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d-z20 · 3 days ago

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Where Our Hands Linger (implied smut)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You trust your girlfriends. You love them. But self-doubt is a cruel thing, and tonight, it’s louder than their gentle reassurances. Lucky for you, Agatha and Rio have never been the kind to let doubts linger for long.

-OR-

You think you’re not hot enough for Agatha and Rio. Agatha and Rio think that’s the dumbest thing they’ve ever heard. So, naturally, they spend the night proving you wrong—with their hands, their mouths, and an ungodly amount of praise.

Warnings: non-detailed smut, Rio tops, you bottom, and Agatha holds you, threesome, implied fingering and oral sex/cunnilingus, body insecurity (non-specific), fluff, comfort

Words: 2.1k

A/N: Chucks this at you all and runs away Requested fic :P

Masterlist

The candlelight flickered lazily, casting golden ripples across the room as you sat between them—Agatha at your back, Rio lounging in front of you, legs draped over yours in a lazy, comfortable sprawl. The weight of their presence was grounding, but tonight, your mind was loud, filling your chest with a dull, aching self-consciousness that you couldn't quite shake.

You had been quiet all evening, lost in your own thoughts, tugging at the fabric of your shirt, shifting under their eyes whenever they lingered too long. It wasn't that you didn't trust them—you did, deeply. But trust didn't silence the nagging voice in your head, the one that whispered cruel things about your body, about why they would ever want you when they were both so… so them.

Agatha, with her wicked, knowing smirk and voice like velvet-dipped honey, her hands always teasing but never unkind. And Rio, all sharp smiles and quiet intensity, the kind of woman who could make the air shift when she walked into a room.

And then there was you.

"You're thinking too much again, sweetheart," Agatha spoke against your temple before kissing there, her voice low and knowing. Then she nuzzled into your hair with a content sigh, as if just having you this close was enough to bring her peace. "You always do this," she murmured playfully, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your hip. "Getting lost in that pretty little head of yours instead of letting us love you."

Rio hummed, her fingers toying with yours before slipping them between her own, squeezing gently. "Maybe we should keep you right here, between us, forever," she teased, voice light but full of something deeper.

Agatha’s arms wrapped around your waist, her fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt, but she didn’t push. She never did. "What’s going on up there, hmm?"

You hesitated, eyes flicking to Rio, who was watching you with that soft, lidded gaze of hers, thumb brushing over your knuckles. The way they looked at you—it was never cruel, nor mocking. Only ever full of warmth. But still, you felt yourself shrink at their attention.

"I just…" You exhaled, shoulders curling inward. "I don’t get it."

"Don’t get what, cariño?" Rio’s voice was smooth.

"Why you…why you want me," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "You both look like that and I’m just me. You could have anyone you want and yet it’s me who’s sat here. I don’t—" Your throat tightened. "I just don’t see what you see."

For a moment, there was only quiet. Then, warmth—Agatha's lips pressing against the shell of your ear, Rio’s shifting closer, her fingers sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward hers.

"You really think we’d let just anyone have us?" Agatha hummed, her voice curling around you like silk. "Mmm, no, sweetheart. We’re very particular," she continued, tilting her head so her nose brushed against your jaw. "And you? You’re our favourite. Our best girl."

Rio chuckled, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "Our only girl."

You swallowed, your heart thudding as they looked at you like you were something precious, something worth worshipping.

Agatha’s hands, always so confident, slid lower, stroking your sides through the fabric. "You think we love you despite this?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your shoulder. "No, no, darling. We love you because of this. Every inch of you."

Rio hummed in agreement, her lips finding your wrist, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses there, her fingers mapping out every dip and curve. “Every part of you,” she whispered against your pulse, “is ours to love.”

Agatha’s grip on you tightened slightly, and she pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your neck. “And we do love you, sweetheart, so much."

The words sank into your skin like honey, and then your breath hitched as Agatha then tugged you back against her, her hands splaying over your stomach, her voice a decadent whisper against your ear.

"We’ll only go as far as you want," she promised, nipping lightly at your earlobe, sending shivers through you. She smirked against your skin. "Oh? Sensitive there, are we?"

You barely had time to react before she lightly dug her fingers into your side, making you jolt.

"Agatha!" you yelped, trying to squirm away.

Rio chuckled, clearly amused. "Oh, this is good information."

"No, no, no—" you started, but it was too late—Rio added her own teasing touches, sending you into a fit of laughter as you weakly tried to escape.

"Mercy! Mercy!" you gasped between giggles.

Agatha finally relented, laughing as she kissed your temple. "Alright, alright. But now we know your weakness, sweetheart."

"I hate you both," you grumbled, but the warmth in your voice betrayed you.

Agatha chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as your laughter faded into breathless little huffs. "See? That’s the sound we love."

Rio grinned devilishly, but her teasing expression softened as she cupped your cheek, brushing her thumb along your skin. "You look so beautiful when you’re happy." Her voice was quieter now, more certain.

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in her gaze, the way her touch lingered—gentle and reverent. The warmth in your chest spread, curling around the last of your doubts.

And then slowly, so slowly, Rio’s lips trailed down your arm, her dark eyes full of something deep and consuming. "Let us love you the way you deserve," she breathed, her fingers slipping under the bottom of your shirt.

You shivered, exhaling shakily, a slow warmth blooming in your chest. You weren’t sure you would ever see what they did. But you could feel it. In the way they touched you, in the way they looked at you, and in the way they spoke to you—all like you were something to be cherished.

The air between you was thick with warmth, charged with something more than desire—something softer, something that made your breath catch and your chest ache. Agatha’s hands never left you, slow and deliberate as they traced over the fabric of your shirt, each pass of her fingers like a silent promise: You are safe. You are adored.

Rio’s lips had found the curve of your shoulder, her breath featherlight as she whispered against your skin. "Let us take care of you, cariño." The heat of her palm pressing against your bare stomach. "Let us show you how beautiful you are."

Your instincts told you to shy away, to cover yourself, to hide—but their touch, their words, they anchored you. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as Agatha gently pulled you to lie back all the way against her, her warmth seeping into you.

"I—" Your voice was barely a whisper, uncertainty still curling in your chest like a stubborn vine.

"Shhh, sweetheart." Agatha pressed a kiss behind your ear, her voice like silk and smoke. "You don’t have to do anything. Just let us worship you."

Her fingers slid down, slow, teasing, coaxing. Rio's lips followed, kissing a path from your shoulder to your collarbone, pausing only to glance up at you, checking, always checking.

"You still with us?" she asked, her voice smooth as honey.

You nodded, breathless.

Rio smiled, a slow, knowing thing, before dipping her head lower, her mouth ghosting over the sensitive skin just above your sternum. A whimper slipped from your lips before you could catch it, and Agatha chuckled softly behind you.

"That’s our beautiful girl," she murmured, her hands spreading over your stomach, her fingers kneading into the flesh there, not shying away from any part of you. She wanted you to feel her touch, to know that every part of you deserved reverence. "So, so gorgeous."

You wanted to argue, to protest, to list every reason why that couldn’t be true—but how could you, when they were both here, touching you like you were something sacred?

Agatha’s lips found the pulse at your neck, her tongue flicking over sensitive skin until you gasped. At the same time, Rio’s hands found your thighs, feeling the skin there with slow, purposeful strokes. "We’ll only go as far as you want," she reminded you, her voice softer now, her dark eyes searching yours.

"Promise?" you whispered.

"Cross my heart," Rio murmured, her fingers brushing the hem of your shirt but not lifting it yet. "But I do want to see you. Let me?"

You hesitated for a second, but Agatha’s arms tightened around you, her lips pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your shoulder. "No rush, sweetheart," she soothed. "We could stay like this all night if that’s what you want."

The warmth in their voices, the sheer patience in their touch, melted something inside you. Slowly, you nodded.

Rio smiled, but she didn’t rush. Instead, she guided your hands to the fabric of your own shirt, letting you lift it at your own pace. Her fingers barely skimmed your skin, just offering warmth, not pressure.

The fabric fell away, and for a heartbeat, you felt exposed. Vulnerable. The old insecurities rose, clawing at your ribs—until Agatha’s hands smoothed over your sides, and Rio leaned back to admire you, her gaze molten, full of something so adoring it nearly broke you.

"Look at you," she breathed, her fingertips tracing over the swell of your breasts, not groping—just feeling, as if memorising you. "So damn perfect."

"Divine," Agatha agreed, her teeth grazing your earlobe. "And ours."

The last word sent a delicious shiver down your spine, pooling low in your stomach, replacing doubt with something new—need.

"It’s okay, sweetheart," Agatha purred, her fingers tracing lower, teasing over the waistband of your shorts. "We’ll take care of you."

And oh, did they.

Their hands and mouths moved in tandem—Agatha’s grip firm and knowing as she held you against her, whispering praises into your ear, Rio’s lips and fingers working their own brand of magic, drawing out every shiver, every gasp, every plea.

You felt it, that slow, curling build of pleasure overtaking you, drowning out everything else—every insecurity, every self-doubt. There was only this—only them, only the way they made you feel like you were something precious, something worthy of adoration.

It wasn’t just pleasure; it was reverence. It was love.

And when you finally tipped over the edge into your orgasm, Rio’s name tangled with Agatha’s on your lips, their hands holding you steady as you trembled, gasping, falling apart beneath their touch.

They didn’t let you go, not for a second.

Agatha held you through it, muttering soft praises into your hair, while Rio kissed every inch of bare skin she could reach, tracing idle patterns over your thighs, grounding you.

"You still with us, darling?" Agatha susurrated, tilting your face toward hers.

You nodded weakly, still floating, your body warm and boneless. "Yeah…"

Rio chuckled, brushing your hair back with surprising tenderness. "That’s our girl."

They eased you back into bed, draping a blanket over your cooling skin. Agatha pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead while Rio curled up beside you, a protective arm wrapping around your waist.

"Still think we don’t want you?" Agatha asked, voice teasing but gentle.

She shook her head, as if scandalised. "You know what? From now on, I’m making it my personal mission to tell you every single ridiculous thing I love about you, every day."

Rio chuckled. "Here we go."

"First of all," Agatha continued dramatically, gesturing like she was making an important speech, "your smile? It could start wars. Your laugh? Cures diseases. The way you cuddle into me when you're sleepy? Unfairly adorable. Your—"

"Agatha," you groaned, covering your face, your cheeks burning.

"No, no, I’m on a roll here!" she insisted, prying your hands away with a smirk. "Your eyes? Literal galaxies. Your—"

Rio smirked, interrupting. "Oh, now you’ve done it. She’s going to monologue for hours."

"Okay, okay," you sighed, your body sinking into the comfort of their embrace. "Maybe I believe you a little more now…"

Rio chuckled, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because we’re going to spend every day proving it to you."

Agatha hummed, tucking the blankets more securely around you before trailing her fingers lazily over your ribs, up and down in soft, absentminded patterns. "And tomorrow morning?" she added. "I’m making breakfast. Heart-shaped pancakes, just to be extra obnoxious about how much we love you."

"You’re impossible," you grumbled, smiling despite yourself.

"You love it," Agatha countered, grinning against your shoulder.

And as Rio pressed one last, lingering kiss to your knuckles, fingers tangled with yours, you finally let it happen; you let yourself feel loved.

Entirely and completely loved.

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Currently this is a tumblr special because I can't be asked to post to AO3 rn, so enjoy it :D

also I had NO clue what to use as the image for this I was like "uhhhhhhhhh how to convey this but I need kathryn/aubrey to feature maybe" so we ended up with that gif

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taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

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actyl · 3 days ago

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cw. they make out.

her face was still flushed from the argument. it wasn’t the first one—god knew it wouldn’t be the last one—but for some reason, this one had just gone too far.

heat roared beneath her skin in a way that made her head pound. sweat clung to her hairline, beads threatening to slide down the back of her neck. she could feel it steaming off her skin as her anger burned hotter, searing through her veins, setting in her bones.

her scowl twisted deeper, muscles pulling taut until her jaw ached and cheeks throbbed from the strain. every breath felt like stroking a first: sharp, shallow, scalding. her chest heaved as she took in breath after breath, but it still wasn’t enough to cool the fury coiled inside her, something nearly suffocating.

“you should go,” her voice was low and tight.

“you’re not serious.” he scoffed, taking a step back in disbelief. “you’re gonna throw me out just ‘cause i proved you were wrong?”

“this isn’t about that.” she shot back, arms crossed in defense, completely guarded.

“it’s about you being completely impossible. always picking a fight, always pushing like you’re trying to pick a fight.”

“well,” his voice was smooth, the smile on his face dangerous. “you just make it so easy—”

“god, you’re so insufferable.”

“i know.” yet his smile, sharp and triumphant, never disappeared. she was used to his cocky demeanor, the teasing that lived permanently on his lips. but his eyes were different—something darker, something warmer—something that made her stomach churn. every hair on her body stood up, like she knew danger was coming.

“you just love to show up like you know everything—like you’re just waiting for me to fail so you can swoop in and prove you’re better.” she snapped.

he chuckled, an exhale more than a sound, stepping closer.

“please,” his voice was sharp. “i don’t need to wait for you to fail, you make that part pretty easy all on your own.”

she clenched her fists at her side, breaths shallow as hos words stung deeper than she’d like to admit. his smirk only added salt to her wounds, the way he stood, so effortlessly self-assured. she was used to this, his arrogance, but she’d never seen him push her buttons so purposefully.

“is that what you think?” her voice trembled with a mix of frustration, irritation, and something she couldn’t quite place.

his head tilted, smirk growing wider as he took a step closer. he could feel the heat radiating off her, her skin just a few inches away from his own. there was something in the way he looked at her, a knowing glint in his eyes that made her blood run hot in ways she’s always hated.

“i don’t think you want me to show you up,” he clarified, voice barely above a whisper. “but we both know you wouldn’t mind if i did.”

her eyes narrowed. “you love to think you’re better than me, don’t you? like you’ve got everything figured out, like you’ve got nothing better to do than look down on me.”

he met her glare, unflinching, the tension between them palpable. for a moment, they just stood there, her words hanging heavy between them before he broke the silence.

