#whiskey speaks; ooc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rodolfoparras · 7 months

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share the angstttt

-⚰️

Thinking about sexually repressed Price | 18+ MDNI

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Content tags: angsty porn, internalized homophobia, closeted character, angst with a happy ending, masturbation, anal fingering, pining, slow burn

A/N: this isn’t meant to be a proper piece of writing, consider it a stream of consciousness author was clearly working through something here 💀 and bear with the awful grammar spelling mistakes ooc moments etc , also this wasn’t supposed to be this big nor this angsty but I was listening to hozier so things took a turn also to really set the mood I’d suggest listening to from Eden by hozier, work song by hozier, like real people do by hozier and then finally treat yourself with willow by Taylor swift to ease any remaining pain

Sexually repressed Price who’s the only one on the team without a spouse, who likes men but is deeply closeted, who’s starting to think that the liquor and tobacco smoke is starting to taste a bit more like loneliness

Sexually repressed Price who’s got grays in his hair, lines on his face and crow feet around his eyes when he finally meets the type of man he’s always desired

Sexually repressed Price whose hands shake and heart pounds every time your knees knock together or your hands brush, whose face burns and he stutters every time he tries talking to you, who’s so acutely aware of every glance every touch every word he says who gets so in his head about every interaction that he decides to keep himself locked in his office just to avoid any more awkward interactions, who’s never had this issue before because he’s never been attracted to the other men in his circle, attracted to men the words prickle at his throat like whiskey and cigar smoke

Sexually repressed Price who does his best to keep your relationship professional, who treats you no different to how a captain would treat his subordinate.

He’ll send you out to a strenuous training session during heinous weather conditions without thinking twice about it, even though he’s trying his best not to pull your shivering form in his warm embrace.

Price wont think twice about scolding you when you mess up during a mission, will grab onto the scruff of your neck and get all up in your face, even though he’ll also visibly get nervous once he realizes he’s just a hair away from your lips

Price will only speaks to you in a professional tone, words sharp and tone firm but then there are instances where he’ll catch himself slipping up, sharp words rounding out, tone softening up by just looking into your eyes.

Sexually repressed Price who somehow ends up with one of your belongings in his hand whether it be a shirt, a glove, a mask and can’t help but notice how well the tangy smell of your sweat mingles with the sweetness from your cologne, can’t help but think how much it smells of a man and God knows he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in that smell so he press his nose against the fabric of your shirt, glove or whatever and just loses himself in the scent.

He promises himself he’ll return it but it ends up staying in his rooms for weeks, and he smells it when he needs comfort, when he goes to sleep, when he’s being reminded of the fact that it’s there with him, til it no longer smells like you

When the last trace of your scent lingers on the fabric, he ends up doing something stupid. During one of those nights when he’s drinking liquor like it’s water and inhaling tobacco smoke like it’s his last day on earth, his eyes will land upon your shirt or glove or whatever it is and he’ll make a bee line to the material, before taking it to bed with him

Sexually repressed Price who doesn’t even like to masturbate, who just squeezes his thighs together in hopes of getting some relief or rubs his cock against the sheets until he’s spurting ropes of cum all over it, who doesn’t know how to finger himself properly, experiences it painfully even but can’t help but sneak a hand down his pants while pressing the fabric of your shirt or glove or whatever it is, against his nose.

You do a lot of things without thinking when horny or so Price has heard so he justifies that as being the reason as to why he presses the material against his nose while jerking off. It’s so strange, this new feeling, it feels like you’re there in bed with him, shallow breathes escapes his lips as he imagines you pinning him down to the very same bed, squelching sound getting louder as he imagines you grinding your clothed cock down on him, he’s never had his scenarios be this vivid before he can even see the flush upon his own cheeks, the way he bites down on his bottom lip as you continue to grind down on him and within seconds he’s spurting ropes of cum all over his fist, the fabric still pressed up against him

It’s weird- the sensation that he feels, a humming sensation strumming though his body and mingling with the ever lasting guilt he feels

Sexually repressed Price who ends up with the army catalogue in his hands, who flips to the page where your picture lays, one hand holding a glass of whiskey while the other traces over your features

You look like everything Price had dreamt of in his younger years, smart, handsome and with a promising career in the army maybe if he’d met you back then things would be different maybe he’d be open to dating you, maybe you’d want him too even. Back then he’d been fresh faced and eager to drink up the knowledge of the world not knowing it was eager to swallow him whole. He tears out the page, for reasons he doesn’t even know but it’s the very first picture of a man he doesn’t crumble and hide under his bed but instead neatly folds up and keeps in his wallet.

Sexually repressed Price who ends up breaking one of his rules who treats you more than a captain treats a subordinated when he invites you out to a bar with the rest of 141, it’s a celebratory event for a successful mission, but it feels anything but that, because you get so drunk out of your mind that you start spurting nonsense, stumbling upon the topic of masturbation, and sharing how to get yourself off properly, how to use your hands or mouth when with someone, mind too drunk to register what you’re saying, going in such far detail Price feels his ears burn and hands shake as he runs off into a dirty bathroom stall, splashing water on his face and staring down his reflection,

He thinks about the words you said when you’re cleaning your weapon, skilled fingers easily disarming something that’s presented as untouchable, can’t help but think about them when he sees you pinning soldiers down during sparring sessions, caging men under your weight without actually hurting them, He thinks and thinks and thinks until he breaks his rule again, lays down on his side on his bed, feels the cold sheets sending chilies down his spine only for the sensation to intensify once his chilly fingers touch the cleft of his ass,

Price doesn’t like fingering himself but he still circles his puckered rim with his slicked up fingers, relaxing the muscle just like you’d suggested that one drunken night. Price doesn’t see a point in fingering himself when his cock is hard and weeping between his legs but he still slides the tip of his finger inside the tight ring of muscles, gently grazing the wall of nerves like you’d slurred out that one drunken night. Price knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he continues to work his finger deeper inside of him, eyes fluttering shut and teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, even managing to working himself up to a second one as moans escape him, continues to work himself til there’s no point in stopping despite knowing how wrong it is because he’s teetering closers to the edge before finally cumming all over his hand.

Sexually repressed Price who’s almost broken all of his rules when he starts spending more time with you, beyond ways that are considered normal for a captain and his subordinate. It’s not like you’re forcing your way into his office and it’s not like he’s dragged you to sit next to him yet for whatever reason you’ve decided to do paper work next to him, claiming it’s the most quiet room on base and before he can argue you’ve already put down your pen and papers.

The very first time you do this he’s hyperaware of your presence, wondering if he’s being too obvious with every glance, hands subtly shaking as he adjusts his own papers, wondering if he should say something when the silence goes on for too long, wondering if he’s disturbing you when you’re the one doing work in his office.

Slowly but surely he gets used to your presence, doesn’t glance as much but instead looks at you properly and manages a soft smile even, his hands no longer shake and he can now comfortably offer you his cigar without embarrassing himself, and soon the long pauses of silence turn into comfortable conversations where you do anything but paper work and sure he still blushes when your hands and knees knock together as you’re passing cigars back and forth and he still messes up a sentence or a word when trying to make casual conversation with you but it’s comfortable, that is of course until the universe decides to laugh in his face.

It’s when you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to prep his cigar for him. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything you just thought you should do it for him since he’s kind enough to share them with you but he can’t help but notice the way your fingers gently roll the cigar , the way your lick your lips when trying to cut it precisely the way your half lidded eyes and lazy smile will meet his gaze as you’re playfully blowing the smoke in his face

Once the paper work is finished up and you’re back in your room, he’s still seated in his office chair, his cigar tucked between his fingers and he can’t help but remember the way you’d prepped the cigar, how you’d put the tobacco between your lips, can’t help but remember the playful smile on your face, eyes falling closed as you took a break from the draining paper work and all of sudden he feels himself harden in his pants

His eyes wander to his office door, it’s locked he knows it’s locked, then his fingers wander down to his zipper, undoing his pants and easily wrapping a hand around his dick, and gently pumping it

Thoughts of you whirl around in his head much like the cigar smoke that had whirled in the air and before he knows it he’s cumming all over his fist, the same feeling of shame and guilt bubbling inside of him

Sexually repressed Price who once again finds himself in a dirty bathroom stall, hands shaking and ears burning as he stares at his own reflection.

You’d casually mentioned you were seeing, someone no, casually mentioned that you were seeing a man, there was no shame on your face no hesitation in your tone when you said the words, said it like you said how to please yourself the night you were drunk, but this time around you were stone cold sober, price pukes into the toilet bowl like he’d been the one drinking

Sexually repressed Price who can’t help but think of your attraction towards men, who stares at himself naked in the mirror, keeps wondering if you’d ever want someone like him, who becomes so hyper aware of your existence, who scoops and digs for any sign that you’re attracted to him only to bury it as far as he can into the ground when he finds hints of it

Sexually repressed who has his room next to yours, who can hear whomever you brought home for the night, who can hear its a man, who can’t help but sneak his hand down his pants and imagine it was him pinned on your weight, with you showing him how to take your mouth, how to take your fingers, how to take your cock, what it’s like to have a man in bed

His mind fills with thoughts of you pinning down the man as if he were another soldiers, but those arm would continue to trace down his shoulders chest and abdomen. His mind fills with thoughts of your fingers, who so easily takes apart deadly weapons, taking apart the man in the very same way

Sexually repressed Price who finds himself back at the very same bar, this time with just you alone, drunk out of your minds and talking about something other than cigar liquor or paper work, who gets so drunk you have to sling an arm over his shoulder and carry him to his room and somewhere on the walk back, between the steps the drunken talks the heavy breathes from trying to carry a full grown man he slips up, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes and before you know it the two of you kiss

He feels scared once he realizes what he has done eyes wide and mouth agape, desperately trying to explain himself but you’re ever so calm collected a gentle smile on your face , briefly pecking his lips before pulling away

He’s still drunk as he were moments ago but sober enough to pull you in for another kiss and it’s clumsy teeth clashing, smacking sounds echoing loudly smiling so much you’re practically barely kissing but he loves it so much at one point you fall down onto pavement and stay seated there, maybe it’s the liquor maybe it’s the adrenaline but for the first time he doesn’t feel any of the guilt brewing inside of him as he interlocks your hands and rests his head on your shoulder

The next morning there’s just a tad bit of guilt at the back of his throat but it may very well be the liquor and tobacco smoke, he wakes up next to a glass of water and pain killers for the headache that’s already making itself known

When he arrives to the first meeting that morning he thinks you’ll confront him about that night, pulse roaring in his ears and hand shaking as he takes a seat at the table but nothing of that sort happens, you carry a conversation with soap, you listen through the debriefing and you part ways after the meeting

Later that night he seeks you out on his own, voice soft, gaze avoidant as he leads you to his office under the disguise of doing paper work and of course you take him up on that offer

You barely do paper work instead you share a cigar til you’ve smoked for so long you’ve lost interest in the tobacco leaf and there’s only a silence lingering in the air for a good couple of minutes. Finally he says something apologies tumbling past his lips hands gesturing for what he doesn’t dare say

It’s okay, you explain to him, there’s no need to worry about it, but he won’t stop apologizing til you ask him if you can kiss him again and he halts his movements and falls silent, you can almost hear a pin drop before he nods his head and you lean in and cup his face and gently slot your lips together

You kiss and you kiss and you kiss til you’re caging his body against the sofa like he’s dreamt of so many times, hands racking alongside of his ribs like dissembling one of your weapons and eagerly kissing his lips and he looks so blissful so at ease soft gasps escaping his lips with every kiss as he claws at the sofa under him finally his eyes flutter open hands cupping your cheek and the biggest smile overtakes his face as you kiss again and again and again

And that’s how this thing starts This relationship that really isn’t a relationship where you and him do everything two lovers would do but he’s not yours and you’re not his but you don’t seem to mind despite the thoughts that plague him at night

You’re always so patient so understanding don’t mind sharing kisses and caresses in hiding but it eats at him and eats at him but doesn’t make him any more braver

You deserve something more and when he finally thinks he’s ready to give you that the opportunity is taken away, and he’s sent out on a mission in which he almost doesn’t return

But you don’t give up hope, you sit outside even and wait for him to come home you don’t know how much time has passed but you’ve slept and showered and eaten a handful of times until you finally see a figure making its way towards you

It’s price

It’s your John

Funny how the sky cries just as tears fall down your cheek and within seconds you’re holding him in your embrace and you’re both crying before he finally cups your cheeks and you kiss, under the night sky, in front of the base, in front of the whole world to see

#can we just take a moment that I wrote basically a whole story #through thought bubbles #idk I was going through it today #John price #John price x reader #John price x male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #sub male character #dom male reader #call of duty #⚰️ anon

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urfavlarry · 2 months

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Overlord!Husk x reader

summary: Husk owns the readers souls.. but the reader might just own Husks heart after a particular night at the casino.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, no smut but it is implied that you two did somethig, bad grammar, might be an OOC Husk im not sure? , first time writing so it might be shitty

words: 1.6k

This night at the casino was particularly busy. It was more lively then it has ever been before, infested with over-confident sinners who dare to gamble with the casino owner himself, the most well known gamble Overlord there is in the pride ring; Husker.

