really sweet, Marcus.”

He scoffs, hides his face in his hands, and it’s so cute Dieter can’t help but smile.

“Really— Usually people just want to fuck me, or use me for drugs.”

Marcus groans a little, mortified, and his hands run back to mess up his pristinely styled hair.

“Buddy, I’m serious. You’re a little charmer.”

Marcus looks up from his lap at that, scratching that neatly buzzed hair on the back of his neck, and his eyes are a little less embarrassed and a little more twinkly.

“You’re just saying that.”

Dieter shakes his head grinning.

“No, it’s cute. Being genuine is never a bad thing.”

And the thing is, Dieter’s not lying. It’s possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to him. But he’s toeing a very very fine line here, with himself. Because Marcus is so pretty, and so smart, and he’s soft and kind and he’s real but he’s young.

And Dieter’s just a Super Super Senior, a total burnout, on his way to holding the world record for The Longest College Career. He’s 23 and he’s still undecided and he probably won’t even get a college degree after all is said and done.

But Marcus is looking at him with those big brown eyes, watching, calculating.

“I just— I feel like you wouldn’t judge me. If I did the wrong thing. You know?”

“I wouldn’t. Anyone who would isn’t worth your time.”

Marcus huffs. Maybe Dieter can still save this.

“Would you… tell me? What you’d do? What I should do?”

And just like that, Dieter is hopping right over that line with both feet.

“Kiss me.”

Marcus’ eyes grow even bigger.

“Like, right now? Here?”

“If you want to. That’s what I’d want you to do, to kiss me right here, like you couldn’t help yourself.”

And Dieter will be damned if he doesn’t do just that, surging forward to grab the sides of his face and press their lips together.

His lips are so soft, and his face is smooth, and he’s eager, a bit too much, but it only adds to that coincidental charm. Dieter’s left to catch up, as Marcus swipes his tongue along the seam of his mouth and groans.

Dieter pulls away. Marcus’ mouth gapes open, and his shoulders heave with his fast breaths.

“You’re so… scruffy.”

Dieter chuckles, wipes Marcus’ spit from his lips and straightens out his mustache.

“Not good?”

“No, god no, it’s really good.”

And then Marcus smashes their lips together again as a pathetic little sound escapes his throat. Dieter opens his mouth this time, lets Marcus slide his tongue around, a little violent, and this is all a bit too much for some front porch steps, isn’t it?

“Hey,” Dieter says softly, pulling away.

Marcus’ brows draw up in confusion.

“Sorry. I’m not a good kisser, am I?”

Dieter sighs, grabs one of Marcus’ hands on his face to link their fingers together.

“It’s not that,” he says.

He turns his face to kiss the center of Marcus’ palm and smiles when his breath hitches.

“You really wanna do this with me?”

Marcus is nodding before Dieter even finishes speaking.

“Only if you really want it, too.”

Dieter squeezes his hand.

“I do, really.”

Marcus smiles the sweetest little smile, and they both stand up, and Dieter doesn’t let his hand go.

There’s music on in the house, and it smells like weed, and a few people are playing Nintendo in the living room. They don’t pay any mind as Dieter pulls Marcus up to the second floor, down the hall, and into his dimly lit bedroom.

At least he’s kept it semi-tidy, he thinks, as Marcus looks around while he shuts and locks the door. His bed isn’t made. He’s sure Marcus makes his bed every morning before class. He hopes he doesn’t mind.

He seems like he’s too nervous to mind, a jittery little thing standing next to his bed. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, staring holes into the stained carpet, when Dieter moves to stand in front of him.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dieter grabs both of his hands, and Marcus finally meets his gaze.

“It’s okay to be nervous. As long as it’s good nervous.”

He smiles and nods, but the worry in his brow is still there.

“We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do, okay?”

That seems to soothe him more.

“Can we kiss again?”

Dieter chuckles.

“Of course we can.”

Marcus tips over into him, landing at the side of his mouth but quickly correcting course. He licks, but Dieter keeps his mouth shut, goading him to calm down. And he does, slotting his lips around Dieter's bottom one, and everything else slips into place with a soft, satisfied noise from his own chest.

He lets go of Marcus’ sweaty hands to grab his hips instead, lithe and a little bony. He twitches at the touch, sighs, and presses his lips harder into Dieter’s. His hands search around frantically, jostling them both, until he finds the hem of Dieter’s sweatshirt and gets his hands underneath.

“Slow,” Dieter mumbles.

“Hm?”

“Not a race, Marcus. Take your time. Enjoy it.”

Marcus nods, but gapes at him, like he’s not quite sure what to do next.

“You wanna get comfy? Take your shoes off, sit down?”

Marcus nods again, but with a little direction, takes his shoes off and sits on the bed, criss-cross applesauce like the cutest fucking thing Dieter’s ever seen.

“I want this to be— I want you to have a good time, feel good. So tell me if you don’t feel good… or if there’s anything you wanna try. Communication is like, super sexy, right?”

Dieter sheds his shoes and his hoodie as he speaks, thinks he catches Marcus’ eyes staring at the spot between his signature pajama pants and his shirt where it rides up.

“Yeah… like, dirty talk?”

Dieter huffs out a laugh as he sits facing Marcus, crossing his legs, mirroring him to make him as comfortable as possible.

“Could be dirty talk, yeah. But just normal talk, too. It can be hot to talk about things like… how do you like to be touched? Where?”

Marcus clears his throat and scratches the back of his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“My— my dick?”

Dieter wants to laugh, but he can’t blame the guy. It sounds like the only experience he’s had so far is rushed fucks with high school sweethearts.

“Okay, yeah, that’s a good start. So, for me, I like being kissed. Everywhere. I like feeling lips on my jaw and my neck and especially my nipples. You can bite, too.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise, his plush lips forming a circular shape that Dieter tries and fails not to focus on.

“Oh, yeah, okay. I— I like that too. I like when it’s… sloppy.”

Dieter hums, smiles, and nods.

“Anything else you like?”

He watches Marcus bite his bottom lip and trace shapes on the bedsheets between them.

“I don’t really know.”

“That’s okay. Maybe we can figure it out together, yeah?”

His long eyelashes flutter as he blinks real slow, and he smiles.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Dieter does chuckle then.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.”

Christ, Dieter thinks, if his face gets any more red he might burst into flames.

He kisses him, to save him from a fiery death. It’s a little awkward, with both of their legs crossed in front of them, but it’s easier to take their time like this.

Marcus keeps it slow, so Dieter can finally lead. He licks into his mouth to feel his hard palate, and the way he whimpers and shivers in response is so delicious that Dieter can’t help but to do it again and again.

He feels long fingers grip his thighs, soft at first, but squeezing harder when Marcus returns the favor and scrapes his tastebuds along Dieter’s sharp canines.

There’s twin sighs when Marcus pulls away, only a little, eyes still shut.

“You’re really fucking good at this,” he mumbles.

Dieter hums and pecks his lips again, soft and wet.

“Could kiss you all night.”

It’s true, even though there’s also a million other things he wants to do with Marcus. He tries to push those wants down by kissing him again, getting that plump bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling on it. The noise Marcus makes has his cock filling steadily with blood, and he knows it’s very obvious in his pajama pants, and he hopes Marcus doesn’t freak out.

Like he’s reading Dieter’s mind, Marcus’ hands slide so fucking slowly up his thighs. The movements are jerky, and he hesitates when just the tip of his finger brushes his cock. His inhale is audible, but his curious touch proceeds, just the lightest ghosting across his shaft.

But then he’s pulling away, and Dieter feels on edge, bracing himself for the worst.

“Can I touch it?”

Dieter exhales his relief.

“You can… Are you open to suggestions, though?”

Marcus nods, his slick mouth hanging open.

“You could get on top of me, let me feel how much you like this, too. Drag it out, make me really want it.”

He smirks as Marcus curses, closing his eyes and pressing his palm to the front of his jeans. But he nods, and uncrosses his legs, so Dieter does the same.

And then, he’s got a lapful of Marcus, and he’s staring up into his glassy, beautiful eyes.

“Like this?”

His hips shift, and his pert little ass grinds against Dieter’s cock while his own presses against his belly.

“Just like that. Is this still okay?”

Marcus doesn’t answer him, just devours his lips again as he rocks his hips and supplies them both with heady friction. His little whimpers are muffled, and his teeth are sinking into Dieter’s lip a little too hard, but in a way that makes his cock throb and pulse against the tight ass against it.

Dieter’s hands find those lithe hips again, this time under his shirt. His skin is scalding to the touch and so fucking smooth. He digs his thumbs into his hip bones, drags little circles into them that make his hips jolt and stutter.

Fuck. He likes this a lot. Maybe too much. He pulls himself away to reel it in a bit, maybe to check and make sure this is still alright—

“I’m so fucking hard,” Marcus breathes, “I’ve never felt like this.”

And as he speaks, he’s ripping his t-shirt over his head and flinging it elsewhere.

He’s gorgeous. A little scrawny but smooth, everywhere, just miles of tan skin that’s paler here where it gets no sun. Dieter wants to bite, and kiss, and suckle on every fucking inch of it.

For now, Dieter uses all of his brain power to mumble a distracted ‘me too,’ as his hands moved upward to splay across all that hairless skin.

Marcus’ stomach tenses and relaxes under his hands, and his chest heaves as Dieter cradles his ribs and brushes his thumbs over his nipples.

“Does this feel good?”

He circles them, flicks them a little bit, and wants to curl up and live in that little gasp Marcus makes.

“Yes.”

His head is leaning back between his shoulders, all raised and on-edge. That’s not what Dieter wants. He wants him relaxed, wants him all gooey and loose.

Slowly, gently, Dieter tips him over, a hand on the back of his head until it lands on the pillows. The look in his eyes gets a little squirrely, and his breath picks up, and his nails scrabble at Dieter’s bicep.

“Is this still okay?”

Marcus nods quickly, but he’s slower with the verbal response.

“I think so… just nervous.”

“Still good nervous?”

As if to prove it, he cants his hips up into Dieter and he’s rock hard against his thigh.

“Still good nervous.”

Dieter’s own prick throbs and twitches as he hums. He lowers himself even more over Marcus, finds his racing pulse point and plants a hot, wet kiss there.

“Can I kiss you here?” he whispers.

His chin brushes Dieter’s cheek when he nods, and Marcus relocates his hands to reach up the back of his shirt. His palms are sweaty and hot as Dieter trails a wet line of kisses down to his prominent collar bone.

His skin is so salty, and the heat from his body is making his cheap cologne smell even stronger, and Dieter feels high even though he hasn’t smoked in hours.

“How about here, Marcus?”

He looks up at the younger man as he hovers his mouth above one tiny, pebbled nipple. He watches as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and smiles and impish grin when Marcus nods again.

The groan he receives when he closes his mouth around it has him pressing his hips to the mattress for relief. One of Marcus’ hands finds Dieter’s hair and grips.

“Ah fuck.”

Just like that, the fingers loosen and leave his head and Dieter actually whines at the loss.

“Sorry!”

“No, no, that was a good fuck. Love getting my hair pulled.”

Dieter glances back up at Marcus and watches as his wheels turn.

“Oh… really?”

He chuckles as he places a sloppy kiss on his sternum, delighted at the way the muscles twitch under his lips.

“Mmmhmm.”

Marcus sighs as Dieter finds his other nipple.

“My ex-girlfriend hated it.”

Dieter nips at the hard bud in his mouth and smirks when Marcus’ hips jolt up.

“I like a little pain with my pleasure,” he explains.

“I— can you bite me again?”

Dieter curses and obliges immediately, sinking his teeth into the meat of his pec this time.

“God, I like that.”

He even earns another tug at his hair, and Dieter knows there’s gotta be a damp spot on the front of his pajamas.

“That’s so good, Marcus. Keep telling me what you like.”

Marcus squirms under him as he alternates a string of kisses and licks and bites down his torso. His nails scratch Dieter’s scalp in between tugging on his hair, and this is the most fun Dieter’s had in the bedroom in a long while.

Marcus has a tiny bit of hair below his belly button, and it’s so fucking cute and whispy when Dieter runs his tongue along the path. But before Dieter can get the fly of his jeans unfastened, Marcus holds a hand over his.

“Can I try on you now?”

Dieter’s gaze flickers up to his face, and he looks so sweet, pleading with his big puppy eyes.

“Yeah, yes, of course you can.”

Marcus smiles, and it’s sure, like he’s finally settled into this, and it makes Dieter’s apprehension fall away.

It also makes him that much more horny, hard as ever when he lies down with his head on the pillows. He reaches down to readjust and watches Marcus clock the movement with a heady look.

“This is good for you, too?”

His voice is breathy when he asks, when his hand slips under Dieter’s t-shirt.

“Marcus, I’m loving this. I feel like a sexy experiment. Poke and prod me, babe.”