“it is pretty amusing seeing you like this. but don’t lie—deep down, you like this. you like the challenge.”

his gaze was intense, she took a step back and he took another step forward, maintaining the distance. “we’ve been at each other’s throats for so long, you’d probably miss it if i wasn’t here.”

her breath caught in her throat, the air felt thick, a knife wouldn’t be enough to cut the tension between the two. heat built up with every word; she wanted to scream at him, but he was right. she would miss it, and some part deep inside her knew she would miss him, as insufferable as he was.

“we’re supposed to hate each other.”

“supposed to.” she was suddenly aware of how close he was, too close. his presence felt overwhelming, and she struggled to maintain her composure even as her pulse quickened. his cologne tickled her nose, clinging to the air—something sharp and clean. it made her head spin.

she wanted to step back, to create some distance, but her feet felt rooted to the floor. the way he looked at her, the maddening intensity of his gaze made the world disappear.

“i don’t think either of us know what we’re supposed to do anymore,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet challenge daring her to admit what they both knew.

she swallowed hard, she could hear her heartbeat as her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. she opened her mouth to say something, anything—to push him away, but any words she could muster up caught in her throat.

instead, she stood there, staring at him, her mind a chaotic swirl of what they were, and what they weren’t supposed to be.

she didn’t expect it—didn’t know how it happened—but suddenly, his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. it was messy and heated and too much; it was all teeth and heat, clashing of frustrated breaths, as if neither of them could hold back any longer. she gasped against him, the intensity of the kiss stealing the air from her lungs, making her knees weak beneath her.

his hands were on her, one on her waist, one threading through her hair, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. the way he kissed her felt desperate, almost angry—as if he was trying to prove something to her, or perhaps to himself.

it was like fighting and surrender all at once—like neither of them could decide if they were given in or trying to win.

their lips found a steady rhythm, molding into each other. his grip on her waist was firm, fingers digging deep enough to leave her dizzy, like he was grounding her and setting her on fire all at once. her hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into her mouth—a low sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

his hand slid from her waist to her back, she was sure if they pressed against each other any closer they’d become one. it felt as if they couldn’t get enough of each other—like every sharp word, every bitter stare they’d shared had all been building to this.

“i hate you.” she gasped between kisses, breathless and burning.

“i know,” he murmured, “i hate you, too.”

“you’re impossible.”

she could feel his grin against her lips as he kissed her again—deeper, slower kiss, like he knew exactly how much it would unravel her.

“you love it.”

mikey sano, takashi mitsuya, shinichiro sano, KISAKI TETTA, rindou haitani, RAN HAITANI / yuji terushima, TETSURO KUROO, tooru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi, akaashi keiji / EDWARD ELRIC, roy mustang / tomura shigaraki, TOUYA TODOROKI, KEIGO TAKAMI / JASON TODD, tim drake, damian wayne, DICK GRAYSON / shin asakura, YOICHI NAGUMO / EREN YAEGER, jean kirstien, armin arlert

actyl -> do not copy or repost my works

#[ written — multi ]#ran haitani x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #touya todoroki x reader #keigo takami x reader #damian wayne #yoichi nagumo x reader #sakamoto days x reader #dcu x reader #haikyuu x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren yaeger x reader #mha x reader

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serensho · 12 hours ago

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｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

wings

in which mark meets someone with viltrumite-like powers — and has an angel’s wings?

invincible x fem!reader

warnings: world-building, smut fluff, not canon-compliant at all

inspired by kali uchis’s angel & igual que un angel

wc: 2800

“We don’t know exactly where she came from… but we do know she fell from an extreme height in the sky, or even space, down to Earth.”

Mark examines the hospital bed as he glances at Cecil with suspicion. He crosses his arms, puffing his chest out as he peers closer through the glass. It’s unlike Cecil to joke, much less about something as ridiculous as this.

“Do you realize what you’re telling me right now? Some girl with angel wings fell out of the sky suddenly? Is this some sort of prank?”

Cecil sighs, looking at his feet as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“No, Mark. She fell in Chicago, and left a huge mess for us to clean up. But after everything that’s happened, who knows maybe she was sent here for a reason. God knows that the city needs something to believe in after all the destruction.”

Mark turns away from the glass, fidgeting as he looks at the ground.

“So why did you call me here? Is there some sort of problem with her?” Mark asks as he turns back to Cecil, sizing him up.

Their relationship was never a good one, but when Mark received a message that he needed his help with some sort of situation, he felt compelled to come to the Pentagon, despite their bad blood. There was some sort of unexplainable pull – a siren’s call urging him to listen for once to see what was happening. But maybe that gut feeling was wrong, since all Cecil had done so far was present to him some poor girl in a hospital gown hooked up to countless machines, her wings held tightly together with some sort of harness or tape so that they couldn’t take up too much space. They looked to be pretty big, a mixture of ivory and white but he couldn’t get too good of a look as she shifted in the cot.

“Well, we’ve been running some tests and found out some interesting information about whatever she might be. She’s incredibly strong, and if she wakes up on the wrong side of the bed could do some major damage, even more than when she fell. And –”

Mark scoffs, rolling his eyes. Cecil gives him a look before continuing, “Mark, we believe the powers she possesses aren’t that far off from your own, or even Atom Eve’s. She can make beams of pure light, heal herself, and even though she’s unconscious has some ability to sense and manipulate the emotions of those around her. Don’t ask how we found that out.”

Mark raises his eyebrows in confusion looking back toward the girl behind the glass.

“I see. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, the reason you turned out so…you is because of your mother and the fact that you got to experience humanity. So, show her how to be human.”

Mark stutters out, “Huh!? Do you want me to play house with her and show her the ropes of being normal? I’m the last person who could do that!”

Cecil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I really want is for you to let her stay at your home for a bit, let her experience some normalcy. For all we know she could be here to take over Earth. Or because it’s some sort of punishment. Just let Debbie talk to her at least. She’s doing a pretty good job with Oliver so far.”

“You want me to let her stay with my family? No way–”

“I already spoke to Debbie and she said she doesn’t mind. Even though the girl has powers, she could’ve used them in far worse ways and hasn’t yet. She just crashed here, passed out upon impact and has been sleeping since. But we think she’ll wake up soon.”

As soon as Cecil finished speaking, Mark heard the sounds of the monitors behind the glass beeping rapidly. He watched as you woke up slowly, rubbing your eyes, stretching your arms, pushing against the restraints against your wings until you looked to your back in confusion. You examined your surroundings before landing on Mark and Cecil, walking towards the glass, tapping on it tentatively.

Mark looks you up and down as you stare back at him with curiosity. There’s definitely something otherworldly in the way you move, not to mention your looks. Such beautiful eyes, a shine in them that gleams as he finally makes eye contact with you. There’s a strange swirling in his stomach – but that was probably just your powers.

You tilt your head, eyeing Mark in his suit. The way his muscles ripple, material spread taut along the span of his shoulders and his sharp jawline visible – but you can’t see his eyes. You huff and turn away from the glass.

“Where’s Donald? He always spoke to me. You just stare and this one I’ve never met before,” You say as you conjure up a beam of light that cuts through the bindings holding your wings together.

“He’s busy. And you have someone new to talk to: Mark Grayson,” Cecil introduces, patting Mark on the back before opening up the door to your room, ushering Mark in. He bristled as the door slammed shut behind him, effectively trapping him and you together.

The air felt different suddenly. Electric. He watched in awe as you stretched and unfurled your wings a few feathers falling and landing gracefully. They seemed to somehow shimmer despite the sterile lighting and looked impossibly soft. He met your eyes seeing a vulnerability in your gaze that hadn’t been there before. But as soon as it appeared it faded away as you spoke.

“So they want you to be my babysitter? The customs of my people are not that different from yours. But you’re not completely human, are you Mark Grayson?” You asked your eyes never leaving him as you walked around him, examining him. You went to grab his goggles off of his face before he swatted you away.

“No, no I’m not. But I’m not going to treat you like a child. Cecil just wants me to… help you adjust to life here on Earth.”

“Oh.” You looked away from his eyes standing in front of him with your arms crossed. “I may have just awoken, but I know many things. Your kind– your father’s kind are the reason I’m here. But I…I can’t remember what exactly happened to my….” You trailed off, a hand coming to your face as you turned your back to him, wings filling his vision completely.

Mark wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow but he didn’t know what to do. “I can guarantee you, that I am nothing like my father, or any Viltrumite,” he spat the word out in disgust.

You turned back around, conjuring a small beam of light that reached out to him, and he froze. Were you going to attack him? Instead, the light shaped into a hand-like shape, its fingers taking off his mask and goggles and placing them gently onto your cot. You waved the beam away as you walked towards him again, finally completely face to face with him. In the silence there was an understanding and again, that pulled towards you to let you do whatever you wanted with him, to him, and he felt frozen in place.

“A heart like yours has gone extinct among the Viltrumites, if it ever even existed in the first place. And my own I think is what caused me to be sent here. I won’t harm you Mark.”

In your luminous eyes he saw his own and relief washed over him. A heart like his? He wasn’t sure if whatever you were sensing was a result of your powers or just sweet talk. But he was definitely looking forward to learning more about you.

“You think you’re here because of Viltrumites?” he asked as he shifted under your gaze.

“I think so. Whatever my purpose is, it’s tied to you and this planet. But it’s as though a fog has been placed over my mind, I-I can’t completely remember. I do remember falling, sorry about that,” You played with the end of your hospital gown nervously. “But I feel it in my chest, in my soul that I’m in the right place.”

You smiled gingerly at him, something new in your eyes. Embarrassment, maybe from the fall and having been so close to him.

“Alright. If you’re going to live with me and my family there’s a few rules that need to be laid out.”

Mark wasn’t kidding when he said there were lots of rules for you to follow. Despite being under Cecil’s watchful eye regardless, Mark made sure to keep tabs on your whereabouts and what you were doing as much as he could. You spent a lot of time at his home, helping Debbie with dinner, watching and spending time with Oliver, becoming a role model and friend to him. You especially liked playing sports with him, and flying since he was so curious about your wings. They also fascinated Debbie, the only person you had let touch them, feeling a sense of comfortability only a mother could create. It was fleeting, but it was a sign that you were embracing this new life, something you explained to Mark after she had rubbed the space between them on a night when you were feeling homesick, not having left your bed all day.

In a way, you just fit into his home, his family so well, he couldn’t help as that pull towards you, grew into a sense of affection and fondness. And that feeling was tested one day when Mark went up against a particularly strong villain.

Mark really hadn’t expected the guy to be so strong. He was facing punch after punch, being beaten into the ground late at night when he looked towards the sky and saw… it had to be–

A blinding beam of light exploded, shattering nearby windows, the force pushing the attacker away. Somehow you had created a cell of light that he was now trapped in, hearing his shouts of pain and the sizzling of skin as he tried to get out.

“Mark! I saw what was happening and had to help–I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” You exclaimed as your hand hovered above the center of his forehead. His limbs and face tingled as he closed his eyes, succumbing to the feeling that began to roll over him in crashing waves of tenderness, softness. Your healing powers began to take effect as he felt himself finally able to sit up.

“T-Thank you, angel…” He coughed as he looked toward you, a vulnerability in your eyes that was reserved only for him.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, melting into him as you scratched at the hairs near the nape of his neck. That felt good…

“I was so scared, Mark. Please–Please you have to let me and Oliver help you. Don’t ever go off on your own like this again!” You let go of him as you looked into his eyes, scolding him. Your gleaming eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, eyes shining with tears. One fell, Mark carefully brushing it away as he cupped your face delicately.

“I’m sorry. Let’s go home, angel.”

Instead of staying in your own bed that night, you ended up in Mark’s, tending to his lingering aches and pains wearing one of his shirts that you cut the back off to make room for your wings. You began rubbing his back, relaxing him further before he moved to face you.

After what had happened, he knew he had to do something, to finally act on whatever it was lingering between you. You looked at him, as curious as the first time you met and tilted your head so cutely.

“Is something wrong, Mark? Was I too rough?”

He waved his hand away, dismissing what you had said.

“No, never angel. It’s just I was thinking and maybe I could…” He took a deep breath before taking your hand into his, “Maybe I could help you relax too? Could I touch your wings?”

You offered a coy smile, eyes downcast. You looked up into his eyes, watching as his face bloomed into a timid smile matching your own. You nodded, before saying, “I might need some help, you know,” You gestured to your–no, his shirt. You turned your back to him, crossing your arms as you moved to take it off, Mark rushing to help you.

“O-Oh yeah, of course.”

He helped you take it off carefully, the expanse of your back visible to him, wings unfurling and fluttering coquettishly. His hands hovered as he took in the sight before him. He could also see the soft curve of your breasts, but they became obscured as you crossed your arms.

“You can touch me. I trust you, Mark.”

He swallowed, before rubbing the space in between your wings watching as you rolled your neck. The skin there was soft, and he moved to touch where your wings protruded from your back. You shifted, a small noise of pleasure escaping from your mouth.

He continued, stroking the feathers of your wings as he felt you relax, slumping slightly. They were so soft, so delicate and yet he could feel the strong hard muscle lying underneath. He began to massage the space beneath where your wings came out from your back and you whimpered, wings fluttering and stretching out further. You moved to clasp a hand over your mouth in shame before Mark leaned into your back whispering against your ear, his voice seeming to deepen.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me hear you, angel. Can I keep touching you? Somewhere else, maybe?”

“Y-yes, please,” you whined quietly, music to his ears.

Mark reached around from behind you to cup your breasts, feeling their weight between his hands. You turned your head to the side, the sensation engulfing you as he began to place soft kisses against your neck. He rolled a nipple between his fingers, pinching it as he began to nip and suck against your neck. His rough hands felt so good against your silky skin and he breathed in your sweet smell.

“You like that, angel?”

You nodded, crying out in pleasure, already sensitive from his hands on your wings.

“Use your words, sweet girl.”

“Mmmm, I love it. Please Mark, please,” you begged, unsure of what you were even chasing as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Your tongues melded together as you brought your hand to run through his hair, your other becoming entwined with one of his hands still playing with your chest. The kiss continued, as Mark trailed his hands lower, pulling away to look into your eyes, asking for permission. The hand in his hair left, guiding it to the heaven between your legs as you began to grind against his hand.

“Angel, you’re so wet.”

He lovingly caressed you, rubbing against your clit over your panties as he pulled you into another kiss, swallowing your moans. He rubbed faster, as your breathing became heavier, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

“Mark–!” you cried out as a final warning before complete bliss filled your senses, wings spreading as far as they could, the downy feathers glowing. The room was illuminated as you came down from your high, slouching into his embrace as you rested your head against his shoulder. He kissed your temple as you felt something warm and hard…and wet against your backside.