You we’re sadly one of the unlucky sinners that tried to gamble with the man, stepping into the casino with too much confidence for your own good. Your luck sadly didn’t come with you into the casino and you faced a bad loss agaisnt the smug Overlord. You were terrified, I mean, who wouldn’t be? Your soul was now owned by an Overlord people have said horrible things about and was rumored to be a sadistic sinner who tortured and killed the souls he owned. Yet after months of him owning your soul, nothing happened. He mostly just kept you beside him claiming you were his “lucky charm”.

You were currently sitting beside Husk who was yet again gambling with another sinner. His tail was wrapped around your leg affectionately as you eyed the game closely. You looked at the sinner and tried reading his expression yet he had a blank look on his face. The game was intense yet one wrong move from them and they could loose their chance at winning. Husk eyed your figure as he noticed the uncertain look on your face and smirked, leaning closer to you and whispers in your ear; “Don’t worry doll I always win~”. He says with a smirk and looks back up at the sinner across from him as he made a move. The sinner made a move and you sighed, another one that has lost against Husk, wow big surprise there. He smirked and the sinner yells profanities not wanting to accept the loss. Husk nods towards the security guards that the casino has and they walk over taking the angered sinner out. His eyes look down at you and his piercing gaze makes you shift in your seat. You sit there in silence for a while until Husk suddenly speaks up; “How about a drink? It’s on me dollface.” You look up at him and nod and he smiles smugly and calls over the waiter and orders himself a whiskey and some wine for you. The waiter scatters to get it, wanting to keep his life. As the waiter sets the drinks down at the table Husks tail trails up and down your leg affectionately and eyes you closely while he downs the shot of whiskey in one go.

You shiver at the touch and look away sipping on your wine, preferring to stay quiet. Husk smirks at this and gently grabs your chin with the tip of his finger and makes you look at him; “Come on darlin’ , you can’t just stay silent on me”. His tone was soft, not the usual smug, over-confident tone he had with his employees or other low life sinners he would gamble with. He raises a brow at you as he waits for you to speak yet he continues to rub his tail against your leg and up to your thighs.

Your face felt hot and you got goosebumps from his touch. You knew it was wrong and that he was just doing it to tease you yet you can’t help but have feelings for the Overlord you once feared. “I think I should go.. You know.. home.” You say trying to get out of this situation, yet Husk continues to smirk. He wraps his tail around your waist and pulls you closer to him leaning in to your ear and whispering; “Oh doll, is my touch making you feel uncomfortable? Or perhaps you’re enjoying this?~” He says with a smirk yet this wasn’t the usual smirk he gave to the sinners he would gamble with, this one seemed a bit more affectionate, or perhaps loving? You weren’t sure but you couldn’t help but blush at his comment. You? Enjoy this? You couldn’t possibly be enjoying affection from an Overlord that literally owns your soul! Or maybe you are?

He continues to tease you with his tail, hoping you would speak again. He couldn’t help but just fall in love with your voice. It was like an angel and he just loved having you around. What irritated him is that you just wouldn’t speak around him; “Come on doll, I don’t bite~”.

You look up at him and open your mouth to speak, yet no words come out. He smirks at this and asks; “How about you tell me about your life when you were alive hm? It’s only fair I get to know my “lucky charm” a little bit more don’t ya think?~”

As you look up at him, you smile softly; “Yeah, I guess why not.” You ramble about your life as a human and you seem to figure out you were alive in the same time as him. You bonded over some bands you both enjoyed and shared a bit of your personal lives to each other. You drink your drinks and hours pass with you two talking like two old ladies. He was listening to you closely as yozu rambled on about a story from when you were alive and your experience from when you were working at your local club as a performer. Husk smiled softly at you, you looked quite happy in this moment and he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

“And then— I was like “get the fuck out before I make you eat the shit you just said to her!” You said as you sipped on your wine, starting to get a bit tipsy. The cat demon was intrigued by how you just opened up to him. He himself was more of a listener then a talker but he listened to every little info you told him and made sure to listen. He gave you a soft smile and drank the little bit of whiskey that was left in the bottle.

As you finish your rambling you feel his tail on your waist as he slowly pulls you into his lap. His voice sounded like honey, it was sweet and it almost sounded sincere as he spoke; “You know doll, i’ve had my eye on you ever since you’ve came into this lovely casino a few months ago~”. He takes a strand of your hair and puts it behind your ear and continues; “I’m glad you stayed by my side love.” He says as his hand gently cups your face. Husk brings his forehead to yours and with a slight smirk places a light kiss on your cheek. His eyes never left yours, his gaze almost piercing through you. His touch was comforting, yet there was still slight fear since this was no man to mess with. But despite all of that, he was all you could think of.

Husk picks you up and takes you to a door that could only be acsessed by employees and Husk himself. He takes you down a long hallway and to a door with a star where his name was carved in gold. He opens the door and he goes to place you down on a sofa; “Be a good doll and wait here, ‘kay?” He says with a smirk and goes out of the room to satan knows where.

He comes back after a few minutes with more wine and whiskey, and a new pair of clothes. He hands you the clothes and points to the bathroom. You stand up and make your way towards the bathroom, stubmling a bit from the alcohol. You hear light jazz playing from the other room and you smile to yourself, changing into the new pair of clothes.

You walk back in the room and you see Husk sitting on the sofa, drinking his whiskey. He looks up at you, his ears perking up slightly as he smirks at you and walks over to you and holds out his hand; “May I have this dance?” He says in a joking tone and you chuckle at the remark; “You may.” You say back and he smirks, putting one arm on your waist and the other grabbing your hand. You both dance to the music and when it finishes you slowly put your head on his chest, breathing a bit heavily since you haven’t really danced like this with anyone ever since your death.

He lifts your head up with the tip of his finger, your faces inches away from each other. Your breath hitches and your body tenses up. Husk leans in closer and you move closer to close the gap between you two.

You felt like your world just fell silent. It was like only you two mattered and nobody else did. You kiss softly, both of you scared to make the other uncomfortable. It was nice, you never felt this way towards anyone. Husk lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, the rest of the night being blur. You wake up, stretching your aching body and look around the room, not recognizing it as your own. The memories slowly come back to you ask your face feels hot; “I just slept with an Overlord..shit,shit,shit.” You panic slightly and sit up, covering yourself with the blankets on the soft bed.

Husk was no where to be found,only a neatly placed letter where his body would be lying. You pick the letter up and unfold it, careful not the rip it. The letter itself was neatly written in black ink. You know the Overlord was capable of doing this, but it surprised you since you have never seen him do this kind of thing.

“Dear Y/N,

I had a wonderful night yesterday and while I won’t be here often because of my business, I wish to take you out some time and I hope to see you again and you know you’re welcome in this room whenever and i’ll be happy to be something more then just “an Overlord that owns your soul” if that’s how you view it right now.

- Yours truly Husker ♡”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #overlord!husk #husk x reader #husker x you #alastor #hazbin hotel season 1 #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin lucifer #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin angel dust #overlords #hazbin hotel rosie

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ohblitz0 · 1 year

Text

sugar - agent whiskey

pairing: jack ‘agent whiskey’ daniels x fem reader

summary: basically porn with a teeny tiny bit of plot. guys this is my first time really writing some smut so lmk what you guys think!

word count: 3.5k

warnings: maybe a bit ooc?? idk. (18+) smut u filthy animals. unprotected p in v. (wrap it before you tap it!) language, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, bondage and I think that's it?

Your life had been pretty mundane before you were lucky enough to get a stable job at a company called Statesman. Statesman was a company that sold the finest whiskey in the United States and just so happened to be an undercover spy organization. Life wasn’t so dull anymore. How you found yourself here was a long story but even if hard to admit– there was some pretty eye candy at your disposal.

Your job wasn’t too tricky. You had plenty of things to do like paperwork, let's see... More paperwork– some combat training which was fun and then dealing with Mr. Agent Whiskey. You’d be lying if you said you hated it but nobody had to know how you truly felt about the matter. You liked to keep that your little secret. After all, Jack didn’t need his ego flattered anymore than it already was. The constant smirking and cockiness that basically evaporated off of him was a lot to handle at first but you got used to it– even enjoyed it. You couldn’t help it after spending so many hours with the man, you eventually developed some affection for him. The constant flirting, the damned pet names, and that handsome face were enough to reel you in. You also admired how hard working he was, all those late nights spent together investigating for missions, you saw how he took pride in his work.

Speaking of late nights at the office.

Your fingers rubbed at your temple trying to soothe the dull ache that would soon become a migraine if you didn’t take a break from reading and sorting out so much paperwork. The sun had set a long time ago but you were still there. Trying to prepare for tomorrow's assignment. You weren’t alone, Jack had stayed behind as well. You could see his office clearly, the light still on, just across from where your desk was on the outside. During regular shift hours, when the building was full of life, you would exchange many words with him but on nights like these both of you were as quiet as a mouse. Sighing, you looked at your now empty coffee cup and contemplated asking Jack if he would like a cup on your way to make yourself one. You felt silly for being shy all of the sudden, you’ve known him for quite a while now but simple acts like this seemed far more intimate?

“You got this,” you murmured quietly as you grabbed your cup and slowly walked towards his office. You could see his shadow sitting on his desk through the privacy-stained glass and your heart skipped a bit. Once you made it to his door you knocked softly before entering.

“Come in.” you heard the muffle of that sweet southern drawl before opening his door and standing on the threshold with a small smile. God– he looked handsome. His cowboy hat was set aside on his desk, hair slightly disheveled but still as handsome as ever.

“Still here, darlin’?” he said with a cat-like grin, a small chuckle following after as he leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eye gave you once over before licking his lips. You nodded with a small laugh, fingers grasping your mug tightly, taking a step inside his office now.

“Was wonderin’ if you’d like a cup as well? I don’t know about you but I needed a pick-me-up.”

He hummed before getting up from his seat, walking around and towards you. He gently grasped your mug from your hands, you could feel his warmth just by the brush of his fingers and it sent a shiver down your spine. As he grabbed the mug he leaned back against his desk before setting it down. There was a small puzzled look on your face, lips slightly parted in loss of words before he filled the silent void for you.

“How about we just take a breather, you and me? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” his voice sounded as gentle as ever, but you felt some tension in the air now. Maybe, it was because you didn’t know if you should sit down or not, you felt glued to your spot.

“Sounds... Sounds fine,” you murmured almost breathlessly, maybe it was the fatigue taking over, your normal bubbly personality dying down and what was left was just bashfulness. You clasped your fingers together, a small smile on your face, your eyes diverting from his for a moment, seeing his whip and lasso still attached to his hip. You wondered why he still had those on, the day was over and this was definitely not a combat situation. You might have been staring too long because the husk of that southern accent awoke you from your thoughts.

“Like what you see, baby?”

A small scoff left your lips, “Cocky as ever aren’t you–” your words were soon caught in your throat as you felt him grasp your wrist and pull you into him. Perfectly fitting between his legs, his free hand grasping your chin gently. You felt heat rise upon your cheeks from this newfound proximity, your feet trying to pull you back but failing due to Jack pulling you right back in.

“What the hell!”

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” His voice was deep and strong. This wasn’t the sweet, playful voice you had been used to. This was different. You felt intimidated and shocked, and you felt that familiar warmth spread inside you. This was so out of the blue, you still couldn't fully register what had happened. Lips parting, words on the tip of your tongue but failing to come out. Of course, Jack was your superior, you were his right hand but the dynamic was always playful, and he was rarely ever stern with you. Your quietness wasn’t appreciated as his hand moved from the gentle grasp of your chin down to the side of your neck, forcefully pulling you closer to him. Your nose was almost touching his as he spoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself, sugar?”

“No– No.” you stammered out weakly, eyes staring into his own, trying to understand where this all came from. “No, what?” His voice was sharp, and mean, and it made you shiver.

“No, sir.”

He hummed in approval, both of his hands moving to grasp both of your hands gently. The contrast between rough and gentle demeanor was driving you insane– you loved it. He stood up off his desk, hands still holding yours as he stared down at you. “Tell me to stop.” He whispered, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort, reluctance, disgust, anything. He was asking for permission and it made you feel safe. He felt safe. Of course, that was the bare minimum but it meant the world to you, especially coming from someone you had admiration for. A smile formed on your face before you spoke.

“It’s okay Jack.” You whispered, body subconsciously leaning towards him more, feeling his warmth and wanting more. You could smell his scent, aroma filled with his cologne, smoke, and whiskey. It was addicting. He nodded, humming in satisfaction before he abruptly swung you around. Now you were in front of his desk and him behind you.

“Hm, I don’t think it’s okay at all, darlin’. Every day I come to work, here you are all dolled up and I’m just dying to have a taste.” His hand pushed at your back, your hands flying forward bracing yourself against the desk. Sliding his hand further down, pressing against your spine making you press your body fully onto the desk. Your cheek flushed against the wood, hands flat on the surface. Your chest heaved, feeling your breath pick up, you could feel yourself already soaking wet for him.