And through all of this newness and anxiety and apprehension, Marcus laughs. It’s music to Dieter’s ears, watching his eyes light up as he chuckles.

“Take this off then,” he instructs through his laughter.

“Yes sir,” Dieter purrs, “bossing me around also does it for me. You’re a natural already.”

“Y-yeah? I don’t— I’ve never been like that.”

Dieter fumbles to back track at the way Marcus’ confidence falls away.

“It’s okay, that’s an advanced lesson. My bad. Just— Just do what you want with me. Explore. I’m all yours.”

He talks as he sheds his shirt, and when the damned thing finally pulls free, he feels a little scrutinized under Marcus’s wide eyes. And he kinda really likes it.

He settles back against the mattress, one arm above his head while the other reaches out to encourage Marcus to come closer. He does, only a little timid as his gaze rakes over every inch of his body.

He settles between Dieter’s spread legs, one hand dipping the mattress next to him while the other lands hesitantly on his flank. His warm, sweaty palm feels the skin there, draws upward toward his chest, but takes a completely unconventional detour to his armpit.

Dieter’s cock throbs. This is so fucking weird and so fucking hot.

Marcus’ jaw drops slack as his fingers card through all of his armpit hair, and it tickles a little bit, but mostly it just makes Dieter’s arousal grow heavy in his groin, burning.

Before Dieter can really assess what’s going on, or encourage him, or tell him how fucking hard he’s making him, Marcus leans down to capture his lips in his own.

Dieter groans and scrabbles to grip his waist, arching his hips for any relief and finding it against the front of Marcus’ jeans, a hard line wrapped in denim that twitches against his own. He moans, low and long, as he twirls the thick hair between his finger and thumb.

And then his hand is gone, and Dieter’s quite disappointed, but he can’t just say that, can he? He weighs the pros and cons of telling Marcus not to stop as the other man trails his lips down the patchy stubble on his jaw, and bites the sensitive skin on his neck.

Maybe he should tell him. That’s a good lesson, right? How to take feedback, good or bad. But ‘hey keep stroking my armpit hair’ is a bit startling, isn’t it?

He’s so distracted by the inner turmoil that he doesn’t realize the path Marcus’ has taken until hot breath ghosts that bit of fat between his tit and armpit and then he sniffs, and groans, and licks up all the hair while he presses his cock down into Dieter’s own and Jesus Fuck—

He quickly finds purchase in Marcus’ hair and curses, grinds his hips back up into him with what he hopes is encouraging words. But forgive him if his brain is a little bit completely scrambled.

Marcus bites just under his patch of armpit hair, burying his nose in it once more, and these primal sounds he makes are vibrating through Dieter’s chest. All he can do at this point is lie back and take it and succumb to the fact that this is definitely altering his brain chemistry for the rest of his life.

It all stops rather abruptly, though, and two hot hands grab Dieter’s hips hard, pushes them down into the mattress as Marcus arches away from him.

“I might— I might come.”

Dieter blinks his bleary eyes open to look at the panicked man, who’s squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip.

“It’s okay if you do. You can have me all night.”

“Fuck— Shut up, Jesus Christ.”

Dieter huffs, scratches at his wet armpit, and patiently waits for Marcus to settle down. He could probably come that way too, to be honest, with that pretty boy’s tongue lapping at his underarm and their cocks grinding together.

Marcus’ eyelashes flutter open, and Dieter smiles at him softly, careful not to move or touch. He looks like a hair trigger, sweaty and panting already, with a really fucking hot damp patch soaking through the crotch of his jeans.

“Sorry. I think I’m good— wait, sorry, was that weird?”

Dieter allows himself to place one of his hands on Marcus’ own, where it’s still gripping tight to his hip bone.

“It was weird in the hottest way possible.”

Marcus shakes his head at himself and closes his eyes again.

“I’m dead serious. I didn’t know how sensitive I was there. You’re teaching me things. That’s super hot.”

Marcus sighs.

“It’s just… I like the hair. And your deodorant smells nice.”

He pries his eyes open, like he expects Dieter to be disgusted, but his confession only makes his cock jump very prominently in his pajamas.

“Doesn’t taste very good, though.”

And now Dieter is laughing, and tugging Marcus back down, mumbling ‘prove it’ and shoving his tongue into his offensively chemical-flavored mouth.

It’s okay though, he just licks and licks until the taste has dissipated and Marcus is letting go of the death grip on his sides. His mouth follows a much more predictable route, this time, and Dieter watches his every move as those pretty lips wrap around his nipples, one and then the other, until he’s biting and Dieter is whimpering and asking for more.

“You can leave marks. I like ‘em.”

Marcus curses against his sternum and obeys, so fucking obedient, suckling Dieter’s skin and rolling it between his teeth. Looking up at him, his eyes look so determined, all dark and heavy, especially when he pulls away to admire the bruise he’s left.

“More. Want to see you all over me in the morning.”

“Fuck, Dieter. How’d you get so good at— at talking like that?”

Dieter chuckles, then hisses when Marcus sucks the skin on his belly into the sharp edges of his teeth. He’s looking up with an expectant quirk of his brow.

“I just say what’s on my mind,” he answers.

Marcus hums, and Dieter places his hand on his jaw to feel it working, a third mark blooming bright red on his hip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks.

A fourth mark, this one deeper than the rest, right above the waistband of his pants, as Marcus thinks.

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

Said cock jerks wildly, disrupting the tent in his pajamas, and Marcus has the audacity to smirk. Dieter lets his thumb trace that wet, swollen bottom lip and doesn’t miss the little whine that Marcus tries to hide.

“Will you teach me?”

It’s now that Dieter realizes he’s created an absolute monster, with Marcus looking up at him all wide-eyed, batting those long eyelashes. He knows what he’s doing, and it just makes it all so much worse. Or better. Both, really.

He clears his throat to try to gather his bearings before he speaks.

“Yeah, I’ll teach you. Pull it out for me.”

Dieter watches as his breath hitches, and he eyes the tent in Dieter’s pants with an array of emotions washing over his features. There’s hesitation for sure, as he toys with his waistband. But he’s licking his lips, and taking a big deep breath as he tugs them down Dieter’s thighs.

And then he’s staring at his cock, swaying in the breeze, and Dieter thinks this would be much less intense if penises weren’t so offensive and in your face.

“Pretty,” Marcus mumbles, and it makes him giggle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s— I like it.”

“Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

Marcus rolls his eyes but smiles.

“I can touch it?”

“Yeah, of course. Anything you want. Go at your own pace.”

Maybe it’s cliche, but as soon as Marcus’ hand wraps around his cock, Dieter is done for. Fuck, it feels so good, the way his movements are gentle and calculated, the way he’s being so attentive for his first time, exploratory. His free hand cradles Dieter’s sac, his thumb tracing the seam, and it’s alarming how close this is getting him. It’s so intimate, and genuine, and it’s so hot that he gets to be here for Marcus’ first time.

Marcus squeezes him tight and strokes, once, from base to tip. He thumbs at his frenulum, slippery with pre come, then lifts that to his lips. It’s like slow motion when he watches him poke his tongue out to taste, and he closes his eyes and hums.

“Better than the deodorant, for sure.”

And Dieter’s cock bobs as he laughs.

“That’s a relief.”

“I’ve never tasted my own before,” Marcus says.

“No?”

“Mm-mm. Seemed… gay.”

And he laughs at himself, but his face inches closer, and in an instant his tongue is flicking out to lap up more of it, straight from the source.

Dieter gasps at the contact, so sudden. His taste buds are rough against his slit, in a good way, and he has to cradle Marcus’ neck to reel himself in.

“That’s so good,” he whispers, “keep doing that.”

And he does, little kitten licks to the sensitive head of his cock, looking up at him from under those long eyelashes. Dieter groans and closes his eyes because if Marcus keeps looking at him like that, he will come before he can have any fun with him.

Then, in an instant, he’s completely enveloped by warmth and wetness, too fast, and he opens his eyes at the same time Marcus gags and coughs and pulls off of him.

“Jesus, Marcus, take it slow.”

He coughs more, with brow all furrowed and frustrated, and Dieter smooths his hair off of his forehead.

“Are you alright?”

Marcus clears his throat as he nods.

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t— I thought that would be easier.”

Dieter huffs, sits up a bit and leans on his elbow so he can see him better. His eyes are watery and not in a sexy way this time. He pets Marcus’ hair a bit, hoping to soothe him, but the redness doesn’t fade from his cheeks.

“You don’t have to take it all, that’s no fun, choking like that,” he says, “are you sure you’re okay? We can stop.”

“No! No— I don’t wanna stop. I’m just embarrassed.”

God, he’s so fucking sweet.

“Don’t be embarrassed. We’ve all been there. I threw up on the first dick I sucked.”

“Gross, dude.”

“I’m just saying, it could be way worse. Nothing to even be embarrassed about.”

Marcus sighs and hides his face in the crease of Dieter’s hip.

“Seriously, I’m still so hard I could shatter diamonds. You’re so fucking hot, it doesn’t matter if you choke a little.”

He feels Marcus’ teeth on the skin of his hip before he sees his jaw moving. He bites and sucks and it’s another beautiful piece of him he’ll get to take from this experience.

“That’s it. It’s all about the recovery. Fuck, Marcus, your mouth feels so good on me. Everywhere.”

Dieter lifts his hips up to encourage him to bite more, mark him up all over. He follows eagerly, until there’s little love bites scattered across the thin skin over his hip bone and his cock is weeping for attention.

Marcus looks up at him, finally, as he hovers just above his prick.

“Can I try again?”

Dieter hums and cards his fingers through his thick brown hair.

“Play until you win, babe.”

He’s much more careful, this time. He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, lets his tongue lather and swirl around it as his hand keeps his dick in place. He’s gorgeous, with his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes shut in concentration.

“Yeah, just like that, fucking perfect.”

Marcus whimpers around his cock, and drool is starting to leak from the corners of his mouth and drip down Dieter’s shaft.

“Move your hand a bit, jerk me off while you suck on it.”

He follows the direction so well, letting his hand draw up to meet his lips, then back down, over and over, and Dieter can feel his gut growing hot and tight. His tongue is working him relentlessly, and he’s never really had a partner use theirs so much, but the frantic swirling and flicking has his head spinning.

“You’re amazing,” Dieter breathes, “making me feel so good.”

At the encouragement, Marcus braves another inch of his cock. He starts to bob his head up and down, following his lips with his fist, and the breaths through his nose get heavier. Dieter babbles a bit, just encouraging words as Marcus works him dutifully, trying with all his might not to thrust up into his hot, sloppy mouth.

But then Marcus looks up at him with his pretty brown eyes and groans around the cock in his mouth and it’s too much.

“Fuck— fuck, Marcus, let me go.”

Marcus does, as quickly as he can, panting when his mouth is finally free.

“What’s wrong?”

Dieter huffs.

“Nothing, you’re perfect, gorgeous, beautiful. I just don’t wanna come yet.”

“Oh.”

The little cock drunk smile he gets is too cute, and Dieter tugs lightly on his hair to get him to crawl back up for a kiss. He tastes like pre-cum, and his nails bite into the heated skin of Marcus’ back for purchase.

“How are you feeling? Still gay?”

Marcus laughs against his lips.

“The gayest I’ve ever been.”

Dieter collapses back on the pillows to look up at him.

“Really though, are you still into this?”

Marcus nods, presses his hips into Dieter’s thigh to swipe away any last remaining doubt.

“Alright, next and final lesson. Get those tight little jeans off.”

He’s so quick to obey, and Dieter tries not to gawk at how much bigger that wet spot has grown just below his fly. He shakes himself out of it and gets his pajama pants completely off his legs.

Marcus is so fucking hot, jesus, Dieter feels like he’s pushing his luck having him here in his bed. So lean and long, and his cock is uncut and curves a bit to the left, and he’s still so hard.

“Get beside me, face me.”

And Marcus looks right at home like this, laid out in his bed, with his bicep bulging from propping his head up on his hand.

“What’s the lesson?”

Dieter smirks at the eagerness.

“I’m gonna jerk us off together.”

Marcus raises his brow.

“Like, at the same time?”

Dieter hums his affirmative, reaches a tentative hand out to cup Marcus’ pert little asscheek, and chuckles when he twitches.

“Don’t worry, we’ll save that for another time. If you want.”

“Shit, yeah, okay.”

And isn’t that gonna be fun? The thought makes Dieter’s cock throb and jerk and he shuffles to close the distance so their pricks line up together.

“Is this okay? Like this?”

He looks up from their cocks to watch Marcus’ jaw go slack.

“Oh god, ‘m not gonna last at all.”

Even as he says it, he’s wrapping his own hand around both of them and squeezing, groaning at the feeling and bucking his hips so they slide together.