“Mark, did you…?” You looked into his tired eyes as he looked to the ceiling in embarrassment.

“I-I couldn’t help it!” He stuttered out as you shifted, your bodies moving against the bed until you were on top of him, straddling him.

Your eyes shimmered as you splayed your hands across his chest, kissing him sweetly. Whatever this was– at first it felt inevitable, inescapable. But now you knew that you two were meant to be, a connection, a binding of hearts that were meant to connect in one way or another. It just happened to be like this. He looked at you as you used your powers to convey this feeling, eyes softening even further if possible, as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

You laid on top of him, your wings creating a sort of cocoon around you both as you whispered into his ear as he had before your voice sultry and yet sweet, “It’s okay, baby. Now I get to return the favor.”

You two were in for a very, very, long night.

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you for reading! this is my longest fic to date and i hope you all enjoy it!! i'd love to maybe make this a series of sorts w/ supernatural reader so lmk what you'd like to see; i'm also going to begin working on that hercules!au but please send in requests and inspo, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

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soaps-mohawk · 3 hours ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 47: The Reunion

Summary: You get to spend some time with your family after a surprise reunion

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,363 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, Alternate Universe, slight angst, emotions, language, family stuff, a little rehashing of the reader's past

A/N: Well, here it is. I'm not very proud of this one but I just don't have it in me to try to do more. This chapter has drained me so much. I didn't think it would be this hard to write it when I was planning out this part. Oh well. Also things do get a bit descriptive when it comes to the reader's age for plot reasons.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Sugar cookies.

She smells like sugar cookies. Just like you remember.

The scent floods your nose, seeping into the back of your brain, seeping into memories that you thought you had forgotten. Warmth fills your body, flowing through your veins to your limbs, from the top of your head to your toes. It’s cold outside, but you can’t feel it, too caught up in the moment to care that you’re in nothing but a t-shirt.

Her arms are warm around you, squeezing you in an embrace so tight it almost hurts. You’d never complain. You want her to squeeze you tighter, never let you go.

Tears wet her jacket, soaking into the fabric as you desperately cling to her like she might disappear any second. It hardly feels real, but she is real. She’s really here. She’s really with you.

“Mama…” You sob, fingers gripping her jacket, clinging to her in desperation.

You thought you’d never see her again. You thought she was gone forever from your life.

Now she’s here. She’s really here.

“I know,” She sniffles, crying just as hard as you are. Both of you are shaking, clinging to each other. “I know, baby, I’m right here.”

No words come to your mind as you stand there, hugging your mother for the first time in years. You thought you’d never get to see her again, that the image of her heartbroken face as you were ripped away would be your last memory of her. You’d spend the rest of your life wondering where she was, if she was okay. You’d wonder about the rest of your siblings, what became of their lives. You’d be alone, cut off from all of them, just as your father wanted.

He didn’t get what he wanted in the end.

Something about that feels satisfying.

Your mother slowly pulls away from you, cupping your face in her hands. “Look at you.” She says, still teary-eyed. Her thumbs are soft, gentle as they wipe the tears from your cheeks. “My little girl all grown up.”

She still looks just as you remember. There’s still the warmth behind her eyes she never lost, not even in the worst of times. Some might call omegas soft, weak, vulnerable, but you know better now. There’s a strength to omegas overlooked by most, a strength you’ve always acquainted to your mother. She never lost any of her strength, even after she lost you.

“I missed you.” You say, leaning into her touch.

“I missed you too.” She says, giving you a soft smile, unchanged from what you remember. “More than you know.” She releases your face to wipe the tears off of her own.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” You say, wiping your nose.

“We thought the same.” She says, turning slightly to the man that had accompanied her.

“Jeremy?” You blink in disbelief, staring past her.

“Hey, sis.” He says, opening his arms.

You hug your brother tightly, breathing in his strong scent. Woody and warm like a campfire. Just like you remember. Jeremy’s only two years older than you, the brother you were closest with due to being so close in age. Though you missed all of your siblings, Jeremy was who you missed the most. Despite being an alpha, he wasn’t like your dad or your older brothers. He was kinder, softer, less willing to bend to your father’s expectations.

It’s a relief to see him. Very much a relief.

You pull away, staring up at them both. You can hardly believe it. They’re really here. They’re really with you again.

“I missed you both. So much.” You say, blinking back tears again. You’ve moved into the house, your pack making themselves scarce after introductions were made. You’re seated on the couch in the living area with your mother, Jeremy taking the chair.

“We missed you too.” Jeremy says. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see you’re alright.”

“We tried to contact the institute after your father died, but they wouldn’t give up any information.” Your mother says.

“Dad died?” You blink in disbelief. You had a feeling, considering the fact your mother was here at all, but hearing it was something else entirely.

“Mhm.” Your mother says, taking your hand. “Almost two years ago. It was when your youngest brother Darren presented as an omega. He got so mad, ranting and raving and carrying on. You could see it in his face, how worked up he was getting, then he just...dropped. A massive heart attack, the doctors said.”

You should feel sad. You should be upset at the news of your father’s death, but in the end, there’s a sense of relief there. He’s gone from the world, from your lives, your mother’s life. His steel hand and influence have died and with it all the abuse you endured. A deep part of you almost feels glee that he got what he deserved.

“It was a long time coming.” Your mother continues. “He was never the same after he sent you away. I think deep down he regretted it, but he never would have admitted to it. His health declined steadily. He had to retire due to heart issues but you know him, he refused to listen to the doctors. There couldn’t be anything wrong with him, just like there couldn’t be anything wrong with the family. I thought he was going to go when your youngest sister Sarah presented as an omega.”

“He sent her to an institute too, didn’t he?” You ask quietly.

Your mother nods, tears gathering in her eyes. You squeeze her hand, your heart aching for your little sister.

“We tried to get her back after he died, but...you know how institutes are.” Jeremy says.

“Yeah,” You say, leaning your head on your mother’s shoulder. “Maybe someday soon we’ll get to see her again. I mean, you found me after all this time.”

“Well, in a way you found us.” Your mother says, kissing the top of your head.

She’s not wrong. John found her for you. Even though it was Kate that had brought them, you know it was John that put in the request.

“What happened after dad died?” You ask, curious as to how things got to where they are now.

“I left not long after dad sent you away.” Jeremy says. “I couldn’t stand that he did that to you. I went no contact with him but stayed in contact with mom. I was the first one she called after it happened.”

“I kept Darren with me.” Your mother says. “I wasn’t going to lose another child to an institute. I moved in with Jeremy after the service. David and Brandon both rescinded that responsibility. They’re both still in the military with their own packs now. They didn’t want me to still be in that life. So Jeremy took me in.”

“I refused to join the military.” Jeremy says. “I didn’t want to wind up just like dad. I went to college and now I work in marketing.”

“You always were good at convincing people to do things.” You say jokingly.

Jeremy laughs. “I was. Still am too.”

“Jeremy has his own pack too.” Your mother says proudly.

“Did you marry Jane like you said you were going to?” You ask playfully.

Jeremy gets a bashful look on his face. “Yeah.”

“No way!” You blink in surprise. Jane was your brother’s high school crush. He talked nonstop about her, constantly regaling you with stories about how she looked each day and how smart she was. You had no idea they had even started dating.

“I’m so happy for you.” You say, giving your brother a big smile.

“Thank you.” He says, beaming with pride.

“What about the others?” You ask curiously.

“Hannah went to college,” Your mother starts. “I think your dad was willing to be a little more lenient with her being a female alpha. She’s a CEO now.”

“She always was bossy.” You say.

Your mother chuckles. “She was. Alex got into West Point. Despite your father’s distaste for the Army he was proud of him.”

“Little genius boy.” You say, remembering just how smart your little brother was from very early on.

“He is that.” Jeremy says. “Darren still lives with us. We’re giving him a chance to take his time in finding a pack.”

“He deserves it after everything that happened with you and Sarah.” Your mother says.

“I’m glad he’s getting that chance.” You say honestly. “At least one of us gets a chance to be normal.”

Your mother cups your cheek, giving you a sad smile. “I’m so sorry. I should have fought harder, for both you and Sarah.”

You shake your head, leaning into her touch. “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Dad had his mind made up and there was no changing it.” You lean into her, resting your head on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you. I know if it had been your choice, you wouldn’t have done it. Besides, if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have wound up here.”

Your mother rests her cheek against your head. “Are you happy?”

You smile softly. “I am.”

“They seem lovely. I can tell they care about you a lot.”

“They do. They wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Your mother kisses the top of your head. “It’s a relief, knowing you’re well taken care of. I’ve worried about you since the day you presented.”

You smile softly, relief flooding through you. You’d never tell her the truth, at least all of it, about what happened to you. You’re not entirely sure you can. She doesn’t need to know all of the details. All that matters is her knowing you’re happy and well taken care of. That is the truth. You are happy. You are being well taken care of. Sure there have been bumps and hurdles, but that’s expected. There always would have been those moments regardless of what pack you found yourself in.

You’re just lucky you found yourself in such a good pack. They may be a bit dense and ruled by their jobs, but they are good to you. They’ve made more of an effort over these past couple months than you ever would have expected. Things have changed for the better, and despite everything, you know they will continue to get better.

They’re trying and that’s what matters.

Reuniting you with your family shows you that the most.

The nine of you go out to dinner in town that night. The restaurant was mostly empty, since it’s not tourist season, but you can hardly complain. You know your pack was relived as well. Despite the fact Shepherd is dead, that instinctual need to constantly look over their shoulders is still deeply ingrained in their heads. They can never be too careful, too cautious when it comes to you and your safety.

It should annoy you, but instead you feel charmed by their deep desire to keep you safe.

Your mother and brother are staying in town for a few days. You can hardly contain your excitement at the prospect of getting so much time with them. This half a day would be enough to last you a lifetime.

Her scent still lingers in the air when you return to the cottage. It has comfort and warmth spreading through your entire body. Your mom really was here, she really is here in England with you.

It feels almost surreal.

You sink down onto the couch, curling up in a ball, pressing your face into the pillow your mother had been leaning against. Her scent floods into your brain, your omega purring contently. It takes you back to the simple times when you were still a pup, being held by your mother, her gentle touches when you scraped a knee, her protective embrace when your brothers got too rough. The way she’d tuck you in and kiss your head even when you grew into a teenager. She did it for all of her kids, even though your brothers complained about it when they got older.

Tears blur your eyes again and you squeeze them closed, pressing your face into the pillow.

“Ye alright?” Johnny asks, standing near the fireplace. He had been halfway through lighting it again.

You sniffle, nodding into the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asks, his fingers brushing over your head.

Your response is muffled by the pillow, inaudible to their ears.

“What?” Kyle asks, leaning closer.

You turn your head to free your face just a little. “I’m just so happy.” You cry.

“Aww, love.” Kyle coos, brushing his hand over your head. “I can only imagine how this must all feel.”

You sniffle, resting your cheek against the pillow. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

“We would have found a way for you to see her again.” John says, taking a seat on the other couch, facing you. “I’m just sorry it took this long to happen.”

A small smile forms on your face, but the tears keep falling. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Well, I at least understand a little.” John says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You deserve to have your family in your life.”

Kyle continues stroking your head, sinking his fingers into your hair to massage your scalp.

“Too bad your dad’s dead. Would have liked to kill him myself.” Simon grumbles, sitting next to John on the couch.

You can’t help but laugh, morbid as the statement is. You don’t doubt your pack would have gone after your father given the chance. Once more showing their desire to protect you. There is a part of you that’s glad your father is dead. It’s what he deserves after everything he did to you and your family. Your mother is finally free and living happily without being in his shadow. Part of you feels sad, though. He was your father and deep down you cared for him. He was family after all, no matter how badly he treated you. As much as you wished he could have suffered, deep down you’re glad he died quickly.

You know you wouldn’t have gotten this chance had he still been around.

You also don’t doubt your pack would make good on their promises.

It shouldn’t fill you with glee at the thought of your pack being so protective, yet you can’t deny your omega preening happily at the thought.

It’s late. You’re tired yet you’re far too worked up from the excitement of the day to sleep. There’s a happiness, a content feeling deep in your soul. For the first time in weeks, months even, things feel like they should, like you’ve dreamed they would. Lying in your bed at the institute, you were guilty of daydreaming, picturing what life would be like with a pack, if they’d be nice and let you see your family again, if you’d be well taken care of.

What you got was far from what you had imagined, but despite all of the hurdles you’ve had to overcome, you’re beginning to fell more and more like you’ve finally made those dreams a reality. You have a pack that loves you, even if they are bad at showing it sometimes, you have your family again, you’re well taken care of.

You may not be able to get anything you ask for, but still they would walk over fire for you. They have, in a way. They went to such great lengths to keep you safe, such great lengths to save you when you were in danger, such great lengths to allow you to heal in a place you’d find ideal. Even John leaving when he did no longer hurts quite so much. You know he did it for a reason, a good reason. He’d have left no matter what. He had to do it. He had to ensure Shepherd really was dead, otherwise he’d never be able to truly rest and allow you to live your life as you deserve. As he thinks you deserve.

You were well taken care of while he was gone.

Your hand lifts to trace your fingers over the soft scars on your left shoulder. Given to you just over a year ago now. How time has flown yet how it has dragged on.

The hand shifts over to the right side, feeling the rough and ragged skin from the still-healing mark on your right shoulder. How far things have progressed in such a short amount of time.

How far things have come from where you were a year ago. You never thought you’d be here, but then again, laying in your bed at the institute, you could have never imagined this would be how your life would play out.

You truly are lucky.

Footsteps thud quietly on the steps, breaking the silence in the house. You hold your breath, listening as they get closer to your door. You pull your blankets up to your chin, watching. There’s nothing to be afraid of, yet you can’t stop the nervous twisting in your stomach. No one got in, no one is coming to hurt you. The threats against your lives are gone, wiped out. You’re free from that worry now.

There’s nothing that can hurt you.

The door slowly opens, darkness seeping in through the slowly growing gap opening itself up like a mouth waiting to devour you. A familiar face appears through the darkness, illuminated by the soft glow of your nightlight.

“Still up?”