“And these dresses? Oh, babydoll.” He said with a ‘tsk’ hand grasping the ends of your dress and hiking it up. You were definitely glad you wore some cute underwear today. You heard a small groan behind you, trying to tilt your head to see him but failing because of his hand that had trailed down to keep you in place. A whimper slipped past your lips as you felt his hand cup your sex. His thumb pressed against the folds, feeling your arousal coat your underwear. Your thighs closed in on his hand from the blissful feeling. A rough ‘No’ was heard from behind you, his knee pressing between your legs and spreading them apart to gain more access.

His body leaned over your own, his other hand pressed beside your head now bracing himself above you. His fingers moved your panties aside, fingers generously circling around that spot you needed the most attention from. He alternates between a slow pace, to fast, to slow, and it is beginning to drive you insane. Tears brimming your eyes, eyes lashes wet, you're pretty sure your mascara was running down your face. A complete mess under his touch. Then suddenly you felt a finger pressed inside you, filling up that empty ache.

“Mm, please…” you gasped out almost pathetically, already drunk on his simple touches.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. You’ve been so good after all.”

Another finger was added. Then another. Three thick fingers filled you almost too perfectly. There was a slight tinge of pressure but you invited the pain. You couldn’t help but circle your hips around his fingers, adjusting to the feeling of being so full of him. It was just his fingers and it had you unfolding before him already. All you could hear was your heavy panting, small whimpers of pleasure, and his sultry voice in the quiet building. This was your place of work, where you now had a man plunging his fingers inside your pussy at a delicious pace. Now every time you’d walk in for work, you’d remember that feeling and the thought made you even wetter.

You began to feel that pleasurable release build up inside of you, your eyes were beginning to flutter closed before you felt your hair being tugged, craning your face to look upon the man before you.

“Eyes on me, sugar.” His voice rasped, his lips ghosting over your jaw before kissing it gently. Your eyes stayed open after that, trying your best to remain eye contact as he thrust his fingers at a rapid pace now. You mewled at the feeling, that delicious build-up was near and your walls clenched around his fingers tightly. All you could really focus on was the feeling, the wet noises of your arousal, and his deep voice littering you with praise.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Look at you. Such a pretty little mess from just my fingers, huh?”

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar.” And then you felt it hit you, your legs shook and your thighs desperately wanted to press together from the overwhelming feeling but were unable to because of Jack’s knee keeping you spread open for him. His name tumbled from your lips, a small whimper following as your hips circled and rode out your high.

He pulled away slowly, his fingers leaving your wet hole, as he stood up towering over your body. You slowly turned yourself around, knees wobbling, as you leaned up against his desk. Your eyes couldn't help but wander down and see the large bulge straining against his tight denim jeans. You watched as one of his hands, you guessed the one that was just in you– fingers glistening with reminisce of your release, grasped his belt buckle and began to undo it swiftly.

“Hm, I think you're ready for real fun now, darlin’.” He said, a devilish grin gracing his face as he walked back to his desk chair. You noticed he was still holding his belt, his whip still attached to it. You followed suit as you heard him tell you– “Come here.” in a gentle tone. Your legs felt so weak, still shaken from your last orgasm but your arousal was still there. You wanted more– needed more.

He looked undeniably sexy sitting before you. Thick thighs spread wide for you allowing you to stand between them. “Take it off, sweetheart.” He said, eyeing your dress as he went for his tie loosening it. Your hands pulled your dress off, leaving you in your undergarments. Your chest heaved up and down from your soft breaths, fingers grasping the back of your bra as you unclasped it boldly. It was silly how heat filled your cheeks as your chest was now bare before his eyes after what just happened minutes before. Now fully naked before him after pulling your last garment off you stepped closer to Jack. His arm wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle his lap, the roughness of his jeans scraping against your warm skin.

Your eyes stared back at his brown ones, a small smile grazing your lips as your delicate fingers grasped his face. Noses brushed against each other as a small giggle left your lips making a smile etched on his face. Finally, your lips met his soft ones in a gentle kiss. His mustache tickles your upper lip but you didn't mind one bit. Foreheads pressed together as the kiss broke, breathing each other in as you caressed his jaw sweetly.

“To answer your question from earlier– I do like what I see,” you murmured upon his lips, pressing them against his once more for another quick kiss. He chuckled, one that was deep and rumbled in his chest. Biting your lip to contain yet another smile from that sweet sound.

“Such a good girl, huh?” his hand pressing into the small of your back, pushing you closer to his body if it was even possible. Your eyes fell curious on his other hand that still grasped his belt. Holding it in front of you, his other hand now grasping your wrists together, you had an idea where this was going and weren't mad about it one bit. Your heartbeat quickened as he began to wrap the belt around your wrists tightly. “So good.” His murmured praise made your cheeks flush and your cunt drip arousal down your legs. Once the belt was secure, your eyes fell down as you watched him pull his cock free from his jeans.

Fuck. He was huge. How was he even hiding that thing in his pants? It was long and the girth was thick. His hand stroked his length a couple times, thumb grazing his tip that leaked pre-cum. He saw that surprised look on your face, making him grin and a small chuckle leaves his lips. You noticed he held his whip still, now setting it on his desk. “Maybe, we'll use that next time.” You heard him murmur which perked up your ears. Thinking about the next time made your heart flutter.

“You gonna take it like the good girl you are, hm?” So enthralled by him, your parted lips failed to answer him as you watched him begin to push his tip inside you. Suddenly you felt a sting along your ass from him slapping it, the skin beginning to turn red from the impact. A loud gasp left your lips from the action, your bound hands resting along one of his shoulders trying to find purchase.

“Answer when I talk to you, darlin’. Understood?” He said, his voice rough as he plunged the rest of himself inside you.

“Fuck! Yes.. I’ll be good!” You whimpered out from the sudden fullness. It was like the wind got knocked out of you. Your walls clenched around his cock tightly, trying to get used to this new feeling. His hands rested on your hips, rocking them back and forth slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once the small sting began to vanish and was now filled with mostly undying pleasure, your pace began to pick up.

Your bound wrists went over his hand, fingers grasping the nape of his neck as you rutted your hips into him. His lips attacked the side of your neck as you swayed your hips against him, moaning and panting his name like a song.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers still grasped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips helping you keep your steady pace. “Doing so well, taking all of me. Knew you could do it. That sweet cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” And it truly felt like it did, it fit so well inside you, snug, and hit all the right places.

That familiar sound of your wetness and skin connecting on skin filled the room along with heavy breathing and Jack’s foul mouth.

“Yes! Mm.. just for you.” You moaned, hips stuttering as you felt that heat pool into your core, that delicious build-up close once more. Your chin was able to rest on top of his head from this angle and you rutted into him. His face was pressed into your breasts, lips latching onto one of your lips, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. His hands gripped your hips roughly, stalling your movements before he lifted his own and started thrusting into your hole at a killing pace. A scream left your lips, a shriek from the sudden brutal pace as you held onto him. Your walls began to clench around him, your orgasm almost reaching its peak.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“God, yes... Please.”

“I’m close, baby. Come with me, sweetheart–” he grunted as he continued his brutal pace. You whined his name, like a plea, as you pressed yourself back down on him, circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Your walls clenched down on him like a vice grip as you came, mewling in bliss as your head fell against his shoulder. Your thighs shook as your body slumped into his. His hips began to stutter and with a few more hard thrusts his seed filled your swollen hole. His hands guided your hips in a lazy circle against his cock, riding out his high, the actions made you cry out from the sensitivity.

“I know, sugar. Sh, I got ya.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes. His cock is still buried inside you as he unravels your wrists. The skin was red and swollen but you didn’t care. You liked that he marked you in some way. He placed gentle kisses along your face as he moved your hair away from your face.

“Did so well for me. Like you always do,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them with your own in a lazy but sweet kiss. And that phrase had so much meaning to it. You have always been by his side since you got hired here. Every mission, every wound was tended to, the hardships and all that shitty paperwork. You were there. And after tonight, the two of you changed. A fire was ignited and those shied feelings now were in the open.

────────────

Of course, this would happen to you. After last night you went home, of course fully satisfied, and slept like a fucking baby halfway through your important briefing for the next mission that you were supposed to be preparing for the night before. You were in a frantic mess all morning, hurrying to get ready and grab all your shit before bolting out the door and driving to work. Your mind was still in a haze from the night before and your cheeks flushed as you stepped into the building and headed toward the elevator. The top floor is where the magic happens. Literally.

You took a deep breath before exhaling, trying to ease your anxiety from being late and elevate the embarrassment you felt for being late. It wasn’t like you. But of course, one single touch from that goddamn agent that you are spiraling. You decided that you’d put the blame on the handsome man. After all, he did fuck you till you were seeing stars.

As you walked in, a fellow coworker eyed you with a knowing look. ‘You’re in for it’ her face said as he nodded towards the briefing room where now only Jack Daniels himself sat. You sighed, walking in and shutting the door behind you. Setting your folder down on the table you clasped your hands in front of you, finding it hard to look at him at this point. Before you could get a word out, that familiar southern drawl filled the air.

“Tsk, and I thought you were a good girl? Looks like that reward got to your head, sugar.” He chuckled with a shake of his head, grinning at the way your cheeks turned red. A little embarrassed that your coworkers were right outside as he said those words.

“Jack— I'm sorry really—“ you began to say before he shook his head once more with a whistle. His figure stood up from his seat as he began to stalk over you like prey.

“Y’know actions speak louder than words, beautiful. I’m gonna need you to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He finished as he stood in front of you now, toe to toe, a finger grasping your chin. At that moment you truly realized just how different things would be.

#pedro pascal #pedro x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey #kingsmen secret service #kingsmen golden circle #smut #tlou smut #joel miller

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happy74827 · 7 months

Text

Out of Reach

[Rick Grimes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Finding the right moment is a hard thing to do. Especially when it involves the man who's in charge.

WC: 4226

Category: Slight Fluff, Pining

Fair warning, he might be slightly OOC, but honestly, who cares. It's Rick mf Grimes. Just look at his arms, you'll be fine.

『••✎••』

It was a strange feeling, really.

Having him so close and yet so far away.

You could almost taste him on your tongue, feel his skin on your fingertips. The heat of his breath on your neck. His lips ghosting over your own. It was torturous to be so close, but not close enough.

You ached for his touch, longed to run your fingers through his hair. He was so tantalizingly close. His mouth inches from yours, the smell of whiskey and gunpowder clinging to his clothes. You wanted nothing more than for him to take you in his arms and hold you close, but you couldn't bring yourself to say the words. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable or make him run.

You weren't even sure if he wanted you the way you wanted him, but the way he was looking at you… The way he was touching you… The way his lips hovered so close to yours like he wanted to kiss you but couldn't. He had to know how you felt, right? He had to feel the same way you did.

Maybe you were imagining it all; maybe it was just wishful thinking, but it was enough to drive you mad.

He was so close and yet so far away, and you knew that if you didn't do something about it soon, you would lose your mind. Maybe that's what pushed you over the edge, the thought of losing him before you even had a chance to have him. Maybe that's what drove you to finally take matters into your own hands.

"Rick."

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to capture his attention. He looked up from his cup, his blue eyes locking with yours, and suddenly, it felt as if the world had stopped spinning. Time stood still as you looked into each other's eyes, neither of you moving, neither of you breathing.

He had never looked more handsome than he did at that moment. The sunrise danced across his face, casting shadows over his features. His eyes were so bright and blue, you could get lost in them forever. His hair was mussed and disheveled, the way it always was when he'd been out hunting or fighting the dead. You'd never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

"Yeah?" He said, his voice barely a whisper. He was still in a sleep-like state, but he was slowly coming back to himself. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as if to wake himself up, but you could tell he wanted to stay awake. "What's goin' on?"

You weren't sure what to say. Your brain had stopped working the moment you locked eyes with him. All you could think about was him, his smell, his touch, his taste… You were so distracted that you hardly even registered his question. All you could do was stare.

"It's Judith, isn't it? You heard her cryin'?" His voice was groggy, his words slightly slurred, but there was still an undertone of worry in his tone. "I know, it's awful. It's her new thing now. I haven't slept more than an hour at a time for weeks."

Rick's words were muffled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but they were enough to break the spell that had been cast upon you. You blinked rapidly, shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts.

"No, Rick," you said, taking a deep breath before continuing, "it's not Judith. It's you."

He was looking at you with those beautiful eyes, but the longer you looked at him, the less you wanted to look away. It felt like an eternity had passed while the two of you stared at each other, but in reality, it had only been a few minutes.

Rick raised an eyebrow as he continued to stare at you with a confused look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted before he could say a word.

"What do you mean, 'it's him'?" Michonne asked, causing you to jump in your place. You hadn't even noticed her arrival. She must have been standing there for some time now, watching the two of you stare at each other, but you were too busy being captivated by Rick's eyes to even notice her. "What's going on?"

You weren't sure how much Michonne had overheard. Maybe she'd only heard Rick's question, or maybe she'd heard the rest of your conversation. All you knew was that there was no way you were going to confess now. Not in front of Michonne. You would never hear the end of it.

"It's nothing, really," you said, trying to avoid eye contact with the both of them, but you could feel their gazes burning into the back of your head. "I just… never mind."

Rick looked at you curiously as he tried to piece together what you'd been saying, but you didn't want to talk about it anymore. You just wanted to leave, to escape his questioning stare, and maybe Michonne's too. She looked like she had a lot of questions.