“I don’t want you to last, I want you to feel good.”

Dieter lets his hand join the fun, covering what Marcus can’t, and his cock jumps in their combined hold when Marcus whines.

“I do, I— fuck, I really do.”

“Kiss me?”

He’s cut off by Marcus’ lips, all swollen and hot against his own. Marcus moans as soon as their tongues meet, and he starts shaking like a leaf. His hand squeezes harder around their pricks, works them faster, and Dieter can feel each and every twitch of his dripping cock.

He’s so frantic with it. His breathing whistles fast through his nose, panting into his mouth, and every other exhale is a desperate little noise. It only takes a few dozen strokes for Marcus to fall apart.

“Gonna come— I’m coming, Dieter—”

He gasps as it washes over him. Dieter feels his hot, sticky cum splash over his own hand and his cock and his stomach. Marcus hides his face in the crook of Dieter’s neck and bites as it courses through him. It sends a hot white spark down his spine, and what little filter he’d maintained throughout the night completely short-circuits.

“Shit, that’s it. So fucking good, coming all over me— Fuck, Marcus, you’re hot when you come. You feel so fucking good.”

Marcus whimpers through his aftershocks as Dieter fills his ears with whatever filth he can muster. When it’s too much, and Marcus has to slide his spent cock from their joined hands, he doesn’t let go of Dieter. He helps, with the slick aid of his cum, and Dieter topples over the edge with a growl and Marcus sucks another mark into his overheated skin.

It’s blinding, it’s his favorite orgasm he’s ever had for sure. Marcus gasps when the first streak of his spend shoots all over his smooth stomach.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, exerted but intrigued as Dieter fucks their fists.

His cum mixes with the stains Marcus already left on his blanket, slowing to a trickle just as Marcus’ grasp loosens. Even when he’s empty, Dieter can still feel the orgasm buzzing through his body as he tries to regain his breath.

Marcus finally looks up from the scene of the crime and Dieter wants to take a picture of the fucked-out look on his face, his messy hair, his spit-slick lips and flushed face. But he can’t, so he kisses him instead, closing his eyes so maybe he can burn that image into his memory for eternity.

It’s lazy, so much slower and softer than the way Marcus kissed when he was all keyed up.

Shit.

Dieter’s in for it. He’s always had an addictive personality, and having Marcus in his bed has been stronger than any fucking drug he’s tried before.

He whimpers when Marcus pulls away, chasing his lips just for a moment before he reels himself back in.

He looks down at the mess he’s going to promptly ignore, thinks about how far away the bathroom closet is with all the towels. But then one slender finger is swiping through the cum puddle between them, and lifting to his face, and Dieter devours.

Marcus chuckles at the desperate noise Dieter makes as he swirls his tongue around to lick up every last drop.

“How do we taste together?”

Goddamn, Marcus is much more suave after an orgasm.

“Like we were made for each other.”

Christ, he needs to get himself together. His brain is just so fucking fuzzy and light.

Marcus doesn’t run for the hills, though. He giggles, and dips that same finger into their mess again. He brings it up to his own lips this time, sucking it inside his mouth and pulling it out clean.

There’s a slight grimace as he rolls it around in his mouth.

“Not as sweet as you were earlier.”

And Dieter laughs, brushes his two cleanest knuckles against the skin of Marcus’ hip.

“It’s an acquired taste.”

Marcus nods, and looks down between them, and some of that lightness in his features fizzles out.

“Hang on— here, use these.”

Dieter hands him his discarded pajama pants, and they use one leg each to tidy up their hands and stomachs and cocks. Then Dieter balls them up to swipe at his sticky blanket as best as he can. And it’s all so quiet, as their breathing has evened out, and fuck, what if Marcus has some crazy post-nut clarity after this… heavy situation?

He’s staring at the bedroom door when Dieter looks up to face him.

“Should I uh… go… now?”

Dieter sighs and finally gets his freshly wiped hand on Marcus’ skin, colder now where all the sweat has cooled.

“Personally, I would like it if you stayed. Cuddling after sex is… well, I like it a lot. Some people don’t… it’s okay if you don’t. Whatever you’re comfortable with. This was probably a lot for y—”

Marcus cuts off his rambling— thank god— by burrowing his face in Dieter’s chest and tangling their naked legs together. They both release two huge twin sighs, and Dieter’s instantly soothed by the weight against him, and the lithe fingers stroking his back.

Dieter can’t help it, he tucks his chin and plants a kiss to the crown of Marcus’ head. He drowns in the scent of sweat and cheap shampoo and feels so grounded for the first time in a very long time.

Marcus hums, and Dieter pulls him in tighter, swipes his palm over the curve of his tiny asscheek.

He clears his throat.

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow…”

Marcus lifts his head, and he looks so sleepy but so satisfied.

“So we can stay up all night? You can— could you show me more things?”

Dieter chuckles and kisses his lips to hide how relieved he feels.

“Was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something. But I think I like your idea better.”

“Oh— a movie sounds good! I mean, it would be chill.”

Dieter huffs.

“Split the difference, we’ll watch a movie here while I eat your cute little ass?”

Dieter actually feels his limp cock twitch against his thigh, and tries to hold back a self-satisfied smirk.

“Yep. Yeah, let’s do that instead.”

Dieter kisses him, this time just because he can.

“Get some sleep first, okay? I’ll be right here.”

The look of comfort on Marcus’ face makes his chest burn and ache. His droopy eyelids close as he smiles, and his head drops to Dieter’s splayed out arm.

He just watches, for a little while. Lets himself count the deep, even breaths Marcus takes and feels them on the skin of his bicep.

His arm is gonna go numb in about two minutes tops, and he’ll cherish every pinprick until he drifts off.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #marcus pike x dieter bravo #OscarPedroPrideEvent2024

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maraudersmyloves · 3 days

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─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Pairing: James potter x reader

Warnings: old time cursing

Word count: couldn't really count it because of the news paper and letter but around 1k

Disclaimer 1: Everything on this Blog is fiction!!!

Disclaimer 2: There is important information inside of lady whistledowns paper and the letter, read it carefully

Sypnosis: Lord Potter is back from the country just in time for your introduction to the ton. What will happen when the two meet on the dance floor?

"New Beginnings". :☆｡ﾟ. ────

The soft rustle of sheet music being turned, followed by a gentle hum from Francesca's lips, draws your attention as you seek a reprieve from the overwhelming nerves coursing through you. Your entire being tingles, and you find yourself unable to cease the restless bouncing of your leg.

"The worst part is over," Francesca murmurs, prompting you to glance up at her. Thank heavens, for the silence had grown unbearably oppressive. You arch an eyebrow in inquiry, knowing well that she is not one for excessive speech. Ordinarily, you would accept her sparse words and form your own interpretations of their meaning, but the prospect of enduring another hour in silence threatens to drive you to madness. Your gown rests comfortably beneath your bust, and even the small, crown-like headpiece, far lighter than the feathered one you donned but two days past, elicits no complaint from you.

"We have presented ourselves to the Queen, which, naturally, entails presenting oneself to the ton," she elucidates. "Indeed," you murmur in agreement. She speaks truly, yet the daunting prospect looms: the coming year shall be filled with two balls or outings per week, coupled with promenading with potential suitors (should any materialize), leaving scant time for oneself. At the very least, Francesca's adept playing of the pianoforte captivates callers, ensuring her swift marriage. Alas, most men hold little fondness for well-read women, particularly those who engage in little else.

You have endeavored to embrace various pursuits, and while you do find solace in the creative expression sewing affords, the frustration mounts after but a few minutes of struggle, whereas books provide a true escape. You have long harbored a desire to engage in the gardening your father so cherished, yet the mere thought of touching dirt would likely bring untold shame upon your family, especially as an unmarried woman.

"I am simply fearful of..." You cannot bring yourself to complete the sentence and give voice to the dread of becoming a spinster, but judging by your sister’s expression, there is no need. She understands. You smile.

James steps into his residence, now bustling with servants arranging his belongings. He feels a chill, uncertain if it emanates from the brisk London air or from the house itself, which ceased to be a home long ago. Attempting to count the servants proves futile, their swift movements blurring into a cold shiver that travels up his spine. In the country, he had precisely two servants, Archie and Edith.

Archie, though sparing with words and often reminding James too much of someone he could not converse with (you, although he does not like to think anything makes him think of you.), did surprisingly, drew laughter from him on more than one occasion. Edith, on the other hand, was a ceaseless chatterbox, her conversations spanning birds, flowers, the sky, and the future. Over the years, he had the company of approximately three Misses, all amiable ladies, but between caring for his ailing mother and drafting letters to you that he never found the courage to send, his time was scarcely his own.

A maid approaches, presenting him with a letter. He skims it, feeling the contrast of the soft paper against his rough fingertips, and nods. A ball is to be hosted by some lady, showcasing the new debutantes as the ton engages in its usual gossip. He finds no need to attend.

He hands back the letter, but the maid hesitates to leave, nervously wringing the fabric of her dress. “Is there something else, Miss…?”

“Miss Schultz, Your Grace. No, I merely thought you might wish to know that Miss Bridgerton will be attending.”

James' heart skips a beat, and he must quell a surge of rage, replacing it with a veneer of calm to avoid snapping at Miss Schultz. “Francesca? How delightful. I shall send the Bridgertons my congratulations on her debut.” Noticing Miss Schultz's internal debate on whether to correct him, he decides to preempt her. He’s aware of your age and you mentioned your upcoming debut in the last rage-filled letter he received. He burned that letter. “I will retire to my study now. Thank you for informing me, Miss Schultz.”

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @star611 @thesuitelifeofafangirl @oneawkwardwriter

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 2 days

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since it's pride month, i want to highlight my favorite underrated/underappreciated queer characters and ships! (part 1/???)

(feel free to add more!)

Lake - Infinity Train (non-canon)

it's not canon but you cannot tell me that Lake isn't an allegory for trans/nb people. her arc is so beautiful and her character resonates with me so much!

i have to admit, i actually kinda hated her in the beginning because of how aggressive and rude she was, but she actually gets good character development and you can also understand why she was the way she was, being a good representation of a minority who is constantly suffering because of the social norms she’s forced into. also i don’t ship her with jesse but i do like the idea of them in a qpr or just being platonic besties.

(i use she/her pronouns for Lake because that's what they use in the series, but also because not all non-binary people use they/them, and it's kinda weird to see people insist on using they/them for Lake just because she's nb-coded. she has never shown an aversion to bring referred to with she/her pronouns.)

Le Chevre x El Topo - Carmen Sandiego (canon)

they are side characters who don't play a huge role in the narrative but they are a really cute couple and have been confirmed to be canon! even without the confirmation, it’s clear that they were written to be a romantic couple.

mild spoiler: after the series ends, they stop being antagonists and instead put up a food truck together! it’s the cutest thing, i swear

Ryan x Min-gi - Infinity Train (non-canon)

my OTP through and through! i say non-canon but the romance is so heavily implied, you cannot ignore it.

they're a good example of childhood friends who had a complicated relationship where both individuals did something wrong, but in the end, they grow as people and manage to mend their relationship together.

Moomin x Snufkin - Moominvalley (canon)

i have only read one of the books and watched a few clips of these two characters but from that alone, it's clear that they were written as lovers (and the author is queer too!)

they are a beautiful portrayal of long-distance relationship where both individuals have different needs in life, but still want to be with each other regardless.

Terrestrius / Terry - The Dragon Prince (canon)

Terry is canonically transmasc and they actually manage to explain this in the series, without making it sound too forced or expository. he's such a sweetheart too, and his relationship with Claudia is actually really sweet, despite the fact that she's one of the villains.

Carmen x Julia - Carmen Sandiego (non-canon)

again, i say non-canon but it is heavily implied that they have feelings for each other, especially in the extra interactive episode, where Carmen leaves a bouquet of red roses for Julia, and Julia is shown to blush when receiving them.

Amaya x Janai - The Dragon Prince (canon)

what’s that? it’s actually possible to write an enemies to lovers romance that is healthy and not extremely abusive?

Amaya and Janai have such a good relationship in S5 (and Amaya is also a great disabled representation!) Janai actually learns sign language to communicate with Amaya, and there are no unnecessary miscommunication plots or drama, they’re just a really loving wlw couple.

Benson x Troy - Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (canon)

when i say we need more mlm ships in animated media!! i’m so glad us sapphics are getting a lot of representation but it’s time cartoons started including more queer men.

benson and troy are just a really sweet couple with a good relationship that doesn’t have a ton of pining or unnecessary angst. while i love complex and tragic queer relationships, i also think that it’s good to show teenagers just being teenagers sometimes.

this opinion seems to be scarce in the queer community, which really annoys me tbh.