You nod, slowly relaxing and lowering the blanket from your face. “Can’t sleep.”

John hums, slipping in before closing the door behind him. “Any particular reason?”

“Just thinking too much.” You say. “As usual.”

He smiles softly, lowering himself down on on the edge of the bed. “Your mind does like to wander.”

“It’s a character flaw, really.”

“That’s what Simon would say.” He leans on his arm, staring down at you. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You say, shrugging. “Happy.”

“Good.” He smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. If it were possible I’d have it so you’d felt that way from the start. But the dedication to our jobs blinded us to the reality of the situation. When you spend years dedicating your life to the machine of war, it’s easy to forget how much it affects those around you.” He reaches for your hand. “It wasn’t fair to you, but we can’t undo it.”

“We can only move forward.” You say, quoting what Dr. Keller used to say.

“We’re going to do better by you going forward.” He says, brushing his fingers across the back of your hand. Just as rough and calloused as you remember them being despite the fact he hasn’t handled a weapon regularly or trained regularly in months. “I’m going to do better by you going forward.”

You hum at his words, shifting your hand to press against his palm. His hands are so big compared to yours, his fingers so long. Hands that have done unspeakable things in the name of keeping the world safe. Hands that have wrought violence against other humans, hands that have killed.

Hands that have cradled you so delicately.

“You know you could join me in here.” You say, lacing your fingers with his.

“Wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

“Why not?” You ask, releasing his hand to press yourself up to sit.

“I know you’re not exactly happy with me.”

“Well, that’s true. But reuniting me with my family does give you a leg up from where you were.” You say, pulling the blankets to the side. “But it still doesn’t forgive you entirely.”

“Fair enough.” He says, maneuvering himself so he’s next to you.

You roll yourself so you’re next to him, staring up at him as he lays on his back. He shifts his arm over your head, offering. You take that offer, wiggling up against his chest. You wrap an arm around him, squeezing him gently. He’s softer than he used to be. He’s always been soft, but he’s lost more of his muscle mass in the time away from the military. All of them have gotten softer, something you can’t bring yourself to complain about. You like them like this, well fed and relaxed. There’s something so domestic about it, such a contrast to the harsh sterility of life on base.

John sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You press your nose into his chest, breathing in the deep, damp earthy scent of him. It sinks into your mind, starting to quiet the thoughts racing through your head. They dampen to a dull drone, your eyes slipping closed as you lay there in your alpha’s warm embrace.

The wind whips around you, blowing salty air around you. It’s sunny out, but the wind is cold coming right off the ocean. You stand right on the edge of the wet sand, watching the waves flow in and out.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your mother says.

“It is.” You say, staring out at the horizon in the distance.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.” You turn to glance at her, meeting her gaze. “I’m very happy.”

“Good.” She pats your hand where it rests on her arm. “I can rest knowing you’re somewhere you’re well taken care of and happy.” She goes quiet for a moment, staring out at the sea. “They really love you. I can tell just by looking at them. Those boys would burn down the world for you.”

“You think so?” You ask, even though you already know she’s telling the truth.

“Of course.” She says, squeezing your hand. “I always hoped you’d come to be free of the military, but of course we can’t always control what happens. I suppose it was wrong of me to judge every service member based on those your father chose to surround himself with.”

“He did have a bad taste in friends.” You murmur. You’d never tell her about Phil and how you were reunited. You’re not sure you could tell her.

“Birds of a feather…”

You hum, watching the waves flow in and out across the sand.

“What happens after your vacation is over? Do you go back to living on base?”

“I suppose so.” You say, swallowing thickly. You’ve been trying not to think that far ahead, but now that Shepherd is gone, there’s nothing forcing your pack to stay at the cabin. You’ve always assumed as soon as things were safe, they’d go back as soon as they could. It’s their livelihoods, their life missions to serve in the military. No matter how much the idea makes you twitch, you know in the end it’s not up to you. You’ll follow them like you’re supposed to. It’s not like you have any other choice.

If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll get a house close to base and let you live a semi-normal life outside of the barracks. You’re not sure you could ever return there after everything that’s happened.

Then again, you might not have much of a choice.

“What would you want to do, if you had the choice?” She asks you, breaking you out of your thoughts.

What would you do? Your instinct is to follow them, all of your institute training tells you to be happy wherever they take you, to make a life out of what you’re given and ignore what you would prefer.

“I’d stay here forever.” You say, voicing exactly what it is you want. You’d live in that small cabin for the rest of your life if it meant you got to live somewhere like here.

“And they know that?” She asks.

You turn your head to glance back at them. Simon is lurking like a shadow, watching you as he leans against a rock. Ever attentive and watchful.

“You should tell them.” She continues. “You have a good pack. I think they’d be more willing to listen to what you want than you think.”

You turn back around, leaning over to rest your head against her shoulder. She is right. You can voice your thoughts and desires to them. Maybe this time they’ll listen and take you into consideration.

“Tell them.” She leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t get stuck like I did.”

“We brought some stuff to cook, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not in the slightest. Make yourselves at home.” John steps aside for your mother so your mother and brother can enter.

“What did you get?” You ask, stepping up to them to try and look in the bags.

“Eager little thing.” Your mother says, wrapping an arm around you. “Thought I might make some of your favorites.”

“Aw, mom you don’t have to do that.” You say as she guides you towards the kitchen.

“I know, but I want to.” She kisses the side of your head before releasing you. “What am I here for if not to spoil you a little.”

Jeremy sets the bags on the kitchen table before starting to unload them. You pick up a tin of cocoa, staring at it for a moment.

“Mom, are you making brownies?” You ask.

“Of course.” She says. “They are your favorite.”

You can’t stop the tears pooling in your eyes as you hug her again, holding her tightly. “I have missed your brownies.”

“Brownies and enchiladas.”

“Mom you don’t have to do this.” You say.

“Of course I do. I want to spoil you while I can.” She says, running a hand over your head.

“At least let me help you.” You say.

“I suppose I can allow that.” She says, winking at you.

The two of you head into the kitchen, getting started on cooking. Jeremy takes a seat at the table, striking up a conversation with Johnny.

“That could be dangerous.” You say, glancing at them.

“Let them have their fun.” Your mother says with a smile.

The two of you continue to cook, talking quietly while the conversation at the table gets more and more animated. Both Johnny and Jeremy are speaking loudly and laughing, and paired with the sounds of you and your mother cooking, are making the cottage seem more and more domestic. It reminds you a lot of life before the institute, at home with your family. Your brothers always loud and rambunctious, the younger kids playing in the living room, the TV playing some show in the background while your mother cooks away in the kitchen.

It has a warm feeling spreading through you, this glimpse of normalcy.

What you wouldn’t give to have this all the time.

“Smells good.” Dr. Keller says, entering the kitchen.

“Thank you. You’re more than welcome to have some once it’s done.” Your mother says.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m actually heading into town for the evening.” She says.

“To see Ashley?” You ask, wiggling your brows.

She gets an almost bashful look before clearing her throat. “Yes.”

You grin. “Don’t have too much fun!”

Dr. Keller gives you a smile before stepping out of the kitchen.

“Ashley is Kyle’s sister.” You explain to your mother. “Her and Dr. Keller have a...thing going on.”

“I see.” Your mother says with a smile. “I can only imagine what Ashley must be like after seeing Kyle.”

“They’re both absolute angels blessed with good genetics.” You say.

“Lucky them.”

You continue to cook, mixing the brownie batter while your mother pops the enchiladas into the oven. Kyle joins the pair at the table, Simon taking a seat as well, but as usual he stays distant from the conversation. Instead his eyes are on you, watching as you cook with your mother. Sometimes you wish you could sink into his brain and hear his thoughts. Is he thinking about his own family? You know he’s not exactly close with them, or at least he keeps himself at a distance. You’d like to meet his own mother sometime, but you’re not sure he’d be up for that.

You’d like to meet the rest of your pack’s families eventually. Considering you are family to them as their mated omega, it only seems right to meet their families. You don’t know much about their families outside the basics, and it would be fun to get to see what shaped them into being who they are today.

Cooking goes by quickly and before you know it you’re sitting at the table in your usual spot, across from John. The others are squeezed into the small space, your mother and brother on either side of you and Johnny, Simon and Kyle squeezed next to John. It’s a tight fit but it reminds you of home, a full table with delicious food. It makes you miss it, having a big pack surrounding you. A smaller pack is easier to manage, but you do miss the chaos of a big family.

“This might be manna from heaven.” Kyle says, his eyes closed as he swallows another bite of enchilada.

“Fucking delicious.” Johnny moans in agreement.

“Thank you, boys.” Your mother says.

You’ve hardly come up for air, inhaling every bit of food you can. It warms you to your core, the familiar taste of one of your favorite meals growing up. It’s just like you remember, perfect in every way.

Kyle and Johnny insist on doing dishes, the rest of you settling in for tea while the brownies cool.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” Your mother asks John as she sips her tea.

“Not much longer.” John answers. “We have to go back to real life eventually.”

You’re not sure how much John told her. They’d spoken the previous day on the beach for a while, and you’re still curious as to what the conversation had entailed.

“It’s nice here.” Your mother says, looking around the cabin. “Cozy.”

“I’m sure we’d all like to stay here if we could.” John says. “I know someone in particular would.” He gives you a look.

Your face warms and you look down into your teacup bashfully.

“She always did like it when we lived close to the ocean.” Your mother says. “She’d go every day if she could.”

“She still would.” John says. “She’d go in bad weather if we’d let her.”

“Not if it was raining.” You say, trying to defend yourself.

“You sure that would stop you?” John asks, lifting a brow at you.

You try to convince yourself to say yes, but you know he knows you’d go even in the worst weather. Maybe not during a storm as that could be dangerous, but you’d still go and watch it at least for a while. “No,” You admit honestly, lifting your mug to your lips.

The occupants at the table all chuckle at your answer, all of them knowing what it would be. You’d sat outside in the rain enough times they know by now it wouldn’t stop you from doing much of anything.

“I’ll go dish up some brownies.” Your mother says, rising from her seat as Kyle and Johnny finish dishes.

“Let me.” John says, motioning for her to stay seated. It warms your heart a bit, seeing your alpha willing to do something so your mother doesn’t have to.

John dishes out brownies, Kyle helping him carry them to the table for everyone. The sweet smell of them has filled the cottage, hanging in the air making your mouth water. You’re excited, refraining from immediately stuffing your piece in your mouth as soon as it’s in front of you. You’re sure no one would complain, but the last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself in case you cry.

Just smelling them you might.

They’re still warm and gooey in your fingers as you lift the brownie slowly, bringing it to your lips. The sweet, rich flavor explodes on your tongue as you take your first bite, your eyes closing as you savor the taste you’ve been missing for years. You missed having brownies after your last heat and this has just healed that desire ten fold.

You really could cry.

“I’ve never tasted anything so good in my entire life.” Kyle says, earning satisfied groans of agreement around the table. “Don’t tell my mom I said that.”

Your mother chuckles. “Thank you, honey. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I can see now why you’ve been craving brownies, kitten.” Johnny says, his mouth full of chocolate.

“I missed these so much.” You say, taking another bite.

“I’m glad everyone is enjoying them.” Your mother says.

“Fantastic.” John agrees, wiping the chocolate from his fingers with a napkin.

You’re not quite so polite, licking the gooey chocolate from your fingers. A low rumble vibrates in your chest and suddenly your skin prickles. You glance up, finding all of the eyes at the table on you. You lower your hands, clearing your throat. “It was really good.”

“Good.” Your mother runs a hand over your head. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I don’t know how you read in such low light.”

You glance up over your book at John. “Because I’m not old.”

“That’s rude.” He says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not that old.”

You look him up and down before giving him a look. “Could have fooled me.”

John leans over, wrapping an arm around your waist. “C’mere.” He drags you across the bed to where he’s sitting, making you giggle and drop your book. “Little brat.”

You brush the hair out of your face, staring up at him. There’s a box in his hands, something you hadn’t noticed when he came in.

“Here.” He hands it to you. It’s not very heavy, and taped closed.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Something I think you’ll like.”

You give him a look before opening it. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal, pulling it out of the box.

“A phone?” You ask, turning it in your hands.

“No point to you not having one now.” He shrugs. “This way you can keep contact with your mother.”

You smile, hitting the on button. The screen lights up, already set up of course. You wonder what they downloaded on it before they gave it to you. “Thank you, John. This really means a lot.”

He smiles softly, brushing a hand over your head. “This way we won’t have to worry about you either.”

“Does that mean you’re leaving me by myself now, too?” You ask.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He says. “You’d be hard pressed to convince Simon to allow that.”

“But there’s no threat anymore.” You say.

“Doesn’t mean something won’t happen in his mind. He’s very protective of his pack, especially you.” John says, brushing his fingers across your cheek. “He’s grown a lot from how he was at the start. I never thought I’d see him go that soft for anyone. Not even Johnny.”

“Johnny can take care of himself.” You say, already having figured out Simon’s thought process. “I can’t. Not fully. Especially not now, so out of practice.”

“We’ll get you back into shape. Not that you’re not still in shape, but back to practicing again.” John says.

Your stomach clenches a bit at his words. That must mean you’re headed back to base soon, back to the way things were before. They’ll continue on with their jobs and you’ll always be the one left behind. It makes you feel disappointed. John voiced how he knew you’d want to stay here, or somewhere like here. You thought maybe that would change his mind, or at least make him think about other possible options.

Looks like you weren’t going to be that lucky.

“It’s been so good seeing you.” Your mother’s voice is muffled in your shoulder as you hug her tightly. “A wonderful gift I’ve been given, having you back.”

“I don’t want you to go.” You mumble into her jacket.

“I know.” She says, pulling away. She cups your face gently. “I wish I could stay here forever, but we have to go back to the real world eventually.”

She’s not wrong. Your time here in this quiet retreat is coming to an end as well. There’s nothing necessitating you stay in hiding anymore. Part of you hates it. Part of you wishes they’d never found Shepherd and you’d have to stay hidden forever. But then you would have never been reunited with your mother.

“Call me.” She continues. “I want to hear about everything.”

“I will.” You say, fighting tears as you stare at her, memorizing her face. It’s the face you remember, albeit a bit older now. Then again, you’re older than she remembers too.

A small smile pulls at her lips, tears gathering in her own eyes. “I love you so much, baby.”