"You sure?" Rick asked, but you didn't answer. You simply shook your head, letting him know you weren't going to elaborate on your cryptic words before you turned and left without another word. The embarrassment was written all over your face, but you were just thankful that Rick hadn't pressed the issue.

He looked a bit confused, but he didn't follow you. He knew better than to pry. Besides, it was early, and the last thing he wanted to do was start an argument when he was just trying to have a peaceful moment to collect his thoughts before Judith started up again.

Michonne, on the other hand, was far less concerned about your wellbeing and far more concerned about prying into your private conversation.

"What was that all about?" She asked as she approached Rick, her voice laced with intrigue as she sat down next to him. "Did she say something?"

"Nah," Rick replied, his gaze following you as you walked through the camp, "You didn't give her much of a chance."

Michonne sighed as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She was still clearly intrigued by your behavior, but Rick had already moved on. It seemed like the whole ordeal had gone over his head. Of course, it did.

Rick was always aware of his surroundings. He always had a clear head and was always paying attention. Even when he was asleep, he was still analyzing everything. Yet, he was completely oblivious to your feelings for him. For an ex-sheriff, he sure was stupid when it came to romance.

You'd been infatuated with Rick since you first met him, but at the time you'd only been friends with him and haven't realized it. But lately, these past few months you were finding yourself constantly daydreaming about him.

You always got lost in the little things, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the sound of his laugh, the way he would play with Judith, or the way his lips would quirk up when you teased him… You’d always find yourself staring at him, imagining what it would be like to kiss him, and it was becoming almost too much.

You'd always felt safe in his presence, like nothing could ever hurt you while he was around, but lately, you felt like the closer he got to you the further away he'd go. You loved his company, you craved his presence, but you couldn't help feeling like he was slipping through your fingers. Especially when everyone else in the world seemed to involve themselves in your private conversations.

Rick had told you that you could always talk to him about anything, but sometimes it felt like you couldn't talk to him about anything without someone overhearing. And even when you did have a chance to talk to him, you couldn't seem to find the words. Your mouth would open, but nothing would come out. The only thing you could seem to do was look into his eyes and fall deeper and deeper.

You still found it a miracle that he never called you out on it. You found it hilarious that he always thought he was so smooth, but he had no clue. Ah, the irony of it all.

"Are you sure it was nothing?"

You jumped at the sound of his voice, quickly turning to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pursed as he tried to read your face.

What happened with leaving it alone? Rick always left you alone when you were in one of your moods. He knew you didn't want to talk, so he just left you alone. Why was he trying to get you to talk this time?

"I mean, it sure looked like something to me," he continued, his voice gruff as he scratched at the back of his neck. "Was it, uh, somethin' I did?"

You weren't sure if he knew it or not, but he was beginning to make you feel guilty. You hated that he felt like he needed to apologize for every little thing he did, like he needed to apologize for existing. This man always had his head buried in the sand while lifting others above him.

Honestly, it was exhausting.

Rick looked at you like a wounded puppy dog as he awaited your answer, and you couldn't help but sigh. It was impossible to be angry with him, especially when he was being so sweet, but he needed to stop acting so guilty about everything all the time. He takes the blame for everything.

"No, Rick, it's not you," you assured, smiling weakly at him as you turned around to face him, "It was something I was going to tell you about, but I just…"

"Michonne? It was Michonne, wasn't it?" He said, eyes squinting as he looked at you. "You hesitated to tell me, and you didn't want Michonne to hear, so you just… decided to leave instead?"

Excluding his obliviousness to your emotions, Rick was a very smart man. Even in his sleepy state, he could put two and two together to get the most accurate answer possible. You weren't sure if you liked that or not.

"Yeah," you admitted, shrugging as you looked down at the ground. You had no idea why you were embarrassed. You could tell Rick anything, right? Yet, for some reason, you just felt… weird.

"So…" he began, pausing for a moment to clear his throat, "What was it that you didn't want Michonne listening in?"

Rick watched you expectantly, clearly curious, but you felt like a deer in the headlights. You knew he would never push you if you really didn't want to talk about it, but he was also one of the most curious people you'd ever known. He wouldn't leave it alone.

It was one of his best traits, honestly. He was always trying to figure everything out, to put the puzzle pieces together and see the big picture. You wished he would take his own advice.

"Well?" he said, interrupting your train of thought, "What were you trying to tell me?"

"It was…" you began, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your cheeks flushed, and your hands began to sweat, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him as you spoke, "It was something that's been on my mind a lot lately."

Rick was looking at you expectantly as he awaited your explanation, but you weren't sure how much you wanted to tell him. It was still hard for you to find the words.

Rick sighed as he leaned back, resting his back against the nearest tree. His blue eyes locked with yours as he waited, the light from the sun illuminating him like some sort of mythological deity. He was breathtakingly beautiful.

You wanted to lose yourself in his eyes forever.

"You can tell me anything, you know?" He said, his voice low as he tried to catch your eye, but you refused to look at him. "I promise, I'm not gonna judge you."

"I know."

You were so grateful for him. He always listened, always supported you, always had your back, and you never felt more at ease than when you were with him. He was the reason you were alive, and you knew it. You owed him everything.

"Can you look at me?"

You were too embarrassed to look at him, so you shook your head, refusing to meet his gaze. You knew if you did, you would lose your nerve and run off like you always did. Rick always tried to coax you out of your shell, but you'd never had a problem doing it on your own before.

Rick sighed, but you could tell he wasn't annoyed. He was just tired.

"This really is hard for you. I thought you would've said it by now."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," you replied, finally looking up at him. His hair was tousled and unkempt. The sun was still low in the sky, so his eyes looked like the deepest oceans. You wanted to drown in them. "Maybe it's better if I don't say anything."

Rick didn't reply, but he didn't stop looking at you. His eyes were so gentle, so soft. They were inviting, like the sweetest embrace, and you couldn't help but be lulled in.

"No, it's not." His voice came out like warm silk as if it had been dipped in molasses and was being rolled over your skin. "Trust me, it's not."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned away from him, "I know what you're trying to do, but it's not going to work."

"And what's that?" he asked, but you refused to meet his gaze.

"Acting like you already know what I'm going to say," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"What if I do?"

You shook your head as you tried to avoid eye contact, "No, I don't think you do. I think you're just hoping I'm gonna say it so you don't have to."

Rick let out a deep sigh, but you didn't dare look at him. "And you call me the oblivious one."

You laughed, finally looking at him. "Well, you are."

"Am I? Am I really? Because it sure feels like you're avoiding the question."

"Oh my God, Rick, I'm not avoiding the question." You laughed again as you rolled your eyes.

"Then why won't you answer?" He asked, looking at you expectantly. "Why won't you look at me?"

Rick looked like a child as he stared at you, his lips turned into a pout as he continued to play his part. You couldn't help but laugh again, but this time it was much louder.

"Stop trying to act like you already know—"

"—What? Like your eyes won't wander to my lips every time you're talking to me? Like I don't notice you biting your lip every time I smile at you? Like I don't see the way you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention? Like I don't hear you when you wake up in the middle of the night and have to go take a piss?"

You weren't laughing anymore.

Rick was so close to you that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. He had you cornered, trapped between him and the tree behind you. He was so close that if you leaned forward, you'd fall into his arms. You could feel his hot skin through the thin material of your shirt. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, and your mouth was dry, and you were barely aware of the words you were saying.

"W-What are you talking about?" You stammered as you took a step back. Rick followed your movement, and you nearly stumbled into his chest. He placed his hand on the small of your back to steady you, but it sent tingles down your spine.

"You're a terrible liar and you're bad at hiding your feelings," he said, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "And I've always been good at reading people. Especially you, Miss Know-It-All."

Your heart was beating so hard, you were sure he could feel it pounding against his chest, and it felt like your knees were going to buckle at any second. Rick had backed you into a corner and was inches from your lips, but he had yet to close the gap. He was still waiting for your response.

"This is so embarrassing," you whined as you pushed against his chest, trying to push him away, but he held firm, not moving an inch.

"Why?" he asked, looking down at you with his soft blue eyes, "What are you so embarrassed about?"

"You… You know why," you mumbled, your face growing warm as he continued to look at you.

"Do I? I have to say, I'm a little confused here. Why don't you tell me? Why don't you use your words?"

You couldn't meet his gaze as you continued to play with the hem of your shirt, but Rick wasn't going to let you hide. He placed his hand under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Even after he confessed that he could read you like a book, he still wanted you to use your words. Maybe it was just because he wanted to see you squirm.

Suddenly, your throat allowed you to speak. Argue even,

"You knew this entire time and yet you never said anything? You let me dance around it when all along you knew how I felt. It's… humiliating, really. I can't believe you let me embarrass myself this entire time. You should've stopped me sooner."

Rick was looking at you with those beautiful eyes of his, and you felt like he was peering into your soul. He was trying to find the words to say, trying to find the right thing to say to make you feel better. But what was there to say?

"I thought you weren't going to judge me," you continued, sighing as you looked away from him.

"I'm not judging you," he whispered, leaning down to look at you, "I didn't judge you. Look, what I said moments ago, that was me teasing you. Truthfully, I was just waiting for you to say something. I mean, I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me, and I… I just…" He let out a deep sigh, running his hand through his hair before he began again.

"I wasn't sure how you felt about me. I had a feeling, a feeling I decided to play on, but I wasn't completely sure. I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination." He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts before continuing, "And the last thing I wanted to do was scare you away. I was trying to let you work up the courage. I didn't want to rush you. Like I said, I know how to read people, and I was waiting to hear what you had to say."

He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes with that gorgeous gaze of his. He seemed to be searching for something in your expression, some sort of indication that you wanted him to continue. It made you feel like you were being examined under a microscope.

"I'm not very good at this," he finally said, his voice low as he continued, "The talking part, I mean. I don't do it well. It's the reason why Lori and I had issues in the end. We never had good communication. But I… I didn't want that to happen to us. Not with you. I care too much."

"So, technically, I was right," you said, trying to hide the smirk on your face.

Rick laughed, a deep and throaty laugh, as he shook his head. "Don't be so smug. You got your way."

"Yeah, I did."

Rick had his hand on the back of his neck as he looked at you expectantly, "So, what's your plan now? What are you gonna say? You were so against me acting like I knew what you were going to say that I'm just curious to know what you're going to say now. Do I want to hear it?"

You couldn't help but laugh. Of course, he'd want you to use your words. He'd tease you mercilessly if you tried to go silent again, so you decided to take the initiative and just say it already.

"I concur," you replied, smiling brightly at him. "There. I used words."

Rick chuckled, a soft and quiet sound that sent shivers down your spine. You could get drunk on the sound of his laugh alone. It was so gentle, so genuine. It was as sweet as honey, and you never wanted him to stop laughing. You wanted him to laugh forever.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, rolling his eyes, "I get it. You got what you wanted. Can I ask what you were going to say before this all happened?"

"You said it already," you teased, raising an eyebrow at him, "Better than I could’ve."

Rick sighed as he looked down at you, "I really hate how clever you are sometimes. You always have a comeback. I just… I really want to know."

"Really? You want me to repeat myself? Hear me stutter and sweat all over the place? Just stand there looking like an idiot while you stand there looking all cool and collected?"

He laughed, a deep and throaty sound, as he placed his hand on your back. "Well, you already did that, but if you'd like to try again, I'd love to hear it."

You rolled your eyes, letting out a huff as you looked at him with narrowed eyes. He was standing so close to you, yet so far away. All you could do was stare at him as he looked down at you. It was a lot harder to confess your feelings when his gaze was piercing into your soul.

"Can you move?" You asked, motioning to his arm that was pinned between the two of you. He didn't reply. He simply looked at you for a moment, taking in your features, before moving his hand away. He was being gentle like he was afraid to touch you. His fingertips grazed your skin ever so slightly as he retracted his arm, sending shivers down your spine, and you were overcome with the urge to take his hand and hold it in yours.

"Are you going to make the first move now? Or am I gonna have to do all the work?" He asked, his lips quirking into that mischievous smirk you knew so well.

"Oh, shut it."

"Only if you-"

"Rick! I thought I heard your voice." Gabriel's voice cut through the air like a knife, and it took everything in you not to groan. You hadn't even heard his approach, and he was so loud it almost felt as if you'd been caught doing something you shouldn't. "I'm glad I found you."

"Yeah?" Rick said, clearing his throat as he turned around. He shot you a glance, an amused smile on his face, before turning his attention back to Gabriel. He really did know how you worked, didn't he?

"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while," Gabriel said, looking down at the ground with a sheepish smile on his face. He had been around long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. "There's been something I wanted to discuss with you."

Rick furrowed his brow, glancing at you for a moment before nodding, "Yeah, of course."

"Would it be okay if we spoke in private?"

The shared look between the two of you was enough to burst into laughter, but you managed to bite your tongue. Rick, however, wasn't so lucky. He let out a quiet chuckle as he shook his head, trying to hide his amusement.

"Yeah, of course. No problem," he said, placing his hand on the small of your back as he began to walk away. He shot you another look over his shoulder, that smirk still on his lips. "I'll be back, okay?"

You wanted to tell him that you would be waiting for him, that you wouldn't leave without him, but you couldn't. Gabriel was already shooting you a questioning look from across camp, and you really didn't feel like explaining anything to him. You weren't even sure if you wanted to explain anything to yourself.