Raine x Eda - The Owl House (canon)

i cannot believe that given the popularity of TOH, Raeda is still such an overlooked ship. this might be an unpopular opinion but Raeda is better written and has more chemistry than Lumity and Huntlow.

just within the span of Raine's introductory episode, they managed to establish a clearly romantic past between these two characters, and also an interesting dynamic. and even though they didn't have much screentime, they still turned out to be the best ship in the series. (again, just my opinion, don't come at me)

i think it's so important to show older queer people in media, just as it is important to show younger queer characters. it helps establish the fact that queerness has always existed and isn't some newfound trend that social media invented. not to mention, raeda is one of the very few canon ships that include a non-binary character.

#there are so many more characters and couples that i want to mention #i might make a part 2 #the dragon prince #tdp #the owl house #toh #carmen sandiego #moominvalley #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #infinity train #lake infinity train #toh raeda #carulia #infinity train rymin #snufmin #terry tdp #queer community #lgbtqia #pride month

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galacticseonghwa · 2 days

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faster n harder - Lee Jeno (chapter one)

INCLUDES: biker!jeno x fem!reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers (they don't really get along at first not so much that they're enemies), fluff, smut, angst(?), fingering, choking, degrading (slut, whore, etc.), pet names (doll, baby, etc.), cockwarming, lmk if i’ve missed anything! wc: 1.9k a/n: this chapter is fairly rushed and has some VERY cliche scenes in it, so if you have high expectations for this story, please lower the bar to the ground lol. I'm not a very strong writer and it shows here, but please if you do decide to read anyway, don't be scared to leave any feedback <3

truth be told jeno never found himself the type of guy to fall in love with a girl who had absolutely no interest in him whatsoever, or even feel anything for anyone that wasn’t his bike. at least not until you had come around.

he has always been about the bike life, the dark aesthetic type that book girlies love. that was his hidden weapon, in his words at least. tattoos covering several inches of his skin, sharp eyes rimmed with eyeliner peeking through his open visor, all-black kawasaki he paid way too much for and can’t forget about his arms. toned, tanned with those veins that are too hard not to stare at.

but you didn’t spare him a second glance, that was new for him and he liked that. he liked that you weren’t throwing yourself at him, like all of the other girls he had come across. but once he found out you were into cars and bikes, man he may as well have just fallen in love with you right then and there. which he unintentionally did.

he would watch you from his bike as you pulled up to the university campus in either your car or bike. you knew he was watching, everyone knew. but that didn’t waver you, you had your three friends that was all you needed. having jeno’s eyes on you ultimately ended up in teases from your best friends.

“oooh, he’s into you best friend.” mark would giggle as he watched you roll your eyes dramatically while shotaro and felip laughed along with him. “whatever” you would grumble and just push past him and to your next class.

you weren’t planning on getting involved with jeno let alone his friends until you and felip noticed one of jeno’s friends had the same bike as the both of you. felip dragged you over to the owner of the bike with the biggest smile on his face.

“you have the same bike as us!” felip says to a brown-haired haechan who was sitting on his white suzuki gsx r600. haechan raises his eyebrow in both question and confusion. felip notices how out of place haechan’s white bike is compared to all the black bikes surrounding him.

“i’m felip by the way,” he says happily and holds his hand out for haechan. haechan smiles back and shakes felip’s hand. “oh, this is y/n” your best friend points over at you as you stand awkwardly behind him as you feel all the eyes of jeno and his friends on you.

“oh i know who she is.” haechan smirks as he looks over at you. “i’m haechan.” he says and ushers his friends to introduce themselves too.

“chenle” a guy with pink in his hair all but spits out coldly as he turns up his face at you and felip. “calm it.” haechan snips and smacks chenle’s arm, chenle pouts angrily and rubs his arm.

“i’m lee jeno” the last one tilts his head as he watches you with a smirk on his lips. you side eye him and turn back to haechan without sparing jeno a second glance. jeno raises his eyebrows and laughs softly at this.

felip starts up a conversation with haechan about his bike asking all sorts of questions. “where are you guys parked at?” haechan asks as he turns to chenle briefly. felip points out where your bikes are just as shotaro and mark pull up next to your bikes as well.

“you got a gang already?” jeno asks, his eyes never leaving your face as you pull your phone out with a waiting call from shotaro. “yeah, but we’re always looking for more people to join.” felip shrugs and waves at mark.

mark and shotaro were now walking towards you and the guys with their helmets in their hands. “wanna join us? it’s only the three of us.” haechan offers while chenle scoffs and drops down from his bike.

snatching up his helmet, chenle stomps away but not forgetting to smack his shoulder into you as he walks past. “ouch” you mumble and rub your arm to try to ease the pain chenle left behind. “i know it’ll be hard to, but ignore him. he’s not good with new people.” haechan offers you a sympathetic smile.

“clearly” felip scoffs and turns to you with a frown. “you okay?” he asks softly. you nod up at felip. “this is mark and shotaro.” felip points at both boys he named then turns back to haechan. “and this is haechan and jeno. the one that just practically abused y/n is chenle.” felip points at haechan and jeno.

“oh that loud ass kid from your music class?” shotaro asks mark innocently. mark seems to think for a couple of seconds before nodding. “i think so.” mark mumbles. upon hearing this jeno and haechan both laugh a little at the fact that shotaro and mark know chenle as the loudmouth he usually is.

haechan stares at mark with a smile before turning back to you and felip. “us three are going on a ride after class, would you guys like to join?” haechan offers as he gets off his bike, wedging his helmet between his left arm and hip, while slinging his backpack on his right shoulder.

you notice jeno doing the same from the corner of your eye, but see that he’s already got his body cross bag on and his helmet grasped in his right hand. jeno looks down to the helmet that was gripped in both your hands in front of you, he smirks seeing as it is the same helmet as his.

“i’m down, what about you guys?” felip smiles and turns to you and the other two guys who were pretending to fight behind you. “yeah, why not?” mark shrugs, shotaro throws felip a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet.

felip opens his mouth to speak only to be cut off by jeno, who steps right in front of you. “what about you y/n? will you come?” jeno leans down to look into your eyes better. you flinch at the sudden intrusion of your personal space. “the fuck?” you mumble under your breath.

“if you get the fuck outta my face i’ll consider saying yes.” you scoff earning a chuckle from jeno and a full-blown laugh from haechan. “she’s not very good with new people in her space like that.” mark says from behind you, pushing at jeno’s chest as he stands behind you.

jeno stares at you for a couple of seconds before backing up with a smirk. “weird fuck.” you mumble to mark as you turn around and head towards your first class, which unfortunately for you had only jeno, chenle and haechan in.

you and the three guys make it to class just in time for the bell. beginning your walk to your usual seat you’re thrown off when you feel someone pull you into one of the isles by your elbow. “you’re one of us now, therefore you sit with us.” haechan says in a tone you can only pin as teasing.

“what? nah she’s not one of us!” chenle almost yells, you cringe at how high his voice went. “i agree with barney, i’m not one of you.” you scoff and begin walking away again.

haechan rolls his eyes drastically as he reaches out and grabs your arm again. “fine, not one of us. but sit with us.” haechan gestures to the empty seat between himself and chenle. you roll your eyes and sit down anyways. “call me barney again, and you’ll be picking yourself and your bike up off the fucking road, you prune.” chenle spits at you and shoves your chair away from him.

the push sends you almost flying into haechan. “chenle. stop it.” haechan seethes through gritted teeth just as he catches your chair right before it smashes into his. chenle does nothing but roll his eyes. “i’m sorry, he’s not usually this mean.” haechan looks down at you almost sadly, making you raise your eyebrow.

“it’s okay, i’m just glad he’s not hitting me.” you try to joke, but haechan doesn’t take it that way as he stares at you with a straight face. “i’m sorry.” you whisper.

as the class drones on for what felt like seventeen years, you somehow got chenle talking and laughing with you. after your multiple attempts to talk to him, he finally gave in and started talking to you, only for him to somehow really like you.

“hey, i’m sorry for how i treated you before.” chenle mumbles softly and looks up at you with a sad pout and shining eyes. you find it hard to ignore the smile pulling at your lips as you look down at him.

“it’s okay, you just left quite the impression.” you giggle. unbeknownst to you, chenle and a blissfully unaware haechan, jeno had been staring at you the whole class without any shame, a few of the girls who ogle over him noticed this and didn’t like the fact that a girl who wasn’t ‘visible’ before today had snagged a spot in the most popular friend group at this university.

jeno feels the girls stare on him and turns around to see half of them with their eyes on him and the other half glaring at you. jeno tilts his head and waits for them all to look at him before opening his mouth. “i know what you girls are about, so if you so much as breathe the wrong way in her direction you’ll have to deal with not only my group, but hers too,” jeno pauses, chenle frowns as he hears jeno speaking and turns to see what was happening.

chenle stops a laugh from escaping as he watches the scene unfold. “and i’m sure none of you wants mark and taro after you or felip speaking to you. do you?” he asks condescendingly. seeing all the girls shake their heads as fast as they could, chenle burst out into a fit of laughter.

the bell rings for the end of class, thanking the school for letting this be your only class today you begin walking to the exit where you can see shotaro jumping up and down while waving at you.

you giggle happily and run towards him, engulfing him in a hug when you see him waiting for you with open arms. the girls who were glaring at you had followed behind you to see if jeno was telling the truth about who you were friends with, only for jeno, chenle and haechan to push past them and stand behind you.

jeno looks over his shoulder at the girls and raises his eyebrow as if to challenge them to try something. while a couple of the girls were satisfied with seeing jeno telling the truth a couple of them still didn’t like the fact that you somehow got into jeno’s group before they could.

the girl who seemed to be the ‘leader’ of the group stomps her foot and stomps away. jeno rolls his eyes, to him all the girls at this uni were all the same. that was until he pinned you down a couple of months ago.

don’t get him wrong, he’d noticed your beauty from several miles away two years ago but it wasn’t until you rode to school on your old ninja h2r that he finally noticed you properly. It was almost like love at first sight despite it not being the first time he had laid eyes on you.

love at second sight, he liked to call it.

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this fic will be very generic for the first couple of chapters as i don't want to dive straight into the story so please bear with me, it'll get better.

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phoward89 · 2 days

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Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader, DILF!Crassus Snow

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, smut, oral (f rec) , p in v, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

This is the Crassus x Reader ending AKA ending 2.

It's kinda long.

Masterlist

Ending #2-Crassus

Coriolanus disappeared without a trace. Or at least that's what it felt like. Truth was, a couple of weeks after graduation he boarded a train to 8 as a peacekeeper grunt. Coriolanus received a conscription letter and was shoved off by his father General Crassus Snow.

Against his will.

Without Coriolanus by your side you fell into a depression. Yes, you received letters from him and the occasional phone call, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't physically around, like he's always been, and it hurt.

It hurt so much.

So goddamn much.

You felt so alone…

You thought that you were doing good job of hiding your hurt, your depression and loneliness. But you weren't.

No.

Crassus noticed it right away.

And he tried to swoop in and put a smile on your face by asking about your day or by suggesting you read a certain book in the library, but it never worked. Nothing worked to put a smile on your face.

The only time a faint smile appeared on your face was whenever Crassus handed you a letter from his son while shifting thru the mail after coming home from work. You'd always snatch it from him with a smile on your face. One that never quite reached your eyes.

You cherished Coryo's letters. He always complained about District 8 in them, but he’d also write a few lines about his feelings towards you. Always told you to wait for him; that he'd figure out a way to return to you.

Crassus, as cold and unfeeling of a man as he was, never kept his son's letters from you despite the fact that the middle-aged man wanted you as his next wife. His future First Lady. And why didn't he keep them from you?

Because he wanted to woo you away from his son’s affections. Crassus wanted the knowledge that he pursued you, courted you, and gave you somebody to confide in all the while Coriolanus was sending you letters that were borderline love letters.

Crassus wants you to pick him over his son, not because he made you, but because you want to.

Because you want him.

And having Coriolanus thousands of miles away serving in 8 would definitely help out with you picking the older Snow…

Out of sight, out of mind as they say.

“Petal, a letter for you from my son.” Crassus announces, holding the letter up for you to see as he stands in front of the fireplace shifting thru mail while you sit on the sofa watching CapitolTV.

Grandma'am was out visiting the neighbor, Pluribus, so it was just you and Crassus inside of the penthouse.

“Oh, thank you.” You thinly smile, rising from the sofa to go get your letter from the tall, stoic man that you've come to appreciate since you began living in the Snow's ancestral home.

Crassus knew that now was his chance to snatch you away from his bratty son. That now's the time to woo you. And how does he know?

By the thin, forced line of a smile on your face and the tight tone of your voice when you thank him for his son's letter.

“Y/N, I see how much you're suffering. Perhaps you'd like to talk about it with someone who's been deployed throughout Panem?” Crassus remarked, his voice low and thoughtful as he hands you over the letter.