You pull her into one last hug, breathing in her scent to commit it to memory once more. “I love you too.”

She kisses your head before pulling away. She cups your cheek, taking one last look before she steps away. Jeremy takes her place, pulling you into a tight hug.

“It was good to see you, sis.” He says.

“You too.” You say, squeezing him tightly.

He pulls away, patting your head. “Don’t give them too much trouble, alright?”

“I try.” You grin through your tears.

“You need anything, you call alright?” He gives you a pointed look.

“I will.” You nod.

“Good.” He kisses the top of your head, giving you one last squeeze before he heads for the car.

You stand there in the gravel watching it pull away. A couple tears slide down your cheeks, cooled by the light breeze blowing. You’re lucky it isn’t raining, though that wouldn’t have stopped you from standing out here. Warmth presses in against your sides and your back as you stand there, watching the car until it disappears around the bend.

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asxgard · 2 days ago

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Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

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#michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #the pitt

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zepskies · 1 day ago

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Yay!!! Omg your comments here couldn't have come at a better time (after a long ass day of unfruitful apartment search lol). But how I know you raged at Part 2 AND parts of Part 1 🤣🤣. That Dean gif is TOO accurate for this chapter lmfaoo.

Plus Sam's interjections 😆:

First of all, I loooove Fools Rush In and haven't watched it in ages! You've been reminding me of all the good 2000s rom-coms lately 😎💕

Aww it's one of my favorite movies ever and I had just rewatched it recently before I got this request, so that's why it was probably subconsciously just embedded in my brain for If I Stay. 😂 YES the 90s and 2000s were the best for rom-coms I think. 💗💗

And "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was my wedding song (but the twenty one pilots ukulele cover). Since we got married in Vegas, I didn't want to go too Elvis, but still give a nod to it 😆

Omg really??? I like that version too, that's so fun! lol I get not wanting to be too "on the nose" with it. 😂😂 I was actually listening to the whole soundtrack for Fools Rush In and thought "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was the perfect song theme, along with "It's Now or Never" for Part 2. 😆❤️❤️

This was such a vivid image, btw. Instantly tells you everything you need to know about the bride and groom, and I'm fully agreeing with Dean's toast skills 😂

Ahh thank you hahaa! This was one of those little setup moments I had fun with, imagining Sam/Eileen as the power couple (Dean as his usual self), while the reader is more Dean's wavelength -- good burgers and delicious cake. 😜

He's the devil lol. Sam should've locked him up 😂

*snorts* Right? He has no business being allowed out with civilized people. 🤣🤣

And all her rambling made me realy fall in love with her! She's so sweet and a genuinely good human through and through ❤️

Awww I love that so much, thank you!! She's a softie for sure. 🥹❤️ I feel like when you work with elementary kids, you tend to have that kind of heart that's just big for everyone, and I felt like Dean would find that endearing (if fun to tease lol). 💓

This is such amazing foreshadowing btw 😂😂

LMFAO - exactlyyyyy. 😏

This was my first heart drop lol. I knew after that, they'd never get back to it 🙈

Ugh fuckin' Dean, amirite?! You just want him to get his head out of his ass. 😆

Sam went full bitch mode. It's my favorite Sam 😆

Girl saaaame. 👏🏽 Bitch Face activated. lol~

I fucking SCREAMED during this! You don't know how much. I wanted to shake that stupid boy till the earth trembled 🤣🤣

Ikr?? lmao what a dummy.

But omg you're so valid for this -- thank you for calling the reader out too!:

And I hated her for lying here instead of downright saying "Hey, I don't do casual. This was a one time exception for me" because then Dean could've said "Oh no, I meant a real date." This story is an amazing accumulation of what ifs. My mind was spinning 😅

She's certainly not perfect in this either. It's that way of kind of protecting herself from embarrassment, maybe trying to let him down easy too. 😅 And Dean not trying hard enough to make it sound like a date! This story really is full of what ifs and missed opportunities. I'm sorry for making your head spin on this one, friend! 😆😆

Aww, Benny, we truly don't deserve you 😭😭

Benny is literally the best and I can't bring myself to write him any other way. 😭

But he reacted in full Dean fashion. I never doubted he wouldn't be there for her ❤️ (Although not breaking up with Lisa was so incredibly idiotic. The frustrations that came from this gaaaah 😂)

LOL first of all, that Ross gif just about killed me. 🤣🤣 Inside Dean was like:

But he really pulled through for the reader, at least in this moment! He might be a hot mess, but he's still a good man with a big heart. 💗💗

He was so sweet here 😭❤️ My heart burst. And again, I just wanted him to dump Lisa and fucking be with reader grrrr

Ugh Goddd we talked about Lisa over on Patreon so I fully understand your hatred of her in Part 1. 😆 But that moment at the end with Dean and reader on the side of the road was honestly my favorite to write. There's a lot left unspoken, and if he'd just realize how much he already likes her (and was honest about it), maybe all the drama in Part 2 wouldn't have had to happen. 🤣🤣

Dude, fully triggered a Swiftie here at the end 🤣 But honestly fitting since this entire story pretty much has the drama and angst of a ten minute break up song 😆❤️ With that, I leave you till the next part where there will be just a row of gifs with people screaming and sobbing 🤪

Oooh forgive me I'm not a Swiftie (though I do like a couple of her songs!), so I'm sorry for unintentionally triggering you on that one! LOL but you're so right -- this whole fic is like an angsty breakup song (with a surprise happy ending 😝).

I can't wait to catch up with you after Part 2 drops!!

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath.

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there.

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases.

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more.

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously.

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now?

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try.

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled.

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red.

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN.

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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compress1repress · 21 hours ago

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i feel like i never read abt patrick getting aftercare 😭 i feel like it's usually regulated to bottom art fics since he comes across as more in need of affirmation? but we all know pat is just as hungry for that shit, probably on an even deeper fear-rooted level. like i think he's usually a yapper and bounces right back but once in a while gets super quiet and it freaks artashi out. he makes me think of that daredevil tweet that's like "[patrick zweig] cries before and after sex but never during. during sex he has a fucking JOB to do"

yasss boy loves to be smacked around and degraded by the ppl he loves! boy has also been alone for 12 years! boy has mad abandonment issues! boy probably has sexual trauma from being on the road! in conclusion: boy needs to be squeezed and headscratched and loved on 🙏 artashi im beaming you a mission from god

ok sorry I wrote a 4k+ word fic (that got a bit dark) in response to this 😭 but let me ramble first:

I think about this a LOT (my throuple fic that I'm in the process of writing gets into this a little, and artashi will be giving him that aftercare 🙏) but yeah he has been SO lonely he needs to be hugged so bad but he would never say that.

i think safewords would be such an issue for him because he would be terrible at using them. or if they don't have specific safewords he's just bad at expressing when something is too much for him. Because he loves to be degraded and he's a masochist so he loves pain even when it hurts too much because it feels good... mostly. but when it gets to a point of not feeling good or he's just not in the mood for it that day, he refuses to say that

it's partially an ego thing, that he wouldn't want to admit that he couldn't take something but also i think it ties up with him needing to sleep with people for a place to stay and the weird power dynamics of that

Anyway I got struck with inspiration so here's the fic :)

art x tashi x patrick

cw: nsfw mdni, consent issues, rough sex, blood

***

It had been a particularly rough session, like it often was. The way Patrick loved. Having them shoving him around, pushing him down, humiliating him, degrading him. It was working for him until it wasn't.

He was laid out on his back, Tashi was riding him as Art made out with her. They often did this, a punishment for him when he'd been annoying (on purpose). They'd fuck him but basically ignore him, only focusing on eachother. Like he was a toy for them to use however they liked. It was fucking hot.

Today though it made nausea swirl in his stomach.

Did they even want him here? What's to stop them doing this with any random guy off the street? What if they got bored of him, replaced him, and then he was on his own again?

He tries to shake it off because he's into this, and they don't always ignore him. They only do it when he's purposefully driven them to it, because he wants it.

He tries to grab at Tashi's waist even though he's not allowed. Neither of them look at him as Art pushes his hand off and Tashi brings a hand across his face, the sound of the slap echoing.

She does it a lot, it gets him off, except because she's not looking she hits slightly off, catching his nose with her wedding ring.

The pain radiates and he brings a hand up to his nose. Blood. Shit.

His dick twitches at first but then the pain gets worse, a deep aching. That combined with the fact that it was her wedding ring, identical to Art's. The wedding rings they have because they are married to eachother. That Patrick doesn't have because he's not part of that. Not connected to them in any meaningful way.

He feels wetness at the corner of his eyes, willing it away because it's fucking stupid. And Art and Tashi haven't finished yet so he's got to hold on. He can handle a bloody nose, he's not a pussy.

They haven't noticed so he doesn't say anything, trying to just focus on the feeling of Tashi warm and tight around him, of the sight of Art's back, his muscles flexing as he rubs at Tashi's clit.

He can almost cope but then because he's lying down, he feels the blood block his nose, starting to unpleasantly drip down the back of his throat. He's trying so hard to hold on, doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to look weak.

Suddenly the feeling of it at his throat is too much and he starts to cough, sitting up and spluttering.

"What the fuck," they both say in unison turning to him.

Then they take him in properly. He probably looks a mess, blood around his nose and now coming out of his mouth as he spits it out.

"What happened?" Art's asking, his eyebrows drawn together as a vaguely horrified look crosses his face.

"Was that me?" Tashi's sliding off him now, worry in her voice.

"We don't have to stop, it looks worse than it feels," he assures, even though it feels pretty fucking bad, "it's fine, I think you just clipped me in the nose with your ring."

He's smiling at them but they just look more concerned.

"Patrick, why didn't you use the safeword?" Tashi asks, more confused than angry.

They did have a safeword, even though Patrick didn't feel like he needed one. It was more for Art and Tashi than it was for him.

He'd suggested something tennis related but Tashi had vetoed saying it might be confusing in case they were just using that word normally, not in the safeword way.

Patrick had asked why the fuck Novak Djokovic would come up naturally during sex but Art had just agreed with Tashi.

They settled on bumblebee in the end, which felt a little ridiculous but he figured it didn't matter since he wouldn't be using it.

"I didn't use the safeword because I'm fine, a little blood isn't going to keep me down," his insistance is undermined somewhat by the way his voice sounds, so he coughs a little more to clear his throat.

Then he's having a coughing fit which just makes everything worse because his eyes are watering like crazy now. It might look like he's crying or something.

"Shit, Patrick," Art is scrambling over to tap him on the back, "are you okay?"

Once he stops coughing, he responds, "yes, let's get back to it."

"I don't think any of us want to carry on, you don't have to-" Art starts but Patrick interrupts.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm being serious, I think it's hot," he grins at them but it comes out strained, "I can be into blood."

"No one's asking you to be into it," Tashi tells him, an edge to her voice.

Art's rubbing his back and Tashi's staring at him intently, probably looking at the way his eyes are still damp.

"I know, I just mean I'm not crying over a slap or something," he feels the need to say, "I like it."

"No one would think you're a pussy for using the safeword," Tashi tells him, "we have one for a reason."

"Especially if you are literally choking on your own blood," Art jokes, before getting solemn, looking deeply at him, "Patrick, seriously, it's fucking scary."

"Alright, in the future I'll try to have less scary sex injuries," he teases.

"No, in the future you'll use the safeword," Tashi cuts in, tone stern

"Alright," he holds his hands up, smiling.

"I mean it, Patrick, it's not funny," her face is absent of anger, that's how he knows she's being earnest, "you've got to promise me you'll use it."

He doesn't say anything so she continues.

"I won't fuck you if you don't," she threatens.

"Sure," he nods, trying to keep some levity, and because he knows Tashi couldn't keep that promise. She can tell what he's thinking.

"Fine, I'll make him stop fucking you," she points to Art. Oh, she's serious.

He looks to Art who just shrugs.

"Fine, I promise to use the safeword," he sighs but looks Tashi in the eyes, hoping that she'll know he means it. She must because she nods at him satisfied.

"Oh thank god, I was really going to miss fucking you," Art whispers in his ear.

"Yeah?" Patrick smirks trying to lean in to Art but he bumps his nose sending a shock wave of pain, "shit."

"But we're definitely not doing that today," Art gives him a kiss on the shoulder instead.

Before Patrick can call him a killjoy he sees Tashi glaring at him, so he adjusts his answer, "yeah ok, no more fucking today."

"Good," Tashi stands up, "now I'm going to get you a towel, and you better hope none of that blood got on my sheets."

He smiles to himself. She's looking after him. It's very sweet.

As she heads to the bathroom, Art moves to sit in front of him, "you look crazy."

"Wish you'd been the one to do it?" He can't stop himself saying.

"Patrick," is all Art says, pleading, warning and exasperated all at once.

"I was joking," he tries but Art just sighs.

He reaches a hand to the corner of Patrick's eye, swiping with his thumb, he doesn't say anything more except, "I'm getting you a painkiller."

When they both come back they work together to clean him up, it's really not that much blood, and he spat most of it into his hands. Still, Tashi is precise in the way she dabs the towel at his face, avoiding pressing too hard or too close to his nose.

As Tashi rubs his hands, Art uses his forefinger under Patrick's chin to tilt his head up, putting two ibuprofen on his tongue. He even holds the glass of water to Patrick's mouth.

He swallows the pill, and Art rubs his back again, softly. Tashi keeps cleaning him, even when he knows the blood must be gone, inspecting his hands, holding his face to make sure it's all gone.

He thinks this might be the most they've touched him without fucking him. Well, since he'd 'moved in' at least. Might be the most anyone's touched him, non-sexually, in the past decade. He tries not to think about.

Doesn't want to ruin how nice this is. Maybe using a safeword wouldn't be so bad.

***

Patrick hadn't been in the mood today, it was a rare occurrence but it happens. Art and Tashi clearly had been, so Patrick had gone along with it.

On the couch watching some bullshit home renovation show that Tashi put on when she wanted to pretend like they were actually going to watch TV. Patrick had observed the way they got closer, Art rubbing at Tashi's thigh as she kept directing his hand up further.

He liked watching them like this, it was still nice this time but he just couldn't find it in himself to get horny. They kept looking over at him and he felt the need to insert himself, joining in at Tashi's other side, kissing at her neck. He's sure it will come to him soon.