So instead, you watched as Rick walked away, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze burned into your skin, and it took everything in you not to run after him. You wanted to tell him that you'd be waiting for him. You wanted to tell him that you weren't going anywhere, but you couldn't find the words. So, you watched as he disappeared into the woods with Gabriel at his side

Once he was gone, you sighed, letting your head fall as you rubbed your temples.

Always so close, but yet so far away.

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grimbanes · 1 year

Text

Goodnight, Sweetheart.

KAZ BREKKER X GN!READER

Summary: Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason and yet he kept finding them to loiter. Every night, without fail. Kaz Brekker also didn't like to be teased.

WC: 2.2k A/N: so this is my first time writing grishverse fanfiction and my head is currently full of mr brekker. this is loosely inspired by im so hot by chrissy. i have no idea for to format these. kaz might be slightly OOC, but he's a secret softie, we all know it. NO BETA, we die like jordie.

“Why would I bother with anybody else?”

It was a rhetorical question spoken by a humoured voice, cadence lilted with confidence, dripping venom and a little bit of sarcasm. It remained that way as the Y/N continued to raise a groomed brow and lean their weight into their hip, long lashes blinking pointedly, briefly, to the patron they were serving. They kept themself poised as if expecting a real answer - one that wouldn’t come, of course.

And Kaz? Kaz was watching the exchange with that one might call amusement. What he would call it though, despite internal disagreement, was annoyance. And maybe that was also true, if the involuntary yet impatient tap of his gloved finger against the bar’s surface was any indication. It wasn’t rare for these exchanges to occur, expected even, as the Crow Club heaved with foreigners, tourists, dock workers and other kinds of uncivilised folk praying to win big.

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. That was the word on the street. That was the reputation he had spent years cultivating. He repeated day in and day out. It hung in his mind with every ledger and document he flicked through, wrote on, and triple-checked. No job too messy, no job too small. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. So then why did Kaz Brekker have a hard time finding a reason to speak to this person that spoke in riddles, threats and simultaneously was the most infectiously pleasant being in the entire room.

The barhand scoffed at something the man had said to them, adjusting their grown out hair in its fancy clip against the back of their skull and rolling up their billowing shirt sleeves. It didn’t take a criminal mastermind like Kaz to figure out the exchange was going to get violent. He merely nursed his whiskey, neat, and watched from above the rim of his glass, finger still tapping against the bar.

“Careful love, you don’t want to bruise that pretty face of yours,” Jesper’s voice spoke as is from nowhere, the sharpshooter sidling up beside the drunken man with noisy footsteps and his usual grin decorating his face in that way that had Kaz grimacing, turning away with a twitch of his eyebrow and sipping his drink. He might be what some might call a friend, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get annoyed by the constant buzz of energy.

“My face is pretty regardless,” That unwavering confidence, tongue in cheek and lips pulling up into a mischievous grin and Kaz’s eyes were on them again, stormy and studying with every movement of their body. From them hopping up on the bar and smoothly twirling themself over it, landing on their boots and bringing a fingerless glove covered hand square into a man’s cheekbone. It only ever took them one hit, the poor receiver crumpling to the floor in a drunken stupor and asking for his mother.

“While that is undoubtedly true, that is actually my job and boss will have me banned from Three Man Bramble for another week,” Jesper’s awkward yet charismatic hand gestures soon followed, ringed finger pointing to the lump of a man lying unconscious beside the barstools. Kaz could almost hear himself saying ‘Jesper, guard the door’ or ‘No games for a month’, but he chose not to, too busy trying to figure out why their stature and usual weekly knockouts had become a thing of routine for him.

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason and yet he came up with many when he had hired Y/N. They’d been dancing for money, a shift of silks and sheer fabrics, eyes hooded. That wasn’t all. As he had taken his time to study them, hands gripped to his cane and jaw tense, he realised the sway of choreography as deliberate as it was captivating. Each sway of material ended up weighted with deft fingers slipping purses from pockets, unchaining pocket watches from chains, swiping earrings from Mercher women’s pierced ears. He’d come back time and time again after noticing.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get them to work the Crow Club, extending a gloved hand and introducing himself. They offered him a flirtatious smile, a flutter of their lashes and had accepted the silent offer, seemingly entertained with the mere existence of Kaz in their space. He didn’t like it, hated it even, but it was magnetic. It became routine to creep from his office, scan the Club’s floor for an hour and then wander his way to the furthest side of the bar and nurse a single whiskey all night. Most of the time he didn’t even finish it. He didn’t want to drink, not really.

He just wanted to learn. To figure out what it was about Y/N that had him irritated, angered, on edge and utterly bewitched.

“Kaz won’t mind me defending myself. Little me all defenceless, what else could I have done?”

It was meant to be teasing, not meant for him to hear, an inside joke. Kaz’s jaw tensed and he felt his teeth grind, setting his glass down on the bartop and feeling his shoulders straighten as he gripped his cane and tapped it loudly on the rickety floorboard below.

“You could start by doing your jobs,” He hissed, gloved hand tensing around the head of his cane and eyes locked on the pair as they turned to him. He didn’t miss the way Jesper’s bare fingers were seeking comfort on his revolvers, or the way Y/N’s lips pulled into what was almost a… a pout? A weird frown?

“Sweetheart, don’t be so mean,” Y/N huffed, arms crossing over their loose cotton blouse, head tilting in that infuriating way that had Kaz frowning, forehead creasing and impatience rising.

Except, he didn’t know what he was impatient for, what was making him wait, but it angered him more than anything ever could. Just what about them made it so simple to get under his skin so easily? He felt his heartbeat fasten uncomfortably in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his body and he felt the heat in his cheeks - either from the drink or irritation nagging in every fibre of his being. His black shirt suddenly felt too hot, his usual vest too tight and he felt his hands tighten around his cane, tapping the crow’s head uncomfortably fast. He had to calm down, it was not the place to lose his temper and start a shouting match on a day where the kruge was flowing into their awaiting coffers.

“Is he blushing?”

Kaz’s eyes snapped to Jesper’s smiling form, meeting sparkling eyes that stared at him with wonderment. He didn’t like it. He raised himself from his seat, noisily banging his cane against the floor and storming past the sharpshooter, mood even more foul than it had been prior. How could it not be? Dirtyhands did not blush like some schoolboy unable to speak a word. Like a Rietveld boy. The thought invaded his mind before he could stop it. He limped his way to the staircase and gripped it tightly with his gloved hand, hoisting his leg up the steps and ignoring the creaking, aching pain starting to crawl its way up his leg.

Kaz Brekker was nobody’s sweetheart.

┕━☽【❖】☾━┙

Y/N sighed as they finished wiping down the surface of the mahogany bar, polishing down and removing every last stain before it could set into the nice wooden surface. Their tired eyes suddenly felt even more tired as they drifted around the empty club, scaling the tables and turned over chairs, over splintering floorboards and stone walls until they fell on a single glass of whiskey left untouched on the edge of the bar. They reached their hand over to clasp it with shaking fingers, disappointment evident in the motion.

He hadn’t visited in a week and they didn’t realise how badly they missed his company.

His watchful eyes, his gloved hands that tightened on his cane as if ready to intervene in an altercation if they needed it, his unwavering stare a storm of angry tidal waves, lashing at them with unspoken words and a bit of something else. They missed the subtle way he would check his pocket watch, deem it good enough and allow them to close early regardless of the booming business. They missed the way he would nurse a single drink all night, never really finishing it and keeping a more relaxed eye on the club’s floor. They missed his presence, no matter how quiet it was, no matter if they didn’t speak. He was like a shadow, always there, just out the corner of their eye if they ever needed them.

Of course, Y/N knew exactly where he was. Holed up in his office, head sunk into numbers and names and bribes and whatever else it was that crime bosses did. He was a busy man, a workaholic but he was also… so much more. A complex puzzle yet the most open book and each page turned by itself, in little ways. They liked to think that the two of them had a somewhat friendship, even though they didn’t talk much. When they did, it was usually Y/N flirting with him and the man ignoring it with a blank stare and a stern ‘get back to work or else you’ll be finding it elsewhere’.

Careful fingertips smoothed over the rim of the glass cradled closely, the urge to befriend the most terrifying man in Ketterdam stronger than ever but they just didn’t quite know how to go about it. Instead, they turned their exhausted gaze to the amber liquid that had been sitting out since opening. Untouched. Ignored. Again. They’d even seen him on the floor that night. With a sigh, they brought the drink to their lips and threw it back, swallowing the burning liquid with a grimace. Y/N really didn’t know how Kaz managed to stomach the awful drink.

“I don’t pay you to drink on the job,” That rasping voice spoke, interrupting their stupor and drawing their eyes from the glass to the staircase that led to the office. And there he stood, or rather leaned, against the metal railing and what could almost be amusement on his handsome face. His lips quirked up in that arrogant way they do when he knows he’s being clever, that twitch in his dark brow when he’s caught somebody cheating at his tables, the confidence in his gait despite the limp.

“My shift is over, actually,” Y/N realised how silly it sounded the moment it left their lips. Of course Kaz knew when their shift was over, he knew what time the Crow Club closed. It was his, of course he knew. The Bastard of the Barrell had clearly cracked what could only be a joke. And it was funny. It was really funny, actually. Hilarious even. They didn’t even realise that they’d started giggling, covering their hand to stifle the laugh and grip onto the bar, refusing to let the laughter fit take over them - had the whiskey gone straight to their head or was it just the sheer exhaustion?

The uneven, out of rhythm walking signalled Kaz’s presence approaching even though everybody knew he could be just as stealthy as the Wraith if he really wanted to be. Rather than sliding into his usual seat, he chose to place himself right in front of Y/N and rest an arm on the edge of the freshly clean bar. The first thing Y/N noticed was his lack of coat and hat, still just in his usual daily attire that signified he was not yet leaving for the Slat.

��You stole my drink,” He stated, fingers tapping gloved hands against the wood in the way he so often did. This time it was slower, offbeat, contemplative. Y/N raised a brow to his statement, glass set aside and lips pulling into a line.

“I pay for it, so it doesn’t matter if I drink it,” Y/N smoothly replied. Truthfully, they did not know what to do. What to say. They did not really speak much, and when they did it was polite but short, to the point and didn’t require much thinking. Much feeling.

Kaz’s inquisitive eyebrow raised and it was then Y/N took in his features. He looked tired, more than usual. The purple that blossomed beneath his forget-me-not irises was deeper, blooming in violet and standing out against the sheer alabaster of his pale skin. Brekker’s hair remained dishevelled, stray ink tumbling over his forehead where it had slipped from the usual slickback he wore. Had he not been sleeping well?

“I’ll have it paid back to you by the month’s end. Go home,” His voice rumbled, finger ceasing its tapping. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, offering to pay back the tab. Not offering, stating that he was going to.

“It’s fine, keep the money,” Y/N offered a small smile, shifting to remove the apron from around their waist and fold it. They tucked it into a little cubby beneath the bar, shutting it with a click and straightening their back. They must be hallucinating but the joy that caused their heart rate to stutter increase felt too real to be a hallucination. Saints, they needed to sleep.

“Month’s end.” Kaz didn’t look away from his cane as he spoke, tapping it against the floor and looking completely and utterly endearing to Y/N in the Club’s warm lighting. Suddenly, he looked his age.

“Goodnight, Mister Brekker.”

“Goodnight… Sweetheart.”

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagine

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whiskeysmulti · 11 months

Text

Indie, private and selective, but unaffiliated multimuse, multifandom RP account, featuring muses from One Piece, Banana Fish, Naruto and Bleach. 30+ mun, several years experience. Lit, multi para, para and one liner. Please give this a like, reblog, or a follow if interested.

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Banner cred: @strebcr

#whiskey speaks; ooc #self promo #one piece rp promo #naruto rp promo #bleach rp promo #banana fish rp promo #indie rp

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blondeboyfriend · 10 months

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is HEAVILY inspired by the business card scene in American Psycho. (I wrote this back in 2021 for a collab.) [ SYNOPSIS ] Zeke's perceived inadequacy leads him to a situation that only exacerbates his insecurities. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.2k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU (duh), not a big fan of the term "crack fic" but that's basically what this is, Zeke's only a few years older than the rest of the Warriors, sharing nudes without consent, smutty stuff is mentioned, alcohol, marijuana, body horror (Zeke describes scaphism in great detail), Zeke's probably ooc because I basically turned him into Patrick Bateman.

Zeke’s standing in the back of the bar, cornered by his friends. His life is in shambles because you dragged him to a birthday party in the nicest part of the city on the very night he decided to make a major life choice. Tonight was the night he said fuck it and shaved off his beard.

“You look like a baby,” Porco laughs.

“Like an angular baby, like a baby with good cheekbones,” Bertholdt, the birthday boy, mutters to himself.

“Can I touch your face?”

Zeke clenches his jaw and goes to speak only to be interrupted by Reiner's tender touch.

“Wow, that is soft. You got really soft skin. What do you use?”

Zeke smacks Reiner's hand away and uses the sleeve of his flannel to wipe away his residual touch. The meathead’s compliment was sufficient; there was no need to make physical contact.