“I'm fine, Crassus.” You lie, fingers brushing while taking the letter from him. “I don't need to talk about Coryo's deployment in 8, but thank you for the offer.” You assure the man towering over you while looking at the letter you're holding.

“You're not fine, petal.” Crassus tells you in a low, deep, all knowing tone.

It's unsettling since Coriolanus had told you the exact same thing one night before he was shipped off. He told you that you weren't fine; in a similar tone and manner that his father had just used on you right now.

You never noticed it before, but were Coriolanus and Crassus truly mirror images of each other?

“You haven't filled out your University admissions packet, so I surmise that you won't be attending. I also noticed how you sulk around, wasting your life waiting for a ghost.”

The packet was still untouched on his mahogany desk in his study. It was due weeks ago. Now that it's early September and the fall semester's starting soon, well, Crassus knows that it's too late for you to select a major of interest to study. That you won't be attending the University.

That doesn't bother him. In fact, Crassus prefers for you to be home with Grandma'am all day. You're a very beautiful Capitolite girl and in his mind you're better suited as a socialite. He's sure in time you'll get used to staying home and doing lady things all day such as luncheons, shopping, tea parties, etc.

“I-” You began, but your protest died on the tip of your tongue when Crassus cut you off with a blunt, “You can deny it all you want, but you fill your days moping over my son's absence.”

Of course, he saw right thru your facade. Crassus was a very perceptive man, a cunning one as well. He picked up on things that most people would overlook.

“You need to find a hobby to occupy your time; keep your thoughts off of things.” Crassus tells you knowingly. As if he has first hand experience in the matter.

Well, maybe he did.

“A hobby?”

“Yes.” He nods. “My mother has her rose garden; my late wife had her silly little songs and the piano.” The tall platinum blonde explains. He shifts his weight slightly on his feet while suggesting, “So perhaps you can find something as well.”

“Perhaps.” You parrot.

Maybe Crassus is right? Maybe a hobby will help you during Coryo's absence.

Crassus pecks you on the cheek before patting it and telling you, “Go on and read your letter. I'll be in my study reading my own mail.”

Without another word he walked away from you and into the direction of his office, a pile of mail in his hands.

You decided to take Crassus' advice and find a hobby to take your mind off of Coryo's deployment. After thinking about it, you realize that Crassus is right. You need to focus your energy on something else and since you're not in the best mindset to go to University (going to University was Coriolanus' dream; he wanted you to attend with him) a hobby is necessary.

At first you try your hand at gardening. You spent some time with Grandma’am in her rooftop rose garden, but you weren't a natural green thumb like she was. In fact, gardening seems to frustrate you.

Coriolanus was the botanist that thrived under Grandma'am Snow’s gardening lessons. Well, he did when he was still living in the Corso penthouse before he was conscripted into the Peacekeepers.

Anyways….

And since you weren't classically trained on the piano like Crassus' late wife, Demeter, you had only two other options for a hobby. Sewing or baking.

You weren't too handy with needlework and didn't want to bother Tigris with sewing lessons, because you knew that she'd start talking about Coryo. You couldn't handle that. The kind hearted young lady always meant well when she brought up Coryo, but it was a sore topic for you.

So, that left baking as your only hobby option.

But you had an old recipe book of your mother's from her native 12, so at least you had something to work with. You didn't have to bake blind without recipes.

Most of the recipes were for cookies. A couple for cakes, but mostly various cookies. Oh and bread. Lots and lots of bread.

Apparently, District 12 really loves their bread.

And on top of reading your cookbook you've been watching a baking show:

The Great Panem Bake Off

It's a baking competition where the best amateur bakers in all of Panem compete for a title and prize money. You began watching it for baking ideas and ended up writing down the recipes of the goodies that the judges liked.

After a few weeks of reading your mother's old recipe book and watching the baking show on CapitolTV, you decided to bake a batch of classic and simple sugar cookies.

So, one late afternoon while Grandma'am was tending to her magnificent rooftop rose garden you're in the kitchen hard at work baking a large batch of lemon zest and vanilla bean sugar cookies. Thankfully, living in Capitol City, Panem, you're able to procure the ingredients easily for your cookies.

You're so engrossed in making your cookie dough and baking off the tasty treats that your mind doesn't even focus on the missing member of the Snow family. Not once does Coriolanus cross your mind. No, the only thing crossing your mind is measuring out the ingredients and adding them to the bowl; mixing until firm and smooth. You're too busy letting the cookie dough chill and timing it to think about sulking over your best friend.

And when it's time to roll out the sugar cookie dough and cut the cookies out with a cutter, well, you can't even imagine thinking about anything but getting the cookies stamped out and onto the cookie sheet pan. A sheet pan lined with parchment to keep the cookies from burning and sticking (a tip you saw on the baking show).

You're so scared that if you leave the kitchen your batch of cookies will burn, despite having a timer set. So, you sit at the kitchen table reading a book that Crassus had recommended a few weeks back; waiting for the cookies to bake. Between the mouth watering aroma of fresh cookies filling the air and the intriguing plot line of the book you're reading, you're mind's too preoccupied to drift off to a melancholy about Coriolanus being gone.

Infact, it seems that Crassus was right about a hobby keeping your mind busy and off of things you can't change.

His son serving as Private Snow over in 8.

When the timer goes off you put on your floral printed oven mitts, which match your frilly apron, and pull the cookie sheet out of the oven. After setting the pan on the counter, you transfer the sweet treats to a cooling rack before rolling and cutting out another batch of cookies to place onto the sheet pan and back into the oven.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, reading your book while waiting for the cookies to bake whenever you heard the front door open accompanied by the sound of Crassus' shoes echoing against the marble floor.

Crassus was home and all you could think of was getting his opinion on your cookies. Being a first time baker, you're afraid that they wouldn't be good. Even tho you followed the recipe religiously and everything seemed to turn out, you're still scared that your first foray into baking won't be successful.

So, you set your book down on the table, quickly rise to your feet, and grab a cookie from the cooling rack that's on the counter.

When you rush out of the kitchen, freshly baked cookie in hand, you see Crassus is starting to cross the foyer. He stops when he sees you, nose sniffing at the air, as his icy blue eyes take in the excited smile on your face.

From the smell wafting from the kitchen paired with the frilly floral apron you're wearing, the general concludes that you've taken up baking. He thinks it's good that you found something to occupy your days with.

Crassus is a tall man, even taller than his son, so he towers over you as you stand before him. Before he could make a comment on your new hobby, you grab him by the shirt and yank him down to your eye level- only to shove a freshly baked sugar cookie into his mouth.

“How is it? Do I need to tweek anything?” You ask, watching Crassus try not to choke on a large mouthful of cookie.

The middle-aged man’s large hand comes up to his mouth to pull the cookie out while he chews on the piece that's nearly choking him. You look at him with such innocence and patience while awaiting his verdict on your first attempt at baking cookies. Oh, and how your doe eyes has Crassus' knees buckling.

The cold, hard former soldier can't help, but to feel like a schoolboy again as you watch him chew his large mouthful. Oh, how embarrassing to feel like that over a young pretty girl shoving a sugar cookie into his mouth and looking at him like an angel sent from the heavens while awaiting his judgment on the sweet treat.

For some reason, swallowing down the cookie takes more effort than it should. Perhaps Crassus' throat feels tighter, as if it's closing up on him, because of the near intimate position you're in. Your face is mere inches away from his as he's hunched down into your space with your hand still tightly fisted into his shirt; keeping him in place.

Oh gods, how the man's mind is drifting off to dirty places…

“It's good.” Crassus finally answers after what feels like an eternity, but in reality was only a minute.

“You really think so?” You ask, genuinely surprised, as the icy eyed man in front of you just stares at you as if you hung the moon and stars.

A look he hasn't given anyone in a very, very long time.

“Yes,” He nods. “It's very good, petal.”

You're so happy that Crassus likes your cookie; that your first attempt at baking as your new hobby was successful. Honestly, you were scared that they wouldn't turn out. But it seems that you had nothing to worry about.

Without saying a word, you let go of Crassus' shirt and rush back into the kitchen to check on your latest batch of cookies. Crassus just shakes his head, clutching his briefcase his one hand and his half eaten cookie in the other, as a ghost of a smile slowly appears on his lips.

It seems like your innocence and warmth might be melting the cold Snow.

After the day you shoved a cookie into Crassus' mouth; nearly choking him, he's become your official taste tester for anything that you bake. He doesn't mind, in fact Crassus enjoys your baking. He has quite the sweet tooth even if he denies it.

Grandma'am enjoys when you bake chocolate treats and even Tigris enjoys your baking. She prefers your puddings. The warm hearted girl stops by from time to time to visit Grandma’am and you always give her some baked goods to take home.

All in all, your depression has dissipated and your mind's occupied with baking. You don't feel a heavy dark rain cloud over your head anymore, but instead you feel as if the sun’s shining down on you. You feel so much lighter, as if a weight has been taken off your shoulders.

And over the last few months you've grown closer to Crassus due to your baking. You looked forward to greeting him every evening when he came home with something you baked, asking him to taste it and tell you what he thought. And Crassus would always tell you that your sweet treats were good, great even.

That man loves everything you give him. From cookies to brownies to puddings to cakes to breads, he enjoys them all. Hell, he even has you pack some up for his coworkers at the Ministry of War.

Yes, cold and stern General Crassus Snow brought in baked goods to work to share with his coworkers. Honestly, he did it to brag about your baking skills. To show you off. To claim you as his in a way because women just don't bake for any man, they bake for their man.

And Crassus Snow views himself as your man.

He's been obsessed with making you his for a while; now he's succeeding in doing so.

But you don't mind his obsessive tendencies towards you. In fact, you welcome them because at least you're not lonely with him around.

And talk about being lonely, you found out from Crassus that his son, Coryo, was anything but lonely while off serving in District 8. His contacts told him that Coriolanus had taken up with a local district girl; had been with her for a while too.

Hearing that made you feel incredibly stupid for promising Coriolanus that you'd wait for him. Here you are being true blue to him while Private Snow's out fucking some district whore from 8. You wonder what she has that you don't have. Is she prettier than you? Maybe she's smarter or something? You dunno, but it hurts that he's cheating while you're waiting faithfully for him.

Aside from being hurt, you're pissed as hell. How dare he do this to you! Who the hell does he think he is? You're a proper Capitolite girl, you deserve better than what he's giving you.

Safe to say, you're a bit salty about Coryo's extra curricular activities in District 8 while serving as Private Snow in the Peacekeepers. Fucking bastard…

But at least you have your baking to help you thru it. Baking and Crassus' friendship that is.

But one day while you're baking cookies for the Yule holiday, the phone rings and you answer it only to be met with the one man you really don't want to talk to right now.

Coryo.

He tells you about some Elite Officer's Exam he took and you confronted him about his district whore. He denied it; even told you he loved you and wanted you to join him in 2 as soon as he got settled there- after passing his exams and officially being transferred that is.

And if that wasn't enough to turn your world upside down, a breaking news alert appeared on CapitolTV that would shatter Panem's heart.

It's late at night and Grandma'am’s asleep in her room while you're in the living room watching an old detective noir movie with Crassus. You're on the sofa, body softly nestled into Crassus’ side while his arm’s loosely slung around you, whenever the movie was interrupted by a news break announcing the death of President Ravenstill due to his ill health.

You're shocked to say the least. The very least. A president dying in office without a successor had never happened before in Panem's history. Normally, a president would step down if deathly ill or eldery; an election would be held to name a successor and the incumbent would pass over the baton.

President Ravenstill’s death turned the system upside down and on its head. So much so, that you ask the middle-aged man your sitting on the couch with what's going to happen to Panem now that the president’s dead. The platinum blonde man explained that the Senate would rule Panem with the help of the ministries and the late President Ravenstill’s cabinet.

Crassus also surprised you by announcing that he’s going to enter his name has a presidential candidate under the Old Guard political party. He also made a remark about how when he wins you'll be baking in the grand kitchen of the Presidential Palace. That you'll even be giving the palace bakers some of your recipes.

Everything feels so surreal; your entire day feels like a dream. A winter’s dream that can't be real, but in fact it's real. It's very real.

And to top off your day; mark the night as unbelievable, Crassus placed a hand on your chin only to tip your head to the side and capture your lips with a kiss.

A firm, but passionate kiss that caught you completely off guard.

You weren't expecting him to kiss you, but it only took a few seconds before your brain and body got on the same page and you're responding to his kiss. Your hands wrap around his neck as your lips press together. One of his hands goes to your hip while the other tangles in your hair.

You let out a breathy moan at the feel of his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip; asking silent permission to deepen the kiss. Permission that you granted by slightly parting your mouth just enough for Crassus to slide his tongue inside.