It doesn't, even as they all stumble into the bedroom, making out, getting each other undressed until they were all naked. Patrick lay out, enjoying watching them, being close to them, but he just wasn't horny.

He could just watch them fuck, he's done it before, but the fun of that is that Art and Tashi get to see how bad he wants them. How he can't have them. He'll sit watching, dick straining through his pants if he's tied up, or furiously jerking off if he's not.

But that only works if he's hard. They're not going to want him sitting there, flaccid and not interested in fucking them. He's no use to them like that. What's the point of him being in the room? He'll probably have to go sleep in the guest room while they fuck it out.

What's the point of him even being here at all, if he's not going to fuck them? Isn't that why they're letting him stay? Isn't that why anyone lets him stay?

"Patrick," Art snaps him out of his thoughts, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just zoned out," he looks up at them.

"Right," Tashi says, slow.

Before they can think about it too much he pushes himself up to join again, make himself useful, prove why he's here. He grabs the back of Tashi's head pressing his lips to hers, letting Art come up behind him, his front against Patrick's back.

Tashi pushes at him, wanting him to turn to Art, meaning she wants them to kiss for her. He can work with that. He's not getting hard but he can work with it.

Tashi's at his back now, kissing his neck, he connects his and Art's lips, trying to make it good. He wonders how long he can get away with it.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispers to Art.

"How bad?" Art asks, but then, shit, he's reaching his hand down his body, "Patrick?"

"Yeah?" He pretends not to know what Art is asking.

"What's wrong?" Tashi rests her chin on his shoulder.

"He's not-" Art starts but Patrick stops him.

"That's why I said I wanted you to fuck me, don't need my dick for that," he tries to lean back in but Art pulls away. Patrick tries not to let it sting.

"I don't think he's going to want to fuck you if you're not into it," Tashi interjects.

"We can do doggy style, that way he'll never know," Patrick attempts but clearly it isn't funny to them, "I just mean, I'm sure little Patrick will perk up after some action."

"Don't fucking-" Art starts before adjusting himself, "if you're not in the mood it's okay."

"I'll get in the mood, or" he has an idea, slipping off the bed, getting on his knees, "I can blow you, let you use my mouth."

"Not the point Patrick," Tashi narrows her eyes.

"Don't worry I won't leave you out, you can sit on my face after," he grins at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tashi's suddenly snapping, desperation tinging her words, "of course we don't want to fuck you when you're not into it, who do you think we are?"

"I know," he gets out, voice small.

"Then why are you so insistent?" Art cuts in.

"It's what I'm here for."

What I am for, in general. He wants to say.

"Is that what we're for?" Tashi raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's your house," is all he can think to say, but it's clearly wrong because both their faces drop.

"What and you're paying your way here with your body or something, is that what you think?" Tashi's angry, and all he can do is stay knelt, "we're your fucking pimps?"

"Well technically you'd be Johns, since you're the customers," he jokes.

Tashi just stands up and starts getting dressed silently, before walking out, closing the door behind her. Then he's just left kneeling, staring up at Art.

Art turns away, reaching for his clothes too. Patrick can't even move, just left naked and alone.

"Get up here," Art speaks, shaking Patrick out of his thoughts, "and put some clothes on."

He finally gets up, grabbing his boxers, pulling them on silently before taking a seat next to Art on the edge of the bed.

"I don't get it, since when would you sleep with someone, not for your own pleasure?"

"Are you calling me selfish?" Patrick smiles.

Art finally returns it, "yeah, I am."

Tashi comes back in, standing with her hands on her hips but she looks on edge, "Are you ready to be serious now?"

You came back. He doesn't say that.

She looks between them both, "why are you smiling?"

"Art was telling me how selfish I usually am," Patrick explains.

Tashi's lips twitch at that and she moves to sit on the bed with them, on Patrick's other side.

"That's why I'm confused, it's not like you to be like this," her voice goes softer, "you really think we're that awful?"

"It's not a big deal okay, it's not about you," he just wants to move on.

"Do you actually think we'd kick you out for not fucking us?" Art looks nervous, fiddling with his fingers.

"I don't know," Patrick does know, but he's not going to say. Not going tell Art he's scared of being alone again, "it happens."

"What do you mean?" Art asks.

Patrick groans, falling back and throwing an arm over his face, "nothing."

It makes him feel like a child.

"Patrick, you know when I saw you at the hotel with that woman, how often do you do that?" Tashi pushes not letting him off, and shit, she's too smart.

"What woman?" Art questions.

"Don't be jealous," Patrick interjects but they both ignore him.

"He was using a date to find a place to sleep," Tashi answers and Patrick peeks out from under his arm to see his reaction. Art actually grimaces.

Ugh.

"So what? Sorry I can't afford fancy fucking hotels every week," his skins itches with the feeling of their eyes on him, "you can't be mad at me for sleeping around, it's none of your business."

They were married to eachother, and they're mad at him for sleeping with a few (many) random people? It's not fair.

"I'm not mad, I'm concerned," Art tries to stroke his thigh, probably in comfort, but it makes him feel worse.

"Fucking prudes," he mutters to himself, "you expected me to celibate for a decade? Me?"

"Did you ever do this with them? Having sex when you weren't hard?" Tashi won't let up and he hates how she's picking him apart.

"Well if I'm on a date with a complete stranger and asking to go back to their place, it's kind of expected, I can't just not have sex with them" he says trying to prove how ridiculous it would be but they just look more worried, "most of the time I was into it, I like to fuck," he shrugs.

"But not all the time?" Art presses.

"I guess, but it's not like I could just be like oh sorry I don't want to have sex right now but can you just let me stay in your house anyway?" He laughs but it's a hollow fake thing.

It really wasn't often but sometimes when he'd been staying at someone's for a few nights, and he was tired from a match he wouldn't really want to have sex that night. Or when someone didn't look like their picture. Or when they were into something that he wasn't. Or he was into it but didn't particularly trust the person.

Sometimes he would leave, just sleep in his car instead or find another date if it wasn't too late. But other times he really needed a place and it felt worth it, it's not like he was being forced or anything. There just weren't that many options.

"Patrick you have to know that's kind of fucked," Art is moving the arm off his face, trying to look him in the eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," he can't get into it now, not with their faces looking like that.

Art tries to say something else but Tashi saves him, "we can stop for tonight."

He knows they'll have to talk about it another time but he's grateful she's finally letting him off the hook.

"But you can't do that with us, ever again," she continues, sharp and serious, "we're not random strangers from a fucking dating app. You have to tell us if you're not in the mood."

"I know," he replies, looking at the ceiling.

"We're not going to kick you out for not having a boner," Art says it so sincerely that it makes Patrick laugh.

Art glares at him.

"I believe you, man, it's just the way you worded it," Patrick holds his hands up in surrender, Art smiles, and he thinks even Tashi does a little.

"Alright, let's just go to sleep," Art taps his leg.

They let him sleep in their bed that night, the first time he's been allowed to do that outside from when they pass out there after sex.

It's nice. Really nice.

***

This time had been great. He'd been in the mood. Really in the mood. Grabbing at Tashi and Art desperately, touching himself even when they told him not to. He knew how to get what he wanted.

Laid out on his back with his hands above his head tied to the bed post. Art was fucking into him, tight grip on his thighs, and Tashi was riding his face.

It was perfect, he couldn't move, all his senses completely overtaken by them both. They'd teased him, got him close to the edge a few times but not let him over, he couldn't see but he could feel his dick straining, probably bright pink and leaking.

He could barely breathe as Tashi used his mouth to get off, grinding against his face until she was shaking with her orgasm. She slides off him and he takes in a deep breath.

Now his mouth is free he's immediately asking, "touch me?"

"You're so impatient," she's out of breath too.

"Art?" He's pleading with his eyes.

"Don't go running to him for help," she grabs his face turning it to her, "you never fucking learn."

God it's getting him off, his brain fuzzy, not working right, "can't think."

"Can't do anything right," she spits at him.

He wants to remind her he just got her off but he's too desperate, just wants somebody to touch him.

"Sorry," he gets out, moaning as Art thrusts into him somehow faster.

Tashi's smirks, like she always does when he's too fucked out to fight back anymore. When she's won.

He fucking loves it.

She takes mercy on him, "guess I can forgive you, not your fault you get so stupid on his dick. Not your fault you're such a slut for it."

He's whining, trying not to beg.

Tashi knows what he wants, she turns to Art, "what do you think, baby? Has he earned it?"

Patrick squeezes around Art making him moan, "fuck. So tight."

"Art." Tashi scolds.

"Yeah, yeah he's earned it," he rambles out.

Patrick looks up at Tashi, begging with his eyes, she's in a good mood today so she nods in agreement.

"Alright, you've earned it," she moves her hand on his face, prying his mouth open with her fingers, "but you haven't been good, this is still a punishment, so I want you choking around my fingers, okay?"

Patrick nods the best he can with her hand in his mouth like that. She does this more often now, warning him before she does something.

Then she's shoving her fingers in, without hesitation to the back of his throat. He gags around them and it makes Art fuck him harder.

"That's right," she smirks at him, then addresses Art, "only touch him when you're about to come."

It turns out that's pretty soon because Art's hips are stuttering and he's reaching for Patrick's dick. He's so close too, with Art stretching him, the ache in his arms, and the burn of the restraints on his wrists. The way Tashi is relentless with her fingers, basically fucking his mouth.

It doesn't take much more, the feeling of Art's cum spilling inside him and a few clumsy strokes pushes him over the edge.

As he finishes his hips jerk up and he instinctively takes Tashi's fingers deeper, cutting off his breathing for a moment.

When Art pulls out, and Tashi removes her hand he feels dizzy, on a different plane of existence.

He thinks they're asking him something but he can't hear, just lays there breathing.

Suddenly feeling awash with dread for some reason.

"Was I good?" He says, but it gets caught in his throat. Not sure anything actually came out.

He's vaguely aware of one of them untying his wrists, and he finally relaxes his arms at his side.

"Patrick," Art's shaking him by the shoulder, and he's finally able to hear again.

"Sorry, my ears were ringing," he gives a weak smile.

He doesn't want to get up but he knows it's time for him to go to the guest room. Tashi's mom is coming over early in the morning which means he can't sleep in their bed.

"I'll just clean up in your bathroom then go to bed," he mumbles out, on autopilot.

He gets up, aching all over. Aware of them watching him.

Was I good? Echos in his head but he keeps his mouth shut.

After cleaning the cum off himself he leaves their en suite, ready to walk past them silently to go to the guest room.

Tashi's standing there, "get in the bed," she orders.

He crawls in reluctantly, knowing it's only going to make it harder when he has to leave,"I can't fall asleep here remember, your mom's coming over early."

He's got Art on one side of him as Tashi slips in on his other side, "we'll just wake up early, she won't come to the bedroom anyway."

"You can sleep in though," Art chimes in, "you must be tired."

"Not too much," Tashi adds, pausing, "but yeah, sleep in a little."

"I can sleep here?" He still sounds out of it, half wondering if he's not hearing correctly.

"You've done it before," Tashi chuckles, all warm and soft.

"I know," he breathes out, "but never when other people will be here."

Tashi just hums, stroking his bicep, "how do your arms feel?"

"They ache a bit," he says carefully, she doesn't normally ask about that.

Art's touching him too, inspecting where the restraints had been, "and your wrists?"

"Sore, I guess," he answers.

Tashi keeps stroking him, and Art is kissing at the red marks on his wrist.

"Was I good?" Spills out of Patrick finally, and actually audible this time.

Art's face crumples a bit, but he regains composure, "yeah, you were good."

"Really, good," Tashi adds, kissing his shoulder, "so good for us, right Art?"

"The best," Art's pulling him in, cuddling him as Tashi presses up behind him.

If he had asked why they were being so nice to him Art and Tashi would've said something like this: because after you finished you went basically unresponsive, and didn't reply when we asked if you were ok. Then when you finally did, you got up like a fucking zombie, walking to the bathroom with this horrible look on your face. Felt like you needed to be treated gentle. Even if you'd never say that.

He doesn't ask though, doesn't say anything else, just lets them kiss at him, telling him that he did a good job.

Art pushes himself further up the mattress so that Patrick can fall asleep tucked into his neck, and he can kiss the top of Patrick's head. Tashi spoons him from behind, an arm draped over him.

He falls asleep pressed between them, they hold him tight, covering every part of him, squeezing out the last drops of loneliness.

***

an: not proofread but will probably be cross posting to ao3 soon, thank you for reading :) (more Patrick being treated nice in other fics, i promise 🙏)

#patrick :(((((#hope this is ok idk why i feel insecure about it 😭#challengers 2024 #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #fic #smut #artrick #patashi #trio #fanfic

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quasi-normalcy · 2 days ago

Text

So what concerns me about the corporatization of academia and the right-wing assaults on higher education—beyond just that it’s an attack on my livelihood, which, frankly, is reason enough for me to hate it—is that education is how civilization transmits itself, and there is a bunch of already rare knowledge only available through universities that is going to become even rarer, if not vanish from this Earth.

And it occurs to me that the absolute paramount concern needs to be: how do we preserve this knowledge for the future? How do we promote free inquiry in the face of a repressive regime that believes, at best, that there ought to be a dollar value on everything and that only financially profitable enterprises are worth pursuing, and, at worst, that broad swathes of human knowledge are Woke Garbage and should be burned along with the people that they talk about and/or the people who generated them?

And what occurs to me is: there have been repressive and censorious movements before. So much of the knowledge from the ancient world that survives until this day comes to us from preservation in monasteries. And there have been threats to free inquiry as well. There have been entire periods of history where certain ideas were illegal and expressing them was to leave yourself open to censorship and persecution. Like, I stick up my nose at Enlightenment philosophers, but a lot of their ideas were considered dangerously, radically subversive at the time. And they propagated them, at least in part, in secret societies like the Freemasons.

Anyways, I think we’re headed for a dark age. I think we’re entering one of the periods in history where we need to hunker down, move underground, and work toward the dawn.

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twice-inamillion · 10 hours ago

Text

Twice Series

A Family Of Four

Chapter 248

1470 Words

(With the country and the world approaching a lockdown you decide to plan something for the girls. You plan a small getaway with Mina and the twins.)

It’s been a few weeks since the outbreak, and the country is in complete lockdown. Many have been quarantined after arriving from vacation after the New Year's celebration. Western governments have begun to lock down after a surge in cases. Japan, our neighboring country, has seen a rise in infection, while China has already started to see many deaths.