“Sisley’s Black Rose Skin Infusion Cream.” Zeke sighs, accepting Reiner’s interpersonal failure. “How drunk are you?”

Reiner grins.

“I don’t know but your girlfriend’s the one that’s making them,” Reiner says before dissolving into the crowd.

Zeke questions whether or not Reiner was actually there in the first place. He could have merely been an anxiety induced hallucination.

“I have to… go,” Zeke abruptly blurts out to no one in particular as he pushes himself through his group of friends.

Free from their grasp he kicks himself for being so inarticulate in such a genuine way. Usually his nerves were hidden by a veneer of stoicism, but now he wonders if maybe it was just the beard.

The bar is packed and Zeke stands on his tippy toes trying to see your little head bobbing around somewhere. So many people look like you from this distance. He takes off his glasses and squints but it does little to assist him. He nearly drops them as he maneuvers them back onto his face. Eventually he hears you cackling close by. He sighs heavily once he spots you behind the bar. You look angelic, a beacon of light in a sea of complete fucking bullshit. You look him in the eyes and smile, relief washing over him.

“Don’t you have to have a license or something to be back there?” he asks you, hiding his anxiety behind a facade of smugness.

You shrug and lean over the bar to kiss his forehead.

“They ain’t kicked me out yet so… I guess not.”

Zeke sits down on a bar stool and holds his head in his hands. He remembers that this is a private party and the likelihood of anyone actually giving a shit is slim to none.

“Reiner called you my girlfriend.”

“Ew, why?”

Zeke peers up from his hands, the rest of his face still obscured. Anything to hide his lack of facial hair.

“Because we showed up together and he probably heard us fucking in the bathroom earlier. Can you hold these for me? I almost dropped them.”

Zeke hands you his glasses and you tuck them away in your purse.You pat his head and ruffle his wavy blonde hair. He relishes in the gentle touch of your hand.

“Reiner’s an idiot. Want a shot?”

“Two. You know what I like.”

You grab a bottle of whiskey and overpour two shots. You pass one to him and go grab the other for yourself. Zeke grabs your wrist and stares up at you.

“They’re both for me.”

You shake your head and pour yourself one. Zeke downs the whiskey, savoring the smokey taste it leaves behind on his tongue. Just as he goes to ask you about how your day was Marcel fucking Galliard taps him on the shoulder.

“Buddy, it’s been too long. How ya been?”

Marcel is hammered and he lifts Zeke off the stool into a bear hug. Zeke feels the whiskey crawl up his throat, the most painful tickle he’s been subjected to.

“Ni—nice to see you. It has been awhile,” he chokes out.

Marcel loosens his grip and takes a seat next to Zeke. He looks impeccable, his hair perfectly quaffed. His skin was practically glowing. How could such a drunk guy look so put together and handsome?

“It has been a fucking while!” Marcel exclaims once more.

Zeke scratches his ear and then subtly waves you off. You slowly walk away backwards from the men, bumping into the actual bartender.

“Colt! Coltie Boy!... Damn, dude, you alright? You look tired.”

Marcel has mistaken Zeke for Colt Grice, one of the other tall blonde guys in their friend group. It seems logical because Colt works at the same middle school as Zeke doing the same exact thing he does, teaching language arts to seventh graders. Though Zeke thinks he’s smarter and more relatable to his students. It certainly doesn’t help that he hasn’t seen Marcel in years, who likely has forgotten what he looks like.

“Well I haven’t been getting much sleep. You know me, burning the midnight oil and all.”

Marcel laughs way too hard at Zeke’s joke which wasn’t even a joke in the first place.

He grabs Zeke’s shoulder and continues. “Great, that’s great. Such a hard worker. So uh, shit what’s her name… That girl you’ve been seeing.”

“Pieck.”

Marcel snaps his fingers and grabs Zeke’s shoulder again.

“Yeah, yeah, how’s Pieck? She’s a keeper. A great girl.”

“She’s good, couldn’t be happier with her. We’re thinking about getting a dog.”

“Wow, that’s—that’s great. You deserve it, man. You’re a good guy. Not like that dork Zach Yeager.”

“His name is Zeke, Marcel.”

“Who cares? You,” Marcel pokes Zeke in the chest, just barely missing his nipple, “you’re a good guy. You got your life together. Fuck Zach, man.”

Zeke nods in agreement.

“He’s a fucking dick, you know? Sure, yeah, I haven’t seen that weirdo in years, but I don’t even have to see him to know he’s—” Marcel pauses to burp into his hand. “excuse me. To know he’s a piece of shit.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been a fan either.”

“Fucking wears dumb glasses, like dude get a normal pair.”

“I know, right?”

“Grandpas wear those glasses, Coltie. Grand. Pas.”

Just as Zeke feels like he’s going to vomit into his own lap Bertholdt pops up from behind Marcel, eyes full of concern.

“Hey Marcel, Porco’s out back and he’s not looking too good.”

Bertholdt’s a dirty liar and everyone except Marcel knows it. Porco’s tolerance is god-like, an unwavering cognitive marvel. Marcel sighs and stands up, stumbling out the door to the patio, Bertholdt trailing behind. He hits his forehead on the door frame on his way out.

“Are you gonna be okay?” you quietly ask, eating a maraschino cherry you stole from someone’s drink.

Zeke smiles and shakes his head.

“It could’ve been wor—”

“Oh shit! What happened? You kinda look like dad!”

Eren is standing in the doorway with a pair of wayfarers on. He definitely stole them from someone; there was no way he’d drop money on Ray Bans. He comes over and hugs Zeke from behind. Zeke appreciates Eren’s affection but it does nothing to soothe verbal assault he received from Marcel.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know that was fucked up,” Eren coos. “But I am right. I can’t help that.”

It doesn’t matter if Eren is right or not. Zeke’s ego is crushed beyond repair. You shoo his brother away and drag Zeke into one of the booths, sitting across the table from him. He frowns.

“Can you sit next to me?”

The alcohol is taking hold of him. He needs attention and affection, but not too much. Anything beyond you sitting beside him, holding him close, is simply unbearable. You switch sides and scoot close to him.

Zeke notices you staring at him. Your gaze is kind, kinder than a shithead like him deserves. He can’t remember a time in his life where he felt more insecure and unworthy of you. When your soft hand caresses his bare face he is slightly startled. However it’s a welcome gesture.

“I think you look good,” you purr.

He slinks down into his seat, bathing in your praise.

“I’m a little jealous of your jawline too.”

Zeke blushes.

“I look that good, huh?”

“No, you look like shit. I was lying the whole time. You’re the ugliest guy here.”

“Stop you’re going to make me fall in love with y—”

“Colt! The fuck?! What about Pieck, man?!”

You both turn to see a very drunk, very disheveled Marcel being carried out of the bar by Porco and Colt. Colt turns around, looking fresh as daisy, not a single line or wrinkle on his face; his skin smoother than a baby’s ass. He flashes an apologetic grin and lets go of Marcel, walking towards the two of you with utmost confidence. Porco crashes into a table because Marcel might as well be the most cumbersome person on the planet at this moment.

“This is probably the worst time to ask, but do you think I could use your study guides for my class tomorrow? I didn’t have time to throw anything together because Pieck and I were settling into our new apartment.”

Zeke wants to die right then and there. Zeke, who lives in a studio apartment with a chinchilla named Robert. Zeke, who will never own any form of home in his life. Zeke, who’s skincare routine will never make up for years of smoking and sitting in the sun.

“Wow! That’s so cool, Colt!” you pipe up, wrapping an arm around Zeke. He leans into you, desperately trying to disappear. He wants you to make the situation go away, to wrap it up with a little bow and toss it out a window.

“It’s a lot of work getting all that furniture into the penthouse that’s for sure.”

“I can imagine,” you reply eagerly, making up for Zeke’s awkwardness.

Colt just stands there grinning.

The lull in the conversation is too much for Zeke bear. He realizes he needs to open his mouth and speak.

“Uh, you can use my study guides.”

“Oh thank you! You’re a lifesaver.” Colt turns around to see the nuclear disaster that is the Galliard brothers. “I hate to cut this short, but I have to take care of that,” he laughs. “Let’s do dinner sometime!”

Once Colt is out of earshot Zeke falls to pieces.

“Let’s do an execution sometime, Colt. Just boil me alive, send me to the boats.”

Zeke notices the quizzical look you give him and tosses his head back and groans.

“It’s a form of execution where you trap someone between two boats—row boats not ocean liners.” He knows you all too well, your perception prone to the absurd. “And you force feed them milk and honey, and you cover them with it too. And then you leave them to fester and rot in the sun like in a lake or a river.” He coughs. “Death doesn’t come quickly obviously. Flies lay eggs in your wounds, feasting upon your infected flesh. Mosquitos rise from the putrid water and buzz around you. Your body decays right before your eyes.”

“Uh,” is all you can manage to spit out.

He can’t hide his disappointment, and avoids your gaze.

“I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

“What?” he asks.

“Wanna see some dick pics?”

Zeke’s attention is thoroughly piqued. He clears his throat, trying to mask his blatant curiosity.

“Sure. Whose do you have?”

You smirk. “I got everyone.”

“Do you go around showing these to everyone?”

Zeke panics remembering the series of dick pics he sent you one night after smoking two blunts by himself. So many different angles and his face was definitely in a few of them.

“Oh god no, I don’t show them to anyone.”

He bathes in a sea of relief.

“Okay good. Let me see.”

You pull out your phone and go to your hidden photos. A barrage of dicks show up on the screen all in various states of turgidity.

‘Wait, I want to see mine first.”

“Fine. Weirdo.”

You scroll down to find a picture of Zeke’s hard cock. A solid six inches. Circumcised. A few veins running along the length of it, more on the green side. It’s framed by curly, untrimmed, flaxen pubic hair which suddenly Zeke is weirdly self conscious about. He can’t help but wonder if Colt has untamed pubes.

“Should I wax?”

You look at him like he has three heads.

“What? No. I like them even if they get caught in my teeth occasionally.”

You pinch his cheek and Zeke lets out a little “phew”. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you told him otherwise. The idea of ripping out his body hair terrifies him. Shaving’s bad enough, the resulting emotional anguish a burden he struggles to bear. He might die if he added physical pain into the mix.

“I appreciate the angles,” you say. “It’s artistic. The lighting hits the cum dripping off the tip perfectly.”

Zeke basks in the light of your praise.

“Nice and erect, not floppy and flaccid. It’s one of my favorites.”

He shivers at the thought of sending you a photo of his limp dick. He’s a grower, not a shower, a fact that left him feeling inadequate if he thought too hard about it.

It was seemingly unfounded. You never expressed any displeasure when you’d pull his cock out of his pants and see it in its flaccid state. No hint of judgment when you got down on your knees and sucked him off. Just pure, unadulterated joy.

“Gimme a name.”

“Let’s see the birthday boy.”

You pull up a poorly lit photo of an incredibly erect cock. No veins, very smooth with an even coloring. Zeke notices he’s uncircumcised and tries to convince himself that his dick being circumcised makes him a better person than Bertholdt.

“It’s very long,” you say, zooming in on the dick and scrolling down. “Not super thick though.”

“I’m not impressed.”

Zeke takes pride in his cock being thicker than Bertholdt’s.

“Can I ask why you have a pic of his dick?”

“He was drunk and meant to send it to Annie.”

“And you kept it?”

“Hey, whoa. I did ask.”

Zeke gives you a quizzical look. He is having trouble discerning the situation at hand and it makes him feel like he’s dying. You pat his back.

“I was like, ‘Bertl, can I keep this?’ And he was like, ‘If you feel so compelled.’ And let me tell you... I was compelled.”

“Next one,” Zeke says, glaring at the dick on your phone screen.

“Okay,” you flip through your photos, “Porco.”

You hold up your phone, showing Zeke a still image of Porco furiously masturbating on the bathroom floor.

“D—did he set up a timer on his phone?”

“Yeah, grandpa, welcome to the 21st century. We’re happy to have you.”

“You’re two years younger than me, grandma.”

You stick your tongue out at him and zoom in on Porco’s cock. His cock curves upward quite a bit, veiny but not nearly as veiny as Zeke’s. The tip is a pearlescent pink. Porco managed to catch himself in the middle of his orgasm, cum spurting upward like a geyser.

“What do you think?” you ask him.

“Cum looks a little thin, watery even.”

Zeke wants to tack on that his cum is more robust, but he realizes how pathetic it is to brag about.

“I like it when it’s thicker. Like if someone is going to come on me I wanna feel it splatter on my skin, you know?”

Zeke doesn’t know.

“Yeah I get that,” he lies.

“I appreciate the action of the shot, but it’s too busy. I see a bottle of Acqua di Gio on his bathroom counter. His plunger is in the background. I don’t like that his bathroom rug is orange.”

Zeke could hear you talk shit about Porco’s nudes all day.

“You lookin’ at Porco’s nudes?”

Reiner slides into the other side of the booth. He’s pretty drunk, skin a little pink, but he seems mostly there.

“Has everyone seen them?” Zeke asks in a panic.

“No. I overheard you guys talking,” he chastises. “You guys are really harsh critics.”

“I have standards, Reiner.”