Your kiss with Crassus felt different then all the kisses you shared with Coryo- his son. Coryo's kisses always felt so needy and rushed, but with Crassus they're passionate albeit languid. It's as if the middle-aged man has all the time in the world to explore your mouth with his deeply impassioned kisses; to savor your reaction to his tongue tangling with yours, flicking against your bottom lip teasingly.

The way Crassus' lips firmly sweep over yours over and over again sparks a flaming heat inside of you. A need appears unlike anything you've ever felt before and, unable to stop yourself, you're slightly rolling your hips against him in an attempt to ease the growing ache in your core. And when Crassus breaks the kiss so the two of you can get some much need air into your lungs, you're looking at him wit lust in your doe-eyes.

Crassus can't help, but to flip you onto your back and smirk while slotting himself between your legs that have spread open on their own accord. He runs his knuckles along your cheek, only to hold your hip in his other hand. Crassus’ grip on your hip his strong, but sensual, as his other hand trails down your neck. Your chest heaves up and down as you look up at him, pupils blown wide.

“You feel what you do to me, petal?” Crassus asks, his voice low and thick, as he grinds his large cock, that's straining painfully in his pants, against your aching core.

The action has you soaking your panties. Just the feel of his bulge makes you ache, makes your pussy wetter then it already is. His cock, although trapped in the confines of his slacks, feel so large and heavy against your heated core.

“Crassus, please…” You moan needily.

"Shhh,” Crassus brings a finger up to your lips to shush you. “don’t make a noise, baby.” He dips his head down so his breath is fanning your face and his hand that's on your hip slides under your skirt, his fingertips teasingly sliding up and down your thigh. “We dont want mother to wake up now, would you?" Crassus rhetorically asks, nipping at a sweet spot right below your ear.

“We're really doing this here?” You ask, voice no more than a whisper, against his finger that was still resting against your lips.

Crassus trails his finger down your lower lip, that's bruised from his kisses, over your chin, and down the collum of your neck while telling huskily answering you with a low, “Yes.”

His lips captures yours in another searing kiss, one that shows off his years of experience, as his finger turns into his palm grasping at your breast. You moan into the kiss, your hands burying into his hair and your hips canting up slightly as Crassus toys with the wet patch right in the middle of your panties.

He pulls back from the kiss, only to slyly smirk. “I’m gonna prep you real good for my cock, baby.” Crassus scooted down the length of the couch until his head’s between your spread legs.

Legs that are shaking.

Crassus swiftly bunches your skirt up past your hips before curling his forefingers into the elestatic of your panties. “Lift your hips up for me, petal.” He orders in a low tone that's fire and ice to your ears.

Nodding, you do as you're told- resulting in Crassus pulling your panties off and licking a stripe up your wet cunt. He eases a long finger into your tight pussy while giving your clit a few kitten licks, causing you to wither from his touch.

Crassus' icy eyes hold your gaze as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit expertly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, but you can't make yourself pull your gaze away from his. It's as if his light cerulean eyes have you under a spell. A spell you just can't find it in yourself to break.

Crassus pulls his lips away from your clit with a wet pop. With his eyes still on you, he says, “You're so tight, baby. I'm gonna add another finger, just let me know if it hurts.”, before slipping his middle finger inside of you alongside his pointer finger.

“I'm okay, Crassus. Please, keep going.” You told him, placing a hand in his platinum hair to encourage him to continue eating you out.

“As you wish, petal.” He tells you before going back to teasing your cunt with his skilled tongue while pumping his fingers in and out of your wet, tight hole.

Your breath hitches and you bite back a moan whenever you feel his fingertips curl up against the spongy spot hidden deep inside of you. He grins against your cunt at your reaction to his ministrations.

“Think you can handle a third finger?” Crassus asked, even tho he was planning on squeezing his ring finger into your dripping cunt no matter what your answer is.

He's a very blessed man when it comes to the size of his cock. He's large, both in length and girth, so he wants to stretch you out with his fingers as much as possible. Plus, the feeling of your tight cunt clenching around his fingers is sending all of his blood straight to his hard rock; making it even harder than he thought possible.

“I can handle it, Crassus.” You answer, chest heaving and voice wispy, as you feel a knot tightening in your lower belly.

Crassus wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard, while stuffing you full with three of his long fingers. His ego was soaring as he heard your tiny, strangled moans mixed with the gushing sound your wet cunt made as he fingered you fast and hard while sucking and nipping at your clit. He groaned into your cunt as he felt your hands tightly holding his hair while shoving his face deeper into your cunt.

“Crassus, I'm close.” You tell him, bucking your hips in an attempt to find relief to the feelings quaking inside of you from the feelings of the middle-aged man's skilled fingers stretching you and his tongue swirling around your puffy clit.

Your thighs are shaking around Crassus' head, but he doesn't care. No, not when you're so close to cumming. Hell, he could die with his head crushed by your thighs and he'd die a happy man with your sweet tangy taste on his tongue.

His fingers curl against your g-spot just right at the same time his teeth graze against your clit, sending you over the edge. You cum with a silent scream, bucking your hips wildly.

It was unlike anything you ever felt in your life. You swear, you're seeing stars as you cum.

Crassus groans and laps up everything that you give him. You're messily dripping and all he can do is eagerly lick you clean. Oh, how your taste drives him wild.

He backs away from your cunt, only to look you in the eye while sucking your taste off of his fingers. “Sweetest thing I've ever tasted, baby.” Crassus smirks, his low tone oozing lust. And it has your cheeks flushing and your pussy growing wet- again.

Crassus quickly unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down to his thighs. Your eyes widen as you see the large bulge pressing against his boxers, thanks to the glowing light the TV was casting in the room. You quickly realize, before he even pulls down his boxers, that Crassus’ dick is bigger than Coriolanus’. And that fact makes you both nervous and excited.

Crassus knows that once he enters your cunt he's a goner, that he'll most likely lose control. He's so pent up since his career at the Ministry of War along with his side job as an arms dealer; overlooking his assets in 13 doesn't leave him much time in his schedule to go out and fuck somebody. The gods know that he's always busy doing something.

But between his obsession with you and having your pussy in his grasp, well, he's sure that he's not sleeping a wink tonight. And neither are you.

“Sling your leg over the back of the couch, petal.” Crassus orders while pulling down his boxers; setting his very long and thick cock free to slap up against his stomach. A stomach that's still covered by his shirt. “I need your legs spread wide, as wide as possible, for me.”

“Okay.” You nod, adjusting your legs to spread wide in the way that he wanted them.

“Relax, baby, I'll take good care of you.” Uttered Crassus before pushing his cock into your wet cunt.

You bite your lip and claw at his muscular back as you feel his cock splitting you in two. Yes, you're not a virgin and had a big cock fucking you for a week back in late July/early August, but being stretched by Crassus' cock had you feeling like you're losing your virginity all over again. Clearly, your hole had tightened up after months of not being fucked- resulting in the uncomfortable feeling you're experiencing as the handsome man hovering above you pushes his fat dick into you at a steady pace.

Crassus knows your not a virgin since he didn't meet the resistance of your barrier, so he quickly realizes that you're so painfully tight because you haven't been properly fuck in a long time. Hell, he doubts you've been properly fucked at all considering the last man you most likely fucked wasn't a real man at all, but a green schoolboy.

“You can take it, baby. You took my fingers so well, I know you can take all of my cock?” Crassus praises and encourages you while sinking deeper and deeper into your tight cunt.

And when he's finally balls deep inside of your tight cunt, which is literally stretched to the max, his icy eyes roll to the back of his head and he lets out a tiny grunt.

Crassus gives you a couple of minutes to accommodate his size before he's pumping his cock in and out of your pussy at a steady, but deep pace. One of his hands is on your hip while the other’s resting on the thigh of your leg that's strewn over the back of the sofa. Your arms are wrapped around him, hands on his back, as you feel the veins of his cock gliding against your inner walls as he fucks into you- making you mewl.

“Remember, we can't be too loud.” Crassus reminds you, his deep voice a whisper that sending butterflies fluttering deep inside your belly.

“I’m n-not being t-too loud.” You protest, falling over your words and trying not to moan as you feel Crassus' cock hit your g-spot.

Your nails dig into his back and he triumphantly smirks. Oh, yes, you're enjoying this as much, if not more, then he is.

“Keep it that way and I'll reward you by letting you scream on top of your lungs when I fuck you in my room within the next half hour.” Crassus tells you, his husky voice dripping with dominance, as he fucks into you even harder.

You can't believe your ears. Crassus wants to fuck you again- tonight! And in his bed!

Something about that revelation does something to you; has you cumming around his cock while choking back a moan that wants to bubble out.

The feel of your tight cunt clenching around his cock along with the feeling of you creaming it triggers off Crassus' orgasm. He cums, painting your walls white with his seed, while kissing your lips feverishly to keep himself from moaning and grunting too loudly.

Fucking Crassus Snow wasn't just a one time thing. In fact, it was something that occured regularly between the two of you. So much so that you took to sleeping in his bed instead of in your own room.

You doubt that Grandma'am knew what was going on between you and her son. She never brought it up; never gave you odd looks either. In fact, she seems to smile every time she sees Crassus peck you on the cheek before taking off to do something, greeting you, or sending you on your way.

Plus, as time went on, Grandma'am seemed too occupied with Crassus' campaign for the presidency to pick up on anything happening in the penthouse. Whether that be lingering interactions between you and her son or your own building anxiety.

And of course Crassus was too busy with both his campaign and his work at the Ministry of War to notice you growing more anxious. Or at least that's what you thought.

But Crassus is a very observant man and he truly does notice your anxiety. He just thinks it's due to his campaign; that you're nervous about how he'll do in the primary election that's being held in a handful of months to determine the two presidential candidates that’ll go head to head in the main election for the presidency come November.

He has no idea why you're truly anxious.

Coriolanus isn't Private Snow anymore, but he's now Elite Officer Snow since he passed his exams, or at least Crassus told you that's what he heard from his contact. Crassus also told you that his son's most likely going to bring his district whore with him whenever he transfers to 2.

So, of course you're anxious about what to do when it comes to Coryo. Especially since all calls and letters from the younger Snow have ceased. You can't help, but wonder if he truly does want you to join him or if he really did bring a district whore with him.

A district whore he denied having in the first place.

And then there's the subject of Crassus, your lover and Coriolanus' father. You can't help, but wonder if fucking you’s just something he does to relieve stress since you're around. He's so busy with his career and politics that he rarely spends time with you, unless it's in his bedroom.

Yes, yes, he still taste tests your baking, but know he's having you bake for his campaign workers and volunteers that it feels like he's just testing what you bake to make sure that it's edible for his entourage. It doesn't feel like he's genuinely eating your baked goods anymore.

Unlike Coryo, Crassus has never once told you that he loves you. Hasn't even told you that he cares. At least Coryo claims to love you. If Crassus truly felt something for you, wouldn't he vocalize it?

You go on worrying yourself with so many thoughts of Coryo and Crassus until one day you finally receive a letter in the mail from the younger Snow. Crassus gives it to you, like he always does, before pecking you on the cheek and going to his office to do some paperwork for his campaign.

You read Coryo’s letter, only to discover that he's living at the Nut in 2 and wants you to join him. Enclosed in the letter’s a train ticket to District 2- dated for the following morning.

That letter has you reeling as you shove it along with the ticket back into the envelope. You place the letter on the desk in your room, a room you never use anymore.

You're weighing the words you read in the letter as you lay in bed, waiting for Crassus to join you. But when he finally does come to bed, he makes you forget all about the letter. At least he does for a little while as his body's on top of yours, fucking into your tight cunt with fervent vigor.

But as you're basking in the afterglow of your fucking with Crassus, you can't help, but to wonder what the two of you are. And the nagging question has you asking, “What are we? Do you even love me? Or am I just a stress reliever for you?", as you lay pressed into Crassus' side with your hand on his chest.

Your question starles Crassus. He blinks his pale blue eyes and the hand that's resting on your shoulder starts to rub soothing circles into it. He thought that you already knew what the two of you are, but now he knows he thought wrong. Looking down at you, he gives you the honest answer of, “You're not a stress reliever for me, petal. You're so much more than that. You're my second chance of a woman's love; you're my obsession, baby.”

Right there and then his answer soothes the worry in your soul and you decide to stay with him.

Crassus, not one for being overly affectionate since he is, after all a stern man by nature, decides to move past his love confession by changing the subject with, “Well, petal, I did promise to let you be in control of round 2 if I made a noise first.” With a smirk, he takes a hold of your hips and starts to guide you to straddle his waist while remarking, "We better get you on top, huh?”

And as you ride Crassus all thoughts of that letter and the train ticket disappear forever. It's just a piece of junkmail that you'll throw in the trash come morning.