In Korea, the elderly are at the highest risk as they assume the government is blowing the situation out of proportion. Most of them ignored the stay-at-home policies and continued to work as usual.

Luckily, you and the members have been at home ever since. The first few days were a scare as the members were getting adjusted to having their activities canceled and staying at home.

Others quickly got accustomed to the stay-at-home lifestyle. This was the case for babies who enjoyed the company of their mothers at home.

During the first week of March, Ari and Hina celebrated their 2nd birthday. It was a two-day celebration, and the members hosted a small gathering for them. It was nice to see them enjoy themselves and forget about the worldly problems.

The second day was an outing between the four of you. It was something you planned a while back, but due to the lockdown, you had to improvise.

——-

You’re woken up to the sound of birds chirping and the light from the sun on your eyes. You slowly turn your head and see Mina sleeping next to you. She looks so cute, “I want to tease you a bit,” you say to yourself.

Carefully, you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her closer, taking in her fresh smell. She’s woken up by your nose on her neck, “oppa, what are you doing? That tickles.”

“But you like it, don’t you.”

“I… I do, but the girls are here. You’re going to wake them up,” says Mina as she tries to hold her moans.

“I’ll be careful,” you say as you place your hand against her midriff.

Mina covers her mouth, her other hand on top of yours as you caress her lower body. She gasps as you slide your hand down her shorts, past her panties, and towards her hot cunt.

”Oppa..”

You whisper in her ear, “Remember, keep quiet; you don’t want to wake up the kids,” as you rub her folds. Mina crosses her legs, trying to push you away, but melts when you slip a finger inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Mina’s breath becomes heavy as your finger presses against her walls. She grips your hand harder, “more…”

You stir your finger against her walls, covering it in a thick layer of nectar. You keep on stirring her fleshy insides and whisper in her ear, “You’re getting so wet… you know you want more, huh.”

“Yes… I do.”

You pull out your finger and put it above her face, “See… how much you’re leaking.” You press your two fingers together, showing her the nectar you collected from her.

Mina whines, telling you to quiet down. Instead, you insert both your fingers and start thrusting, “How about it, making another one.”

No… we can’t…”

”Come on, I want another baby.”

”You can’t… Sana… Momo are already pregnant…”

“I think they’ll love having you in the mix. I can’t remember what you three call yourselves, uhmm…”

“Misamo…”

“That’s right, Misamo. The three of you would look so cute together.”

You continue to thrust your fingers with Mina moaning in your ear. “Babe… it feels so good, I want you.”

Mina’s words are like music in your ears; you continue to thrust your fingers deeper and deeper. Mina begins to tremble, feeling her orgasm approaching, “just like that. I’m going to cum.”

Suddenly, you hear a thump from across the hallway. A small pair of feet run across the floor and towards your room. Mina panics, “Stop it, the girls are coming.” She pushes you off and hurries you to the bathroom.

Mina sees a slight cowlick run from one side of the bed to another. She sees the small figure like the step stool from under the bed and launches herself onto the bed.

“Mommy!”

Ari begins to attack her mother with kisses and telling her good morning. “Good morning, Ari. How’s my baby?”

“Good!”

You exit the bathroom and see Ari on top of her mother, giving her hugs and kisses. “Good morning, Ari.”

“Appa!”

“Where’s Hina?”

“Hina, bed. Hina, hug a bear.”

You walk towards the girl’s bedroom and see Hina sitting on her bed and rubbing her eyes. She sees you and gives a faint smile, hugging her bear and extending one arm, “Appa, up.”

You wrap your arms around Hina and pick her up, giving her a kiss,” Good morning Hina.”

She smiles and returns your kiss, saying, “Morning, daddy.” You become overwhelmed by Hina’s cuteness and give her lots of kisses. Hina replies, “Daddy, stop. It… tickles…”

You carry Hina to the other room, where Mina and Ari are giggling with each other. Hina extends her arms, “Mommy, hug Hina.” Mina opens her arms, “Good morning, my baby.” She hugs Hina tightly, causing her to giggle and kiss her mom back.

After the four of you get dressed and enjoy your homemade breakfast, you prepare for your outing. Mina prepares some snacks while you set up the bikes for a ride out. Hina grabs her small teddy bear and Ari's purse and glasses.

“Remember, grab your backpacks. It has your diapers, books, and crayons.” They quickly waddle to their room and grab their small backpack.

With the three of them ready, you place Ari and Hina on the back of your bike. Mina places items for the picnic into the carriage, and you both start to ride off.

The children enjoy the view of the open field, the blue sky, and the wind on their faces. Ari mostly enjoys wearing her sunglasses as Hina holds onto their teddy bear during the ride.

After a few minutes, you all reach the end of the field, a perfect view from the hilltop. You place the large blanket on the grass and remove your belongings as the other three walk around the area.

Mina watches as Ari and Hina squat, reaching for some dandelions. Hina carefully picks up and signals her mom to squat down. “Want me to come down?”

“Here, mommy.” Hina puts the flower in her mother’s hair and giggles. “Mommy, you look like a princess.”

Surprised at Hina’s comment, she replies, “You look like a princess too.” Mina gets a dandelion and puts one on Hina’s hair.

“Me too, Mommy. Ari is also a princess, right?”

”Of course. You’re both my princesses.”

The two of them giggle when their mother calls them both a princess. Ari then asks, “Mommy is a princess too!” She tries to copy Mina’s ballet dance moves by trying to get on her tippy toes. “Hina can do it too!” She gets on her tippy toes, copying Ari.”

“Seems like we have two ballerina princesses in the house,” you say. Startled by your sudden appearance they run towards you, “Appa, hug.” You pick them up and spin them around, causing them to smile and giggle with their hands in the air.

The four of you spend your time looking for flowers to make a tiara, flying kites, and having snacks. After an eventful day the babies fall asleep on the blanket after tiring themselves out.

“They look so cute when they’re asleep.”

“So does their mom when she’s sleeping too” you say.

Mina blushes at your comment and says, “Especially when you drool after a long day.”

“Hey, I don’t drool,” says Mina as she gently hits your arm.

You try to hold your laugh at the sight of her hitting you, “Haha, just kidding. You don’t drool, you snore.”

“Oppa!”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“I don’t snore, okay.”

“I know. I was just teasing you. It’s fun.”

Humph… “You’re mean oppa.”

You see Mina puff up her cheeks and pull her in towards you. “Sorry, I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Okay, I’ll forgive you this once.” She places her head on your shoulder and says, “I’m so happy we have our two beautiful and healthy girls. I don’t see my life without them.”

“I feel the same way. They’re growing up so fast, they’re already two years old. I’m scared of the situation going on.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to keep you all safe.” You caress her head and hope for a safe future.

#twice #twice fluff #kpop fluff #twice mina #mina fluff #kpop reader #kpop idol #idol fluff #reader x idol #idol x reader #tm smut

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mullermilkshake · 3 days ago

Text

You break up with Satoru.

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

What could go wrong?

Yandere!Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non-con,Sexual Assault,Assault,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Verbal Abuse,Possession,kinda smut

“So that’s it then? You’re just gonna end things?” Satoru’s voice came through the speaker phone, the silence lingering longer than it was meant to.

You hadn’t been together long, four months give or take. The sentiment of a relationship became more and more unbearable at how overly involved and saccharine he was.

“I-I think we are very different people and-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

It was a bullshit excuse. But what could you really say? Was this a legitimate reason to break things off?

Satoru must have caught on to your silence. He cleared his throat. “How about we talk things over? I couldn’t bear to end things like this. Let’s end things amicably.”

You said nothing.

“I won’t be long.”

The line disconnected, leaving your phone screen blank. Your stomach sank lower than the basement. Was he really coming? You had already run things over in your head, what to say, what might tip him over the edge. But he seemed to understand at least. Right?

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, rapping his knuckles against the front door like he usually did, leaning to the side of the porch by the broken lightbulb. You opened it, his signature smile and eyes dazzling back at you over the top of his glasses.

“Miss me?” He said, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“Come in.” You didn’t cater to his charm.

“Arw don’t be like that, why are you so serious?”

“Why did you come over?”

You wandered over to the kitchen, mindlessly rummaging through your cupboards to avoid him. You took a mug from a low shelf.

“I think we should talk about this, y’know?” Satoru cleared the island counter and jumped up on top of it. “See what I can do to change your mind?”

“There’s nothing to change. I made it very clear.”

“Did you though?” Satoru climbed down.

You put the kettle on, the water making crackly noises as the base heated up. He was like a ghost, his footsteps making no sound as he approached.

You stepped back, never taking your eyes off his. “Well- yeah- I mean I sorta did.” Your hips pressed against the counter.

“What do you really want?” He was so close to you now.

Satoru brought a hand up, taking a strand of hair in it, fiddling between his slender fingers. The cologne at his neck was intoxicating. The woody aroma filled your nose, welcoming you to take a step inside. Satoru tilted his head to the side too, his eyes contemplating.

But you didn’t want that. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I meant what I said.”

“Are you sure about this?”

You took your eyes off and stared down, nodding quicker than you should have. If you couldn't see him, then it would be okay. But you cursed and questioned why you even opened the door to him in the first place.

“You really wanna break up with me?”

You nodded again, though still never looking up.

“You really wanna break up with me ?” His laugh came like poison. “That’s comedic.”

Your blood ran cold by how quickly his voice switched. Nothing like you had heard before, like a villain in every superhero movie you’d ever seen. "Satoru-“

“You know, no one else will take you. Right? I love you. But it seems meaningless to you.”

“Just go home. Please Satoru.”

His hands came up, squeezing your shoulders to the point his nails dig in. “I don’t think you understand how this works. So I’ll spell it out for ya.” Just as quick as his own demeanour changed, his hand lunged at you, wrapping around your throat, your feet were almost off the ground, flailing for support.

“S-Satoru!”

Clawing at his hand made no difference, even when his knuckle began to bleed. The look in his eyes. Shit. You’d never seen it before. Large as saucers, and so psychotic his pupils were dilated.

His teeth were clenched, but his face dropped when he saw your tears slip to his hand. “Arww. You cryin’? You were always one for the theatrics weren’t ya?”

“Let me go!”

You tried hitting him now, your arms barely reaching his face. Your eyes grew sleepy, dark spots collecting at the edges with only his grin left visible. The kettle whistled aloud as though to call for help, but no one came.

“Okay.”

He dropped you. A sharp pain ripped through you as your head hit the tile floor. Spluttering your guts, you gasped, feeling your neck. Satoru stood there, towering over you.“Oh you poor thing, you’re bleeding. You’re so clumsy.”

He pressed his fingers to your head, making you wince and pull away. But he pulled you back, pressing harder as punishment, huffing and sighing concern. Satoru pulled his fingers away, but kept the other hand behind your head, the blood on his fingers smeared under his nails, already drying. So he licked them, sucking them in between his lips and smiled.

“You’re sweet when you're hurt.”

“P-please. Just leave me alone. Let me go.”

He shot up, walking backwards towards the kitchen island, his eyes dilated once more with a grin like a clown. You got up, moving around, backing away towards the living room. You could see your phone in your peripheral. It was only for a split second, but he had already noticed.

He swiped it up and threw it across the room. “Don’t go cheatin’ now.”

“P-please.”

You thought he’d noticed your panic, and he stepped back even further, almost to the other end of the kitchen. “How about this?” He said, putting his hands up as though in defeat.

“Because I’m Satoru Gojo! The best boyfriend in the world!” Then his voice dropped, so low it growled. “Why don’t I give you a head start?”

You stood frozen, not sure whether to run or not. What if it sent him over the edge? Or that was exactly what he wanted you to do.

Predators don’t run. Prey does.

Satoru must have seen your hesitancy, he stepped forward. “One… two-“ He was serious. So fucking serious. Your flight response kicked in and you bolted, running for the front door. But it was locked, the key was missing.

They jingled behind you. “Looking for these?” Satoru chuckled, then continued. “Three… four-“

You ran up the stairs to the spare room. Each step was a mission, like climbing a never ending mountain. You could still hear him counting down on the kitchen like he was still there in the room with you. The spare room had no lock, like the other rooms, but it had plenty of places to hide. The cardboard boxes you never bothered to recycle, collected full of old memories from your childhood. There weren't as many places to hide than you thought, but if you could give him the slip, you could make it out the back door.

“10!...Ready or not! Here I come!”

There was no movement, like a shark in the darkness, waiting, hunting in the shadows for its next meal. You struggled to keep your breathing level, even, quiet. And then. He was just there, at the top of the stairs.

“Come out, come out wherever you are, love.” He cooed, like he had done before with your affection.

You could see him, but he couldn’t see you through a slit between two house moving boxes, moving in a predatory fashion, knees bent with his hands up like claws. You held your breath for what felt like hours, but it was only a few seconds. In the moment you blinked, he had disappeared from the landing.

The boxes were ripped away like they were nothing, he growled. “Got you.”

You scrambled away, but his grip around your ankle was a chain of muscle. The carpet offered nothing more than a burn under your fingernails, threatening to pull them away from your fingertips.

“Come on back to me baby! You know I can’t live without you!” His laugh was sickening. “I will always find you, so there's no point in running.”

In an instant, you were looking at the ceiling, and Satoru climbed on top of you and pinned you down. His hands took yours to the floor and held them there.

“Satoru, stop! Stop it please!”

If delirious could be summed up in one word, then it was Satoru. He looked nothing like the person you’d first met at that party. The cocky guy who you fell for hard. You didn’t recognise him at all.

He just kept laughing. “Stop it? Stop it?! We’re only just beginning! We have our whole life ahead of us. With you by my side we can do anything! We can start a happy family if you’d like?”

Anything but that. “Get away from me!”

One of his hands let go, going straight to your pants, slipping in like they weren't there. “This is where you’re weak, right?” His eyes never left yours.

His finger brushed your clit, rubbing it exactly how you liked. But not this time. It was mechanical, viscous and forced. You felt around the carpet, by the boxes for anything. Something that could get you out of this bind, something to get him off of you.

“I distinctly remember having you like this on the bed. My fingers were so deep, you couldn't think. Shall we try that again, Love?”

There. Something long and thin protruding from one of the boxes. You didn't know what it was, nor did you care. It sliced your fingers when you pulled, ready for the right moment.