“If people can be film critics, why not dick critics?” Zeke asks, genuinely wanting an answer.

“Hey!” You smack Reiner’s arm. “Can I show Zeke your dick?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t. I’m not an artist, but I’ve been told I have an eye for color,” he brags.

Zeke rolls his eyes. “Hush. Let’s see the dick.”

You pull up Reiner’s dick on your phone. It’s a lower body shot, just his torso and cock in view, it’s standing straight up. His body is framed by his earth toned bedding that makes his skin look divine. He’s statuesque, like a Greek god.

“Check out my cum gutters.”

“Reiner,” you exclaim. “Gross!”

“So Zeke, what do you think?” Reiner asks eagerly.

“Impressive,” Zeke chokes out. “Very nice.”

Zeke’s ready to move on. Reiner’s color coordinating bodybuilder nudes make him want to wear clothes for the rest of his life. He pictures himself dressed in his pajamas, standing in the middle of his shower, arms crossed, looking absolutely miserable.

“Hm, I think that’s all I have. Wait. Oh my god, I forgot I have your brother’s.”

Zeke is conflicted. On one hand he feels protective of Eren and wants to destroy your phone, preserving Eren’s honor. But on the other he wants to rip Eren’s head off for sending you a picture of his dick.

“I have one!” Reiner pipes up.

“Whose?” Zeke and you ask in unison.

“Colt’s.”

You start to shake your head. “No, no more dick pics. We’re done for the night.”

“No,” Zeke says, clenching his jaw. “Let’s see Colt Grice’s cock.”

You toss your head back and stare at the ceiling, preparing yourself for Zeke’s reaction. Reiner winces, realizing his mistake. But still he pulls out his phone.

“Why do you have a picture of his dick?” you ask.

“He needed a creative consultant,” he replies plainly.

Reiner goes through his phone and breathes heavily. He looks up from his phone, his lips a flat line, and he holds up Colt’s dick pic.

It’s a full body shot of Colt. His cock is thick and long, the same look and size as Zeke’s. He grabs Reiner’s phone and stares at Colt’s throbbing erection. It’s taken in his bathroom and unlike Porco's, his counter is organized, only a small bottle of expensive hand soap lurking in the corner. His dick is the perfect shade of pink, the head of his cock picturesque. It’s smooth, but not in a creepy way. It’s like it was sculpted by Rodin, rock hard and tremendous.

“Oh my god. His pubes are so trim,” Zeke mutters.

His hand shakes and he drops the phone. Reiner grabs it, slips it into his pocket, and looks away from Zeke. The three of you sit in silence, the only sounds coming from the party.

“Is something wrong, Zeke?” you ask. “You’re sweating.”

Zeke doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. This isn’t something that can be buffed away with pity. The wounds inflicted are too deep. The pain radiating through his being will never cease. There will be no relief from his festering inadequacy. Happiness and hope for the future are rendered foreign concepts.

The man is irreparably damaged.

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #aot smut #snk smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #zeke aot smut #.fics #.aot #.zeke #.reiner #.colt #x reader #reader insert

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paul-j-matthews · 10 days

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OOC - Extra Info

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As an autistic person myself I will be portraying Paul with my own characteristics in that regard.

I'm going with the idea that Paul is Richie Lipschitz's uncle that had to take Richie in after his parents died.

Paul is bicurious and a very clueless ally. Paul has a pet cat named Whiskers.

Paul and Gary Goldstein are estranged brothers.

Paul speaks fluent French but with an American accent.

Paul was an improv kid in highschool because it was one of the only extracurriculars offered at Sycamore, he could only stand it because there was no singing involved.

Paul has many dark secrets.

Paul pretends to like whiskey, his favorite drink is actually a glass of milk (even in terms of alcohol).

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Feel free to ask Paul any questions and RP along with me. I WILL NOT do NSFW in a sexual way, though things like suicide and murder etc. are fine. OCs are fine as long as it does not involve a romance as I am not comfortable doing romance storylines with characters outside of canon.

#the guy who didn't like musicals #starkid #paul matthews #paul-j-matthews #roleplay #nerdy prudes must die #black friday #nightmare time

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waterhound-whiskey · 3 months

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Hey. The name's Uisce. Pronounced Whiskey.

Uh... I'm an artist, I guess.

Welcome.

Run by @silviaflowers alongside her OTHER 5 blogs (@toughandfearless-ed , @blackjack-bullets , @paseidons-trident , @greenheartsforall , and @gossamerecho)

Tags: #uisce speaks for normal posts #chain uisce for reblog chains #ooc for ooc posts #uisce answers for asks

#uisce speaks #underblog💛

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wikiangela-fanfics · 2 years

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I wish I could save you (I wish I could tell you)

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Words: 4.7k

Description: Dean mourns Cas, and regrets not telling him how he feels. So, as soon as they get him back, he decides to be more honest than he's ever been.

Ao3

Haven't written them for a year and missed it too much haha might be ooc and parts are forced but idc, I like it hah

***

Dean’s sitting at the table in the bunker library, a half-empty bottle of whiskey and an unused glass next to him, and a knife in hand. He’s in the process of carving Castiel’s name into the table next to their initials, anger bubbling up under his skin, together with growing despair. He’s always so angry, and now he’s not sure where he should direct it. He’s mad at the Empty for taking Cas, at Cas for making stupid deals and not telling him about it, at Chuck for creating this whole mess… But that anger is almost overcome by the crushing feelings of hopelessness and defeat. They won, and yet he feels defeated. They might have saved the world, but the truth is, he lost his.

So, he sits there and drinks. He just wants to stop feeling this way, even just for a minute. He feels on the verge of either crying or punching something, which would preferably result in getting hurt too. He wants to do something. To try to feel something other than his heart breaking a little more every time he recalls his last moments with Cas. Every time he recalls being so stunned and shocked he actually couldn’t tell Cas-

“Hey, you okay?” he hears Sam’s tentative voice from the entrance.

“Peachy.” he grunts, taking a long sip of whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Do you- Do you wanna talk?” Sam cautiously approaches the table.

“Do I ever?” Dean finally looks at his brother with a raised eyebrow, but then immediately regrets it, seeing the concern on his face. Concern for Dean. He doesn’t want Sam to worry about him, he’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, but he can deal with it on his own, like always.

The world almost ended, again, and Sam is worried about Dean. Again. Why is it always him? Why can’t some other bastard suffer for once? What did he do to deserve this? No, seriously, he, Sam and Cas have saved the world so many times now. Why are they destined to suffer? Chuck isn’t even around anymore, and this shitshow continues. Dean genuinely doesn’t know what to do with his life now. He can’t imagine a future without Cas, he never thought he’d have to. Despite the fights and falling-outs, he honestly thought, or even expected, that they’d be together forever, as best friends or… or what he didn’t dare hope for, but as it happens, could’ve had if he wasn’t so stupid.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice gets through his thoughts, and he realizes Sam’s been talking for a while, and a single tear is falling down Dean’s face now. He angrily wipes it away, going back to carving. Sam sits down next to him with a heavy sigh. “I know-” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“You don’t.”

“I know it’s about Cas. Obviously.” Sam finishes anyway, and Dean’s hand stills at hearing the name, the tip of the knife hovering over the first line of the letter E. “You know, you can talk to me about him if you want. I know it’s not-” he pauses abruptly, clears his throat, and instead says: “Uh, I miss him too. Will you ever tell me about what actually happened to him?”

“What’s there to say?” Dean asks dryly, taking another sip. “I told you, he summoned the Empty and saved me.”

“Yeah, but-” Sam starts, but Dean interrupts, anger seeping into his voice:

“He made a fucking deal with the fucking Empty. To save Jack.”

“What do you mean?” Sam’s almost whispering, as if he thinks speaking up will spook Dean or something, and he won’t be willing to share anymore. He’s not about to talk about his feelings, though. He missed his chance on that. But he thinks that Sam deserves to know how Cas- how he- how it happened. Cas was Sam’s best friend, too, and they haven’t had the chance to talk about it yet.

“Jack’s life for his. Basically, he, uh, he’s truly happy or some shit, and the Empty comes to collect. More or less.” he tries to sound neutral, but his breath catches in his throat, and he takes another long sip from the bottle, then goes back to carving the name, but despite himself, his mouth keeps moving, his voice quiet. “We were cornered, Billie was just outside the door, about to kill us- I knew I’d have to watch him die again-” his voice breaks and he clears his throat, not even having the energy to feel embarrassed about that. His brother saw him at his lowest multiple times, he doesn’t have to try to hide shit from him or feel embarrassed – or so he’s trying to convince himself. “And then he- well, I guess he had his ‘moment of true happiness’, because the Empty came and took him and Billie, which you already knew.” he shakes his head. “The bastard saved my life and I couldn’t even- Fuck, man.” he takes a deep breath. Thinking about it non-stop is enough to hurt like hell, but talking about it is just too much for him to handle. “Okay, chick-flick moment over. I’m done. Now you know what happened and you can stop bothering me.”

“No, wait, but what did he do? How did he summon the Empty? How did he get happy in those circumstances?” damn Sam and his curiosity.

“He- It doesn’t matter. It’s between me and him. Not like I can do anything about it now.” he chuckles bitterly, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles went white. The blade gleams welcomingly in the faint light of the library lamps, tempting him to wrap his hand around it or run his fingers over it. To draw blood, to feel that pleasant sharp sting. He knows, he remembers, that physical pain could distract him from feeling like his heart was cut out of his chest and left a gaping hole there, even just for a second. “I’m such a stupid asshole.” he adds through gritted teeth.

“Can’t argue with that.” Sam tries for a joke. Dean isn’t kidding, though, and he’s really not in the mood.

“Yeah.” he clears his throat again. “Are we done with this conversation now?” he asks a bit rudely, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck. He wants to finish carving, adding Jack’s name there, too – he’s not gone gone, but he’s a part of his family – and finish his whiskey, maybe get another bottle to truly numb himself, and then go to bed and quietly sob into his pillow or pass out from drinking too much. And tomorrow, when he’s a bit more sober, he’ll take Baby and drive somewhere he can let it all out, whether by crying or screaming or punching trees until his knuckles bleed. Maybe he needs a hunt, just to channel all that anger into something useful.

“Fine. You mind if I stay here, though? Do some research?” Sam asks, still with that tentativeness in his voice. Dean has no idea what the hell he needs to research right now, it’s not like they have anything to take care of, and it’s pretty late, but he grunts something that’s supposed to mean ‘sure, whatever.’

Then, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of pages turning, books being gently put on the table or back on the shelves, glass clinking against the table, and a knife scraping against wood.

Once both Jack’s and Cas’ names are carved and the bottle is empty, Dean leaves the library, going straight for his room, stopping for another bottle in the kitchen, and leaving Sam still rummaging through books. Dean drinks some more and quietly cries until he passes out.

***

When Dean wakes up, it’s way too early, his head is pounding, and his bladder is way too full after a bottle and a half of alcohol. He goes to the bathroom, catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and immediately turns away, not wanting to see how shitty he looks beyond the red and puffy eyes, which clearly indicate he’s been crying. Then he makes his way towards the kitchen for a bottle of beer – in theory he knows it’s fucked up and really unhealthy that this is his first thought in the morning, but that’s just how he functions, and he’s mourning now, and he really doesn’t give a fuck.

Passing the library he sees Sam still at the table, asleep with his head on the pages of a book opened in front of him. He walks up to him and takes the book out from under his head quickly and swiftly, which causes Sam’s head to bump against the table, and he wakes up.

“You spent the whole night here?” Dean asks, while Sam quietly complains about his forehead hurting now, rubbing the spot where it hit the table. “What are you researching?”

“I’m trying to find a way to bring Cas back.” Sam admits, and Dean freezes, feeling his expression harden. He doesn’t want to start hoping only to be met with disappointment and even more heartache later.

“Don’t.” Dean just grunts, turning to walk away. He can’t get his hopes up. He can’t. If there’s a possibility, he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t think he’d be able to live if they found a way and then it wouldn’t work out. He’s pretty sure that would send him over the edge – though he is pretty much there already. He’s just one more disappointment away from snapping and really doing something enormously idiotic and reckless.

“Dean.” Sam calls after him. “I know you miss him, and I miss him too. I know it’s a little different for you, though.” he starts and Dean stops in his tracks. What the hell? “And we lost him so many times before, and I saw what that did to you every time. I can’t- I don’t want to see you go through this again. You’re my brother and I want you to be happy. I found my person I can be happy with, and-”

“What do you mean different for me?” Dean interrupts. He knows what Sam meant. He doesn’t want to admit it to his brother, though. He knows each time Cas died they both mourned, but it always hit him harder. He knows why. He’s known for years. He didn’t know Sam knows, though. He keeps standing with his back towards Sam, not able to face him, especially if they were having this conversation.

“You know.” Sam sighs. “Dean, you’re over forty years old. Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped pretending? It’s just me, and I’m not judging you. I’d never. Not about this. And if you weren’t so stubborn and- and repressed, everything could look different.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he insists stubbornly, probably only proving Sam’s point.