Crassus, not one for giving up control, gives you the illusion that you're in control as he lets you ride in, but in fact stays in complete control of you by guiding your hips at the speed he wants you to go. He even pulls off his dog tags (he's never once taken them off because once a soldier, always a soldier) and puts them over your head; letting you wear them as you ride him. It's a way of marking you as his, having you wear his dog tags while fucking.

And when he grabs them, only to pull you down for a kiss, he nearly loses his mind whenever you tell him, “You're a good boy, Crassus.”, with your lips ghosting against his as you bounce up and down on his cock with ease.

Your words make him realize that you have a dom side; that you're a switch since you always let him be the dom in bed. It does something to him, makes his cock get impossibly harder, knowing that you can be dominant when you want. That you can say words of praise that sound filthy flowing from your lips in a tone that's a bit more sultry and masterful.

All of those sudden revelations had Crassus losing control. And suddenly, he's telling you, “Oh, I'll show you how good of a boy I can be.”, while bucking up into you at an unyielding and brutal pace causing you both to moan and grunt until you cum together.

You threw the letter containing the ticket to District 2 in the trash. You never told Crassus about it either. You didn't feel the need to since you picked him.

Coriolanus waited for you at the train station all day, only for you to stand him up. That made him angry. He was insulted that you didn't listen to him; that you most likely told his father about the plans for you to move to 2- that his father must've stopped you. Hell, Coriolanus felt like an idiot waiting for you only for you to stand him up.

As he walked home alone, Elite Officer Snow realized that his father had won. That General Crassus Snow had taken you from him.

He also thinks that you're a dumb bitch for not listening to him whenever he warned you about his father having a thing for you.

And a few months later, in October before the presidential elections are held, First Lieutenant Coriolanus Snow is invited to his father General Crassus Snow's wedding.

To your wedding.

Coriolanus didn't want to go, but went only because it'd look bad for his Air Force career if he snubbed his father's wedding. All of his superiors thought that General Crassus Snow, the war hero of the rebellion, was one of the best military minds on the planet. So, he was stuck going.

Coriolanus brought his wife, a pretty little thing from the districts, with him. He has her on his arm, all dolled up in a cerulean blue dress. Her hair's up in some simple updo so you notice the faint scars on her back, from where they pop out from her dress, right away.

And that's when you knew you made the right choice in picking Crassus. You remember that Coriolanus once told you a story about how he turned a girl in for thievery and helped her leave the town square once her punishment, a whipping, was done. You remember he told you that story when you confronted him about seeing somebody in District 8. But now you know that First Lieutenant Snow was using his charm to lie to you; that he really did cheat on you.

You suppose that he pulled some strings and sent for his district girl once you failed to show up at the train station in 2. You're glad that he's not alone, that he has his district whore- as Crassus refers to the girl as.

You got stuck sharing one dance with Coriolanus, being his new stepmother and all, and he let you know how he felt about you being Mrs. Crassus Snow during your waltz.

“It should've been me marrying you, not my father, Y/N.” Coriolanus told you, his face a mask of indifference as his baby blue eyes blazed with anger. “I can't believe you let him seduce you; steal you away from me.”

Narrowing your eyes at the man that used to be your best friend, you explain your situation with, “Crassus never seduced me or stole me from you, Coriolanus. We became friends while I was dealing with your absence and one thing led to another.”

“He'll never love you the way that I do, my darling rose.”

“Don't talk to me about loving me, Coriolanus. Not when you're married to some district girl.”

“My wife might be district but at least she's loyal to me, is grateful for everything that I've done for her- unlike you who jumped into bed with my own goddamn father.” Coriolanus darkly hissed before storming off, ending your dance and leaving you on the dance floor.

Crassus just raised a brow and asked you what happened once you left the dance floor and returned to his side at the table on the dias- high up on display in the ballroom since you're the newlyweds.

You just told him that you had Coriolanus didn't approve of each other's spouses and that he stormed off after trying to make his wife seem like a better woman than you. Crassus laughed and told you not to pay too much attention to his bratty son. That he's always been full of piss and vinegar when he couldn't get his way.

Crassus won the presidential election by a landslide. One of the first things he did was intergrade District 13 back into Panem. And since the former sovereign nation was a great source of income for Crassus due to his nuke factories there, District 13 was put on a pedestal. They had rights similar to those in the Capitol while the other 12 districts still had to participate in the games.

Yes, your husband kept the Hunger Games. You think it's because they're so popular, but the truth his your husband finds the way his drunken class project blossomed into a spectacle that the Capitolites adore fascinating. Plus, Crassus was a cold, stern man that was a military genius. The president saw the merits of keeping the districts under control by using the games as a lifelong punishment.

At least your husband did improve some of the living and working conditions in the Districts. He told you that that people needed a little bit of hope to keep from rebelings, but also a firm hand to guide them and keep them in line. Crassus said it was all checks and balances.

And when Dr. Gaul approached President Crassus Snow with an amendment that would have all children born in the districts, including ones born on PK Bases, be legal district citizens and registered for the games, well, your husband approved it.

You wondered how your brother felt about that. If he ever married his girl in 12, where he was serving as an officer in the peacekeepers, or if he had a family. You'd never know those answers since he disowned you after receiving your wedding invite. He was pissed about the situation, said some nasty things, and literally disowned you.

You never thought about Coriolanus and his wife, whether or not they had children. Why would you? Coriolanus never wrote, never had anything to do with you or Crassus being his ego was bruised by your wedding.

Talk about children, Crassus had given you three beautiful children. Two sons and a daughter. Javani, Xanthos, and Mara.

Javani was the oldest and he, to your surprise, favored your late father in looks and temperment. Or at least Crassus told you he did. In fact, your husband always chuckles that the only thing Javani got from him is his platinum hair while everything else is from your family's genes.

Xanthos and Mara are Snows inside and out, from dawn to dusk, tho.

And when Javani is 18 he's selected to be a mentor for the Hunger Games since he's a very intelligent young man and is in the top 24 of his class. But what made his mentorship memorial and unusual was that, by a twist of fate, his assigned tribute was his nephew.

Yes, Javani Snow’s tribute was Cassian Snow, from District 2. Cassian's the first born child of Major Coriolanus Snow and his wife, a district woman you never bothered to learn the name of.

And, it's sad to say, after seeing Coriolanus' son get reaped and assigned to Javani as his tribute to mentor, you know in your heart of hearts that you made the right decision in staying with Crassus; marrying him and becoming First Lady Snow. Because your children are safe from the games.

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coloursflyaway · 2 days

Text

I And Love And You

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.200

Read on AO3

“Well, so, since I think you’re the best person in existence, the thought that you love me, that’s pretty special”, Charles tries to explain. “And that makes me feel pretty special. That you could love me.” Edwin stays silent for a while, but he doesn’t look away, seemingly figuring something out, making a decision, or a third thing somewhere in between. “That makes sense”, he eventually says, speaking slowly, almost like he is still thinking about it. “In that case, I shall endeavour to tell you more often.”

Edwin tells Charles he loves him again and again, until Charles can say it back.

The first time Edwin tells him he loves him is in 1993 when they are on a case and Charles has been stuck with reading one of the old texts they have at the office for so long that the unfamiliar letters are blurring before his eyes. He didn’t even realise that Edwin noticed he was struggling, but then there’s a soft voice next to his shoulder and a hand snatching the book from the desk in front of him.

“I’ll take care of this one, Charles”, he says, and when Charles turns around, Edwin already has his nose buried in the text, looking a lot less confused by it than Charles was feeling. “I love you”, Charles tells him without thinking, because it’s true every day, but he loves Edwin a little more just now.

And Edwin looks up from the book for a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise, but then his expression softens, almost starts to glow. “I love you, too”, Edwin says, and Charles basks in it for the rest of the night.

The sixty-third time Edwin tells him he loves him is on the steps to Hell, only that it’s different now, means more and means the same simultaneously, and Charles says it back and means it and gets Edwin out of Hell, and truly, that is the only thing that matters.

The sixty-fourth time is on the roof of their building, a few weeks later, when they are looking out over the city. Crystal is with her parents, trying to build some kind of relationship from scratch, so it’s just them, and Charles likes it that way, has missed it, even. As brilliant as Crystal is, in the end this is what his existence comes down to, Edwin and him.

“Do you wish I hadn’t told you?”, Edwin asks, apropos of nothing, into the almost-silence, the hum of cars and life beneath them. Maybe it should take Charles a few moments to figure out what Edwin means, but it really doesn’t; even if they haven’t talked about it yet, Edwin’s confession is never far from his mind. Neither is Hell, neither is how close he came to losing him.

“Nah”, Charles replies easily, looks over at the best friend he ever had, who is not looking back. “I’m glad you trusted me with it. And also, like. It’s quite flattering, to be honest.” He gives Edwin a grin, even if he cannot see it, but maybe Edwin can hear it in his voice, maybe he can sense it, maybe it can make this a little easier.

“Flattering?”, Edwin repeats, and while he says it to the city spread out in front of them, he turns to face Charles afterwards. There is something like hope in his face, and Charles wants to pull him against his chest and make sure Edwin knows he never has to hope to be loved again.

“Yeah, absolutely. You know I think the world of you, right?”

Edwin nods, and that at least is a relief; if he didn’t, Charles would have to reevaluate every choice he has made since meeting him. “Well, so, since I think you’re the best person in existence, the thought that you love me, that’s pretty special”, Charles tries to explain. “And that makes me feel pretty special. That you could love me.”

Edwin stays silent for a while, but he doesn’t look away, seemingly figuring something out, making a decision, or a third thing somewhere in between.

“That makes sense”, he eventually says, speaking slowly, almost like he is still thinking about it. “In that case, I shall endeavour to tell you more often. Because you are very special to me.”

He looks as serious as anything, and it warms something deep inside Charles’ chest, his mind. On impulse, he reaches out and curls his fingers around Edwin’s thin wrist and holds onto it.

“You’re pretty special to me too”, he tells Edwin just for good measure, shoots him a lopsided grin, and Edwin smiles back in that soft way of his that he keeps for Charles alone.

“I am glad to hear that”, he replies, and the muscles under Charles’ grip shift, but Edwin doesn’t pull his hand away. “And Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They are on a case for the sixty-fifth time.

There is a painting that seems to suck ghosts into it if they get too close, trapping them into the canvas, and although they have been going through every and all books their library has to offer, nothing seems to help. So, instead of research they comb through the museum the painting has been hanging in, even if Crystal is the only one of them who can get near enough to actually inspect it.

She takes a picture of it with her tablet and takes it back to them, before she goes back to the painting, trying not to draw attention to herself as she figures out a way to touch the frame without tripping any alarms. At the same time, Charles and Edwin hunch over the tablet computer in a corner of the quiet museum, using clumsy, untrained fingers to go over the painting inch by inch.

It’s a feast of a sort, complete with lavish dishes and glass carafes full of dark red wine, the table set for another six people who have not yet arrived. The ghosts that have been consumed already are crowding the other seats, some looking delighted, some frightened, some just confused.

At the head of the table, a man is seated in a gilded chair, one that Charles does not know from the file they have of the victims, but who looks familiar anyway. He squints, zooms in on his face, and it takes a moment, but then something clicks.

“Mate, I think that’s the artist”, he tells Edwin, the rush of something that could solve the puzzle coming over him, “Do you think he painted himself into it and is somehow taking the others?”

It sounds slightly strange to his own ears when put like this, but Edwin’s eyes go wide, and Charles can see him connecting dots he has not yet noticed.

“He was dying when he painted this”, Edwin says, looking back at the screen, eyes flickering to take in all of it. “And scared of it by all accounts. If he found a spell… and he allowed his own soul to be sucked into it and then used it to trap others so he would not have to face his afterlife alone… oh, Charles, you are a genius!”

Without wasting a second, Edwin gets up, shouting for Crystal, but before he can run over to her, Edwin turns around once more. “I love you”, he tells Charles, and it’s sweet and it’s honest and Charles takes the words and tucks them deep down into the centre of his soul, and follows Edwin to solve the case.

The seventieth time Edwin tells him he loves him, Charles has just dropped a priceless artefact on the floor where it had splintered into a thousand pieces. It’s not important for their case, just something they picked up in Tromsö as payment for a quick missing person quest, and Charles hadn’t meant to drop it when pulling it out of his backpack; it had just happened.

Edwin looks at him, exasperated but too tired to argue, and says, “You should count yourself lucky that I love you.”

Maybe it’s not the cleverest response, but it’s the only one Charles can give. “I do. Every day.”

The seventy-first time is when they are back at the agency afterwards. Half an hour earlier Crystal had passed out on the sofa, mumbling something about not thinking she should be forced to walk back to her apartment when their sofa was just there, so Charles is sitting on the floor instead. He’s trying to figure out if he should move the jar of bees further up in the backpack where there is now an open spot when Edwin clears his throat behind the desk.