Sam’s voice is quiet and reassuring, though a bit exasperated, when he says: “I know that you see Cas as- as more than just a best friend. I see how you feel about him. And he clearly felt the same.” at that, Dean turns around to look at Sam with surprise. Dean knows that now, after Cas explicitly told him, only to fucking- to die after. How did Sam notice it? Any of it? Was Dean just that much in denial about his own feelings he couldn’t see what was right in front of him? “I’m not dumb. Or blind. I’ve been right there through it all. All twelve years of it. I saw the way you looked at each other, the way you were with each other… how hard it was for you especially whenever we lost him. I know.” he emphasizes.

“What’s up with having a fucking feelings conversation now?” Dean asks after a beat, finally moving to leave the library. He feels uncomfortable and vulnerable, and if he doesn’t get out of there right this second, he might just crumble right in front of Sam. And he only allows for that to happen when there’s no one around.

Dean goes to the kitchen and as he takes the first sip of cold beer, Sam enters.

“Seriously? At this hour?” Sam chastises. He rarely comments on Dean’s drinking, usually settling for only disapproving glances, because whenever he did say something in the past, Dean would either brush him off or get angry. This is none of Sam’s business, and Dean doesn’t care. He stopped caring a long time ago, and now that Cas is gone… He feels almost numb, if it wasn’t for the anger.

“Whatever, dude.” Dean shrugs, downing half the bottle. Sam just sighs heavily, the concern and pity fucking oozing out of his expression. Dean knows Sam just wants to help, he’s his brother, he’s worried, just like Dean gets worried about him all the time… but he swears, if he sees that fucking concerned expression for five more minutes, he will punch Sam. Which is why he probably should just go, instead of letting the anger win. He needs to let it out, but not like this.

“Listen, we can find a way-”

“No, you listen.” he lets a bit of the anger seep into his voice and he hates it. “I lost him.” his voice is shaking and he hates that even more. They both lost Cas, but at this point there’s no reason to pretend Dean feels the same way Sam does. “I always lose him. He either gets killed or leaves, and I’m- I can’t do it again.” he’s shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling. Not in front of Sam. He hates breaking down in front of anyone, especially his younger brother. He’s supposed to be the strong one, the one to take care of Sammy, not the other way around.

“But he always comes back, too. He came back from the Empty once, remember?” Sam says carefully, and that tone of voice, as if he expects Dean to snap, makes him almost do just that, as he briefly considers throwing the bottle against the wall. He doesn’t, though. He takes a few deep breaths and drinks some more, before putting the bottle on the counter next to him. Lately he feels like he’s fighting with every breath not to let the anger out, as if there’s some anger-demon inside of him trying to break free. Well, that’s how he’s felt for years, it just intensified even more now. “There’s always hope.”

“Sam.” Dean looks at his brother with a pained expression, not able to hide behind the mask just yet, it’s way too early in the morning and he’s too hurt, so he allows himself a few seconds of vulnerability. He’ll beat himself up over it later. “If I let myself hope and it doesn’t work out, I won’t survive this.” his voice is quiet, barely a whisper, because he really doesn’t want to admit it. He’s just too overwhelmed by everything, all they went through, all the emotions – the anger, grief, heartbreak, the hopeless love… adding to this the support from his brother, who’s clearly fucking okay with Dean being- with him having feelings for their male – well, an angel, but in a man’s body – best friend… It’s all too much. And he’s too tired to keep hiding it. He’s gone years pretending to be okay, putting on this mask. What’s even the point if he just loses the one thing, the one person, who could make him truly happy? Which is kind of ironic that he was this for Cas, too. Only it got Cas dead, and Dean has to live with it. He doesn’t know how long he can go on, though. Just living from hunt to hunt, no bigger purpose, nothing to distract himself with, with the biggest Big Bad defeated. He’s not even sure he wants to keep hunting, but he needs something to occupy himself and to get that anger out. “I love him, Sammy.” he finally admits, his voice breaking, and a tear escaping and running down his cheek. Sam’s whole expression softens.

“I know. We’ll get him back. I won’t rest until we get him back. And when we do, the first thing you’re gonna do is tell him how you feel. Yeah?” he smiles, as if there’s any reason for smiling yet. As if they’re going to succeed.

“Sure.” Dean wipes the tears and puts on a neutral expression. That was too much vulnerability for a whole year, he feels uncomfortable now. He doesn’t let himself believe in what Sam’s saying, but he figures he might humor him for a minute until they inevitably find out there’s literally nothing they can do. It’s something to occupy his mind and time, at least. A way to keep him from spiraling and completely crumbling. “Where do we start?”

***

As it turns out, Sam has no idea where to start, because there’s not much lore about the Empty. But he’s determined, and Dean hates to admit that some little spark of hope awakens in him, as much as he tries to stifle it. Realistically he knows it’s an impossible task. They go through book after book, anything they can find about cosmic entities, which is obviously not a lot. Not many beings come back from the Empty to report. He knows they for sure will not be able to find any information or get Cas back on their own. That is why they also continuously pray to Jack to get him down here and help, but so far there’s been radio silence. Which Dean really understands. Jack’s God now, the capital G God, which still sounds insane. He has things to take care of, Heaven to rebuild, and millions of people praying to him all the time. Dean’s not sure how that whole praying thing works, but maybe it’s difficult to pick their prayers out of so many.

Eventually he does show up, though, and he promises to bring Cas back. Jack wants that, too, obviously. He says he would never just let Cas stay where he is now. That’s when Dean allows himself to feel hopeful. Jack is God, if anyone can manage this, it’s him. Dean still goes through every book, finds any witch or demon or angel on earth that can tell him anything. He’s frantic and single-minded, focused only on one thing – getting Cas back. He throws himself into it completely and almost obsessively.

Jack is gone for a few days, then weeks, and Dean is restless and needs to keep working. He knows he should wait for Jack, because what else is he supposed to do? There’s really nothing else left. But he can’t just sit and do nothing. He can’t give up. Not when he just started to have hope. He knows that if he stops trying to find a way to get Cas back even for a second, even if there’s literally nothing on earth that can help, he will totally break down and this time he won’t be able to get out of it.

Sam is there through it all, together with Eileen. They both seem worried about him, but also determined to help. They do research, they drive across the country, fly across the world to find some crumbs of information that, unsurprisingly, lead them nowhere.

Until finally Jack comes back after months, and brings Cas with him. He’s just standing there, in the bunker, in the library, right in front of Dean, looking as gorgeous as always, in his fucking trenchcoat, with a nervous smile on his face, looking straight into Dean’s eyes. Dean is frozen. He can vaguely hear Jack explain what exactly happened and why it took so long, but all Dean can think is ‘Cas. Cas is back. Cas is here. Cas. Cas. Cas.'

Dean hears Sam quietly usher Eileen and Jack out of the room, leaving Dean and Cas there, staring at each other. Dean can’t quite believe this is real. Finally, Cas speaks up:

“Hello, Dean.” is all he says, but it’s enough to make Dean crumble. He feels tears start falling down his cheeks, his feet take him to Cas, his hands grabbing the coat and bringing him closer, into a hug, then wrapping his arms around him. Dean suddenly feels like can breathe easily now, as if for the last few months he had this weight of grief and loss that suffocated him, and now it’s released. Cas hugs him back, and they just hold each other, and Dean is overcome with a flood of relief and so much love. His tears fall onto Cas’ trenchcoat, while his hands grip him tightly, still trying to make sure he’s really there. He finally says something, but it’s just Cas’ name, over and over, whispering, his voice shaking. He feels like he’s outside his body, it all seems surreal and unlike him. He just can’t keep it in. If it was anyone else, he’d be embarrassed, crying and showing so much emotion, but it’s Cas. It’s his Cas. Dean was sure he lost him for good this time, and now he’s back. After all, he always is, isn’t he?

“I can’t believe you’re here.” he whispers finally, pulling away only enough to look at Cas. He can look at him, because he’s back, he’s right here, and Dean’s looking at him and touching him and he can-

“Me neither.” Cas wipes Dean’s cheeks gently, their faces really close together. “Jack really struggled with this, dealing with the Empty is very hard and very annoying. But apparently being God has its perks.” he smiles.

“Cas.” Dean clears his throat, puts his palms on the sides of Cas’ face and looks him straight in the eyes. He has shit to say, and he needs to do it before he chickens out, like he always does. Not this time, though. He doesn’t exactly have a way with words, but he’ll try his best. He needs to say it all. His heart hammering against his chest loudly. He’s been through a lot and yet he’s never been more nervous than now. “I didn’t get to say it before, when- because you took me by surprise. So.” he takes a shaky breath, preparing to lay his heart on his sleeve for the first time ever. Cas’ hopeful eyes give him courage to do so. “I love you too, Cas. You can have me. You can have all of me, if you still want that. You-” His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, as he bears his soul. It’s a bit easier than he expected, given his inability to express his feelings, but it’s Cas. And Dean figures he’s made everything too difficult by now, he’ll say what he needs to say to assure Cas how he feels, to assure him that his feelings are reciprocated, he’d do anything. No matter how strange it feels coming out of his mouth. For once, he’ll be one hundred percent honest. “You’re my happiness. My everything. And without you, I don’t feel alive. I need you to stay, and never leave me again. If you’ll have me.” he finishes, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice, his eyes miraculously stay on Cas’ during the whole speech. Cas is smiling widely now.

“Dean.” Cas brings his hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. Dean loves to hear his name out of Cas’ mouth again. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Yeah?” Dean can’t contain a wide, genuine smile that spreads on his face, and it feels so unfamiliar, he doesn’t remember the last time he smiled like that. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Cas look this happy, either. The self-hating part of Dean wants to interject and ask Cas if he’s sure he wants him, if he’s sure he loves all of him – the good, the bad and the ugly. But he doesn’t, because he knows. He still can’t believe it and it will take him a while, maybe even his whole life, but at least he knows now.

“Of course. I told you already. I just never imagined that you’d want me, too.” he adds quietly, his thumb caresses Dean’s cheek gently, and Dean feels something like sparks of electricity where their skin touches.

“Well, I do. I want to-” he pauses, gathering his courage to say one more, unusual for him, cliche thing he means with all his heart. “I want to spend forever with you. Thoughts?” he adds with a teasing smile.

“I think that would be great. I’m in.” Cas grins.

“Good.” Dean leans in, looking into Cas’ eyes questioningly. Cas’ smile widens even more, if that’s even possible. Dean bumps his nose with his own playfully, before finally, finally, after years of repressing those feelings and actively forcing himself not to even acknowledge them, he finally kisses Cas. And it’s the sweetest, most tender kiss of Dean’s life. It starts out chaste, just lips against lips, before Cas opens his mouth, deepening it. It turned more intense and passionate, but still lazy and unrushed. They take their time just savoring this moment and learning each other this new way. They have all the time in the world now.

It takes a while before Dean pulls away, solely because he just wants to see Cas’ face again, look into those gorgeous eyes he thought he’d never see again. Cas beams at him, and Dean can’t decide what he wants more – to keep looking at him or to kiss him and never stop.

“You came back to me.” he finally whispers.

“Yeah. And I plan to stay right here forever.” Cas tightens his grip where his arms are wrapped around Dean now.

“Here here?” Dean asks, though he’s pretty sure he knows what Cas means. “Because I kinda thought we could maybe leave the bunker. Go somewhere nice and quiet and- I don’t know. It’s stupid.” he cuts off and feels his face heat up. Cas just came back, they don’t have to have this conversation now.

“It’s not stupid.” Cas brings his hand back to Dean’s face, and Dean melts against the touch. “Tell me.”

“I think I wanna stop hunting.” he admits it out loud for the first time. “Sammy and Eileen got it. I’ve been doing this my whole life. I’m fucking tired, man. I just- I just want a simple, normal, boring life. With you.” he says and sees that amazing smile on Cas’ face yet again. This is the first day he’s ever seen this smile, and it keeps showing up, and Dean wants to do everything for it to never disappear. “You game?”

“Yes.” Cas grins. “I would love nothing more than to live a normal, boring life with you.”

“Let’s do it then.” Dean says and he can’t believe how content and relieved he feels at the mere thought of that. Of just settling down, like he always wanted. Best of all, it’ll be with the man he loves the most in this world. He’s filled with so much love for him, he can’t help but say it again: “I love you. It took me way too long to finally say it, but now I’ll keep saying it, over and over, until you get sick of it.” he smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you, Dean.” Cas chuckles lightly. “And I’ll never get sick of hearing you say it.”

“Good.” he just says again, looking into his eyes for one more moment, before kissing him again. He knows they’re gonna have to join the rest of their family soon, talk about everything, they probably want to welcome Cas back, too. But for now Dean wants to be selfish and keep Cas to himself, in his arms, for a little while longer.

It’s crazy to think that just a few months ago, he quite literally didn’t have the will to live anymore, and now, in this moment, he feels more alive than he has in years. He finally feels like his life is properly starting now, on his terms, the way he wants and chooses, with the person he loves. With Cas. Dean can’t wait for forever with him.

Tag list: (tagging everyone from 50 ways and people who said they wanted to be tagged when I post destiel fics on my last 50 ways post a year ago lol sorry if you don't wanna be tagged, just tell me haha)

@proudcasgirl @im-sam-fucking-winchester @nguyenxtrang @manifestingdestiel @enchantinghairdoherringwombat @somethings-are-meant-tobe @cherry-cheshire

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