It’s nothing he does often, usually electing just to speak without preamble, so the sound makes Charles look up at him almost immediately.

“What’s up?”, he asks, and Edwin hesitates; another thing that isn’t like him at all.

“You do know that I don’t truly think you have to count yourself lucky that I love you, don’t you?” He asks the question in such a stilted, adorably Edwin way that Charles cannot help but smile at him, metaphorical heart overwhelmed with affection for this impossible, brilliant, beautiful boy.

“Of course I know that”, he replies and Edwin seems to relax immediately, like this truly was something weighing heavily on his mind. “I do, though. Every day.”

And he means it.

The seventy-third time Edwin tells him he loves him, Charles is on the floor, legs drawn up against his chest and his head resting against his knees. In death, there is no more exhaustion and yet Charles feels it, his limbs so heavy he cannot lift them, his eyes burning as if he had been crying for hours.

He hasn’t, he doesn’t think he deserves to.

If there is something Charles hates it is cases where they can’t do anything at all, where they try and they try and then, they try again, but the outcome has been fixed beforehand and in the end, the only thing they can do is watch someone being dragged to Hell. To a Hell that Charles knows now, one that haunts his thoughts in the hours in between, showing him Edwin covered in blood and so, so scared, a hundred of his bodies discarded and ripped to shreds in a corner.

Edwin, who sits down next to him, although Charles knows he doesn’t like sitting on the floor, who puts a hand on Charles’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Charles?”, he asks softly, and there is so much compassion, so much understanding in his voice that it almost makes the tears in Charles’ eyes spill over. “I love you.”

And it’s enough and it’s too much and there are tears running down his cheeks, but Edwin holds him when Charles flings himself into his arms, tucks him under his chin and keeps him safe, and he’ll be alright.

They’ll be alright in the end.

The seventy-fifth time is a few days later, when Charles is feeling almost like himself again. They are trying to decide on a new case, one that won’t leave Charles feeling like they have to carry the weight of the world on their backs, and Crystal decided to sit this one out no matter which case they picked, so it’s just them.

“To be honest, the only thing that matters to me is that it won’t have the potential to go horrifically wrong this time”, Charles explains as he sorts through their case files, and it feels a little like a confession. Edwin would never judge him for his response to their last case, he knows that, and yet it feels a little shameful, because he might have been in Hell for an afternoon, but not long enough to warrant any of this.

“I could not agree more”, Edwin concedes and puts away a few envelopes without opening them. “How about a simple shoe-leather case for now?”

“Yeah, that sounds good”, Charles says, and it feels like relief and it feels like shirking a duty he usually asks to fulfil. And maybe that feeling is audible in his voice, maybe Edwin just knows him so well, since his expression softens, and he picks out one of the case files at random, hands it to Charles.

“Let us try this one”, Edwin tells him, before putting a hand on his shoulder, like he put a hand on Charles’ knee back then on the floor. “And Charles? You did nothing wrong. I love you.”

And maybe it’s hard to believe in that moment, but Edwin looks at him with such certainty, and if there is anything Charles is good at, it’s trusting him. So he takes a deep breath, a luxury he sometimes indulges in, and nods.

“I love you, too”, he says, and that, as well, is something he can trust.

The seventy-eighth time Edwin tells him he loves him, is because of nothing in particular at all. It’s a Sunday morning, the sun shining through the windows and although Charles cannot feel its heat on his skin, he has still pulled the sofa over to luxuriate in the brightness.

“Charles?”, comes from the other side of the room, and Charles just hums to indicates that he has heard Edwin. “I love you.”

The words make him look up and over at Edwin, who is watching him from where he has been reorganising their library; he looks soft and happy in a mellow, relaxed kind of way. Charles wants to push back the strand of hair that has fallen into his face.

“Love you, too”, he says instead, chest aglow with the words, a spark hidden between that warmth, and settles back into the cushions. “You should come over and enjoy the sun with me.”

“We cannot feel the sun”, Edwin counters, but there is little actual objection in his voice.

“I know”, Charles says, and scoots over so Edwin would fit right next to him, if he wanted to do so. “But we can pretend.”

The seventy-ninth time they are on the very top of the London Eye for no reason at all, just that they haven’t had a case in a week and Charles had been itching to get outside and do something. Edwin had done his best to pretend to resist, but had lasted only a few minutes before letting Charles drag him through the walls.

A little part of Charles misses Crystal, because she would love the view, but Crystal is on a date. With a living man whose dead aunt they had as a client a month ago, and while Crystal had seemed nervous to tell him, Charles finds that he doesn’t care much about it.

Not because he doesn’t care about Crystal, not at all, but because their little fling had naturally fizzled out after he had brought Edwin back from Hell. They had never talked about it, but even that would have felt unnecessary; there was no way Charles would sneak off to kiss Crystal when Edwin was in love with him. Even if he still isn’t sure what that makes them, Charles knows he couldn’t continue anything with Crystal when he had promised Edwin that they would figure out the rest between them.

So, Crystal is on a date and Charles is here, looking out across the city next to Edwin, the murmur of the other passengers’ conversation easily drowned out by decades of practice.

“It looks so peaceful from up here, don’t you think?”, Charles asks, because before their little break, they had spent far too many days running from people with iron machetes and murderous intent.

Edwin nods his approval, and Charles reaches out and takes his hand, because he wants to feel that Edwin is beside him. Not in Hell, not in the grasp of a witch, not in any kind of danger. Just next to Charles, exactly where he belongs.

“I’m glad we’re getting a little break in between everything”, he continues and runs his thumb across Edwin’s knuckles. He might not be able to feel the soft skin there, the warmth of Edwin’s blood beneath it, but he still feels something, and that’s enough. “I feel like we deserve it.”

“That we do”, Edwin agrees, and for a moment, Charles can feel his fingers tightening. “Maybe, if it continues for a little longer, we could go out of town for a few days? We haven’t done that in a while. Perhaps to Florence, or Berlin. I remember you liking it there.”

“Great idea, that’d be aces”, Charles tells him and Edwin smiles out at the city; it’s good, and yet Charles wishes Edwin would smile at him instead. “We can start making plans once we’re back home.”

“Fantastic”, Edwin replies and then, “Also, Charles? I love you.”

And this time something flutters in Charles’ chest, delicate and lovely as a nightingale, and Charles intertwines their fingers, because he wants to feel Edwin a little closer, still. “I love you too.”

The eightieth time Edwin tells him he loves him is in Berlin, after Crystal has left to go to a rave. She had been delighted to go on a trip, and although it meant that Edwin and he would spend a few hours on a plane instead of just walking through a mirror, Charles is happy to have her there. And yet, when she had asked if he wanted to join her, he had turned her down without a second thought.

Chances is sure he would have enjoyed going dancing, even if he would be left without the booze and the drugs, but it’s not as compelling a thought as to spend a night wandering the city with Edwin at his side.

So here he is, walking from the Neptune fountain towards the Lustgarten, where Edwin wants to take a look at the Old Museum and their antiquities collection. They have been here before in the early 2000s and Charles remembers it better than expected, the broad streets and the relentless traffic and most of all the breeze in the air that feels like freedom and promise.

“I’m very glad we came here”, Edwin says softly; Charles can hear him even over the cars passing them every few moments. “We should do it more often, getting out of the city. Maybe we could go to Prague next, they have a fascinating cathedral. Or Vienna, I always wanted to visit the catacombs there.”

“Sure, sounds good”, Charles responds easily. He knows little about Vienna and even less about Prague, but if Edwin wants to go, he will gladly follow. “I’ll ask Crystal if she has a preference, then we could draw up a list of places to go. Maybe take the agency on a worldwide tour.”

He shoots Edwin a grin, who smiles back a little distractedly, before asking, “Speaking of Crystal, why didn’t you go with her tonight? Would the music not be to your tastes?”

“I don’t know much about the music, to be honest. It’s not like I’ve ever been to a rave before”, Charles replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“We spend all our time together.”

“I know”, Charles replies and bumps his shoulder into Edwin’s, just to feel the resistance there, to know Edwin is next to him. It warms something within his chest, not just his heart, but everything around it, too, makes him think of springtime and bluebells and Edwin’s smile. “I like it that way.”

There is no response for some time, but that is fine, because they are crossing the bridge to the Museum Island, and Charles is happy to watch the city around them, listen to its energy, its life. At some point, he slips his hand into Edwin’s and lets their fingers weave together; it’s nothing they do often, but still so easy.

“Charles?”, Edwin eventually says when they are almost at their destination. His voice sounds different, almost fragile, like something Charles would give his life to protect. “I love you.”

And there it is again, that little flutter, that warmth spreading further through his chest, because Edwin loves him, and Charles isn’t certain if there could be anything more precious than that knowledge.

“I know. I love you, too.”

The eighty-fourth time Edwin tells him he loves him, they are running. Not for their lives but for their continued existence, and it’s terrifying because Charles can almost taste the blackdarknothingness at the back of his throat and the thought that he might never see Edwin again is the most terrifying thing he has ever faced, like it is every single time this happens.

They round a corner and Charles reaches out to grasp Edwin’s hand in his, even if he knows it will slow them down, because he has to feel Edwin next to him at least one more time.

Edwin looks over at him and he looks as terrified as Charles feels, a twin look of despair on their faces, and for a moment, he squeezes Charles’ hand before letting go again.

“I love you”, he shouts at Charles through the noise the creature chasing them makes, and within the terror and the defiance and the desperation, there is a bright spark, a hint of warmth, because Edwin loves him and even if they blink out of existence, Edwin will have loved him and that makes any fate worth it.

“I love you, too”, Charles yells back, and means it more than anything he has ever said before in his life.

The eighty-fifth time is only minutes later, when Crystal has hit the creature with the potion they prepared this morning, followed it up with whatever she does with her powers now when she goes silent and wild and unstoppable. They are safe, and they are together, and Charles isn’t sure if one of them hugs the other first or if they just meet somewhere in the middle, a flurry of limbs grasping at each other and relieved laughter.

Charles’ head fits into the curve between Edwin’s shoulder and neck easily, Edwin’s chin digging into the flesh of his shoulder, and it’s bliss, being here. It’s bliss, being with Edwin.

“I love you”, Edwin mumbles into the crook of Charles’ neck, and Charles pulls him closer, wants to forget entirely where he ends and Edwin begins.

“I love you, too”, he replies and there are tears in his eyes, in his voice; his heart and chest are so full of it, it feels like they are spilling over, pumping sunshine and warmth and bluebells and Edwin’s smile through his limbs. “I love you so much. I love you the most.”

The hundred-seventeenth time Charles tells Edwin he loves him, they are back at the agency and it’s just a Thursday, the sky grey with clouds and a few non-urgent cases waiting for them on Edwin’s desk.

There is nothing special about it, not about the day, not about the time, not about them sitting together on the sofa in companionable silence. It’s a day that has happened a hundred times before and will happen a thousand more, but on this one, Charles looks over at Edwin on a whim, and it’s like he sees him for the first time, the thousandth time, the last time.

He is beautiful, like he has always been, ever since Charles had seen him back at the school for that very first time, bathed in the golden glow of a lamp that wouldn’t be enough to save him, and Charles loves him, has loved him, will love him for as long as he exists.

“Hey, Edwin”, he says softly, and watches Edwin look up, carefully put his finger down between the pages of his book before closing it. A hundred times he has seen it before, and yet it makes Charles smile now. “I love you.”

It takes a moment, but then Edwin smiles back at him, soft and sweet and like he is truly happy, and Charles moves before he can have a single thought.

Edwin’s lips are as soft, as plush as they look, and Charles cannot feel them, but he can feel them still, just like he can feel them parting in surprise, can feel the curve of Edwin’s jaw as he reaches out to grasp it. He kisses Edwin like he might have wanted to for years, kisses his love for him onto Edwin’s skin, licks and nips until Edwin’s lips part beneath his ministrations, and Charles can lick into his mouth and pretend to taste him.

The kiss lasts a moment and forever at the same time, and when Charles eventually pulls away, Edwin’s hair is slightly mussed from his fingers, his lips shining wet and his eyes still closed, only fluttering open slowly. He’s beautiful and he loves Charles and Charles loves him.

His hand is still cradling Edwin’s cheek, and for a second, Edwin nuzzles into it; Charles’ heart is a supernova, is collapsing into itself, is being born once more.

“You love me like this?”, Edwin asks, quiet and hopeful and lovely, and Charles nods before he can even finish the sentence.

“I love you in every way there is.”

Edwin’s eyes light up like stars, like sunlight, like the grey, clouded over sky on days that are special simply because they are together, and Charles wants to fall to his knees and pray to him, kiss his devotion onto Edwin’s palms and wrists and soles of his feet.

“I love you, too”, Edwin says, and Charles leans in and kisses his devotion onto his lips instead.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles

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