“What, cat got your tongue? I thought you loved calling my name when you were like this under me? There isn't anyone else, is there?”

“I. Said.” You found what little courage you could muster. “Leave. Me. Alone!”

The box cutter you grabbed revealed itself when you stuck it straight into his shoulder. Satoru didn’t scream, he didn't even wince. But he backed off and stared at it as you got up, half expecting him to grab at you again. He didn't. He just stared and watched you leave into the bedroom.

You slammed the door, running straight to the window, trying to move it. Of course it had jammed again, the one thing Satoru always whined at you for. “You’ll die if there was ever a fire y’know?” He’d say, bugging you to pick up the new rollers for it.

It wouldn't budge. "Come the fuck on you piece of shit!"

Shit. You looked to the door and blocked it off as best you could, sliding furniture you through would hold the door. Anything. A desk chair, knotted scarf around the door knob to the handle of your wardrobe. You tried to move your bed out the way to block it.

And then came a bang. “Hey. I guess you never got that window fixed, huh?”

Your stomach flipped, he was so calm, collected. Nothing he’d been just minutes ago. A sound you’d never forget came from the other side. A scratching, something almost smooth down the painted wood.

“You left something out here. Want it back? It’s pretty sharp.”

You needed to get help, anything. Someone could help you, you knew it. You searched while Satoru spoke incoherently behind the door. Under your covers, behind the desk, under the paperwork stashed in the corner.

You found it. Typing away at the passcode, your tablet opened up. Finding the call button, your friends face popped up on the screen and she answered quickly.

‘Hey you, what’s up?” Your friend’s voice was a light in the tunnel, one you hadn’t heard for a while.

“Shoko. I need you to call the police, its Satoru he-”

“What did he do?” She cut you off, her chilled, soft voice changing to more serious and stiff.

The little knocks and bangs on the door grew louder, Satoru chuckled. “Who y’talkin’ to? Come on baby! Open up!”

You kept your eyes on the door, expecting him to kick it down with the half assed barrier you put up between you. You kept talking. “He’s gone crazy. I tried to break up-”

Shoko tutted, you could hear the vile rage through the speaker. “Jesus christ! I told you to do that months ago! Where is he?”

“I’m sorry I didn't believe you- Please help-”

Satoru clawed at the door, cooing and musing your name through the wood. “If you open up, I promise to be nice! Don’t leave your man out here on his own, it's dark, and I’m scared.”

You backed away and kept looking, but you were able to drown his voice out for a moment.

“You're so blind. I’ve already told you this, you should never have gotten together in the first place. But you blew me off. He’s a psycho and now he’s got his hooks in you so deep.” There was muffled static, a moment where you were more alone than you had ever been in your life. “ I’m calling the police. Break the window, I’m coming over.”

The phone line disconnected for a second time that night. Your heart thumped against your chest it was fit to burst. You search for something heavy to break your window, a paper weight? Or a high heeled shoe? You were so entwined with the despair, you didnt realise that it had gone quiet out in the hallway.

“Satoru?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he would be able to hear you.

Taking a step back, you perched against the window, listening out for something. A breath, footsteps or a groan. But nothing. And the silence was even worse. Because you didn’t know where he was. You worried that the things against your door wouldn’t hold, but they did. Perhaps he left.

You picked up the glass snow globe you had gotten as a gift. Satoru picked it up from his travels. You were happy to smash it in the window whether it broke it or not. Turning around, you kept an eye on the door with your hand raised to hit the window, protecting your eyes.

But something was amiss. It had gotten a lot darker in the room. You glared outside and Satoru was there above the porch by the window. His eyes wider than ever, face pressed against the window. A cat that found a mouse to pounce on.

“I found you.”

You froze on the spot, dropping the snowglobe. It smashed, the liquid soaking into your socks. Satoru broke the window clean with a single punch, the glass cutting you in the process. It happened so quick. In an instant. His arms around you with that maniacal smile of his.

“Let’s go somewhere no one will ever find us. Not even Shoko. Because we’ll die before I share you with anyone.”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #gojo #yandere #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #jjk satoru #satoru x reader #jjk gojo #Kinda smut

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saturneras · 2 days ago

Text

Private Eyes III

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: There is a mutual understanding between Joel Miller and yourself that both of you will probably never mention again what was said when you were getting in his truck a few nights ago. He has been curt and professional at the station and so have you. He has made up his mind and so have you. So Tommy Miller's Fourth of July BBQ shouldn't be an issue, right? The lines have been clearly drawn and you're definitely not reckless enough to cross them - but is he?

Note: Just giving the people what they want.

Part 1 , Part 2

Silence. Seventeen minutes of nothing, but utter silence. That was what happened between the chief of police and you when he drove you home that night from the bar. He did not say a word to you the whole time as if he had been frightened by his own conviction. When he had stopped the truck in front of your parent's house and opened the car door for you, he didn't even glance at you. No eye contact whatsoever. You figured he was pissed that maybe he had let himself get carried away. Let you rile him up and loose a fraction of his stoic control. You knew he didn't like you very much and that you were making his job way harder than it needed to be. But being a pain in the ass was just too enjoyable to give it up anytime soon. You figured Joel Miller was the type of guy who wasn't usually confronted with someone questioning his decisions or ignoring his orders. You like to give a man a hard time as much as the next girl does. The duty to be as resistant as possible was something you took very seriously. So when he invited you to the Miller's Fourth of July BBQ, you couldn't help but feel a little taken aback. Okay, maybe that's a bit of a stretch. He invited the whole station, not you specifically. So maybe you had been the necessary evil?

"Quit acting like a troubled main-character and get the beer, will ya?" Your brother shouts from the hallway. "I told Tommy we would be there in 10."

You roll your eyes. "I was thinking, Casey. Maybe you should try it some time."

Your brother laughs and pushes his way through the front door. "And grab your bathing suit, Tommy said the pool is open for business."

"Will do," you shout, throw your bag over your shoulder and grab the two sixers standing on the counter.

You rush out and jump in the car. The sun has been beating down all day and humidity is at an all time high. The air feels thick and heavy, resting on your skin like a layer of sand. Casey is rambling on about his last baseball game and how this one kid always makes sure to get on his last nerve. He teaches little league on Sundays and hasn't won a game in weeks. It's driving him nuts, but he loves it.

"Listen," he starts and turns down the Eagles' song that's playing on the radio. "Can you at least try to be nice to Joel today?"

Your head whips to your side. "Sorry?"

Casey clears his throat. "You know, just make some normal conversation or tell him you like his shirt or whatever."

"For what?" You ask, confused.

"It just seems like you don't get along."

"And why would you think that?"

"Well," Casey mumbles. "He never answers when we ask him how ya'll are getting on and Tommy has been saying he's been a little on edge ever since you started working there."

"And you always look at each other like you're two seconds away from throwing punches," he adds. "Maybe he thinks you don't like him."

"Why would he think that?" You say. "I have been perfectly professional." Images of his eyes dragging over your face flash in your mind. His lips parted slightly, his smell making his way up your nose, unnervingly intoxicating. "Maybe he just needs to cool the control freak energy a little."

"You know how you get," he says. "He needs a little time to warm up. Help him out a little."

"He's a grown man, Casey," you reply. "He is able to communicate if he has a problem. And if he is not, maybe he shouldn't be the chief of police."

Casey lifts is hand and points at you. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, dude. Just be nice and not like.. this."

"Sure, brother," you say and grin. "I'll be nice and agreeable and won't embarrass you in front of your friends."

He rolls his eyes just as you pull up in front of a house. You both get out and your brother gets some grocery bags from the backseat. The front of the house is white, but the window panes are painted in a lovely washed out brown and the door is a deep dark wood that reminds you of trusting dark eyes. The front lawn is perfectly trimmed and there is an outdoor sofa on the porch that looks like the perfect place for a morning coffee. Everything looks extremely well taken care of. Music is resounding from the backyard.

"Tommy's house is beautiful," you remark and glance at your brother.

He laughs. "At least now you have something to compliment him on."

"As if that has been an issue with him before."

"I ain't talking about the youngster," Casey grins. "It's Joel's house."

You turn your head abruptly. "What?"

"Tommy is redoing his garden this year, so Joel offered to do the party at his place. They even got his pool all cleaned up and running, since he never uses it," Casey explains and walks up the driveway. "Tommy told me to just come 'round the back."

You follow your brother up the path and both of you turn around the corner, heading for the backyard. Tommy is the first one you spot, standing by the grill in swimming trunks with a bottle in his hand, talking to some friends you recognise from other gatherings. The party is in full bloom, people lounging on chairs, the grass and in the pool, laughing, drinking.

"Hey bud," Casey calls. "Where do you want this?"

Tommy points to the far side of the garden, where tables have been brought out. You walk over and put the beers on the wooden tables, taking in your surroundings. The backyard is a huge open space, with a terracotta pathway that leads to the crystal clear pool and a fire pit with chairs around it a couple of steps to the back. Hedges and huge hydrangeas line the outer edges of the grass and pots of tomatoes, herbs and other flowers are scattered around in various places. Jesus Christ. The cold hearted chief has a green thumb. There are some chairs and tables set up for eating and coolers filled with drinks.

Casey carries the rest of the bags inside the house and a couple moments later walks out in his trunks. "If I don't get into that pool right now I might melt from this heat."

A couple of the others laugh and most of them follow his lead to the swimming pool as Tommy walks over to you.

"Hey," he says. "I'm happy you could come!"

You smile. "Thanks for having me, this all looks amazing."

"Well," he says. "I do tend to pride myself on my abilities as a host."

"So I've heard."

"Might I suggest a dip in the pool before your brother decides to race everyone here," he jokes and points to the backdoor of the house. "If you want to change, just use the guest room."

"Thanks." You start to make your way toward the house before you realise you have never been here before. "Where is the guest room?"

Tommy turns. "Oh, right, up the stairs and to your left."

You nod and step inside the house. With all the sun outside, your eyes need a couple seconds to adjust to the low lighting in the kitchen. Making your way up the stairs, you look at the pictures hanging on the wall. You recognise Tommy and the chief, as well as other family members out on a beach, on fishing trips and in front of Christmas trees. A family man. Who would have thought?

In the guest room, you quickly undress and change into your bikini. Thankful to be stripping of your already sweaty summer dress, you stuff the clothes into your bag and make your way back to the hallway. Did Tommy say there was a bathroom up here? You don't remember, but take a right and make your way down the hallway. The first door on the right just leads to the utility closet, but the second one opens up to a bathroom. It is even warmer in here and the mirror you spot to the left is still a little foggy. Someone from the party probably showered before the pool.

You take a step inside and are about to close the door behind you, when a gasped "Fuck" resounds from your right and you quickly turn toward it, only to find yourself slipping on a little puddle of water. You have already accepted your fate of falling straight on your ass and are wondering why on earth you keep getting in these situations and if you should consider doing more squats, when a hand grabs your arm and yanks you back. You've seen that hand before. It has held a closet over your head, helped you into a truck and was splayed out on the back of the wall, right next to your head in the hallway of the bar. But the hand cannot stop the force of your fall, so your body pulls it back and as you're about to crash against the door, you feel your body being turned and slam into ... oh god.

Your eyes travel up from the throat to the face. His brows are furrowed. A stern expression on his face and you almost have to turn away from the piercing gaze of his eyes. He looks angry, leaning against the door, his body having shielded yours from the impact, only for it to be smashed into his and held in place by both his arms wrapped around you. Time doesn't exist for a solid minute, while you're both just staring at each other. The warmth of his arms against your exposed skin feels tauntingly familiar. You quickly suppress the urge to lean into him any further, to pressure the weight of your hips forward.

His palm is splayed out on your lower back and you can't help but feel the tip of his fingers dig in a little lower than they probably should. Your lips part in reflex and you think you must imagine the way his eyes soften for a second, holding on to your mouth. Your eyes trail down the hollow of his neck and find themselves on your hands, playing directly on his very broad and very naked chest. There is no way this is happening right now.

"Oh god, no," you say and shake your head.

"I don't think Jesus is gonna help you with this one, Darlin'," Joel Miller drawls. His voice is nothing more than a growl as he speaks to you.

His skin is hot and damp from showering, smelling like eucalyptus and a hint lemony. You feel the drops of water caught on his chest under your hands. This should definitely not be happening.

"I think you should move," he suggests.

"Is this the part where you tell me to 'get on my knees and crawl' or does that just happen at work?" Sometimes you wish your mind would take a second to rethink the things coming out of your mouth.

He grunts and in one quick motion, he bends his knees, lifts you up and pushes both of you off the door. You expect him to drop you immediately, but he takes two steps toward the sinks. Before you can even comprehend the feel of his hands on the back of your legs, he places you on top of the vanity.

The chief of police is standing right between your legs, wearing.. a towel wrapped around his hips. If you were wearing pearls, you probably would be clutching them now.

Just now, when he is standing fully before you are you able to take in the sight of him. His hair is a little ruffled and still dripping. He hasn't shaved and looks like he's about to say something, but stops himself in his tracks. As if he is now just realising who he has in front of him, his eyes run over your body, tentatively, widening by the second. Oh right, it's not that he is just wearing a towel - you are wearing a bikini. And not even one that covers more than what's basically decent. Christ.

You must have said that out loud, because his eyes immediately snap back up to yours, looking the slightest bit guilty.

"What are you doing here?" He snaps.

"I was trying to find a bathroom," you say and point to the room around you. "Success."

"Why did you come in here?"

"As I said, I was trying to find a bathroom," you repeat.

"Maybe you should have knocked before barging in here," he suggest.

"Maybe you should lock the goddamn door when you take a shower," you snap.

He lowers his head a bit. "This is my goddamn house and I wi-."

"Joel?" Tommy's voice resounds from the hallway. His steps are getting closer.

Joel's eyes widen and he shoots you a glare promising death upon disobedience. When you're about to say something, he lifts his hand and covers your mouth. The motion makes you both hold still. His eyes dart from yours to his palm on your lips and back. He exhales slowly. Without you noticing, he has moved closer to the sink, his body now almost aligned with yours. The pressure of his palm is firm but soft, his fingers warm and his thumb hooked under your chin slightly moving over your skin.

"Are you in here?" Tommy calls.

Joel snaps back into motion and turns his head toward the door. "I'll be out in a sec."

"Oh okay," Tommy says behind the door. "Can you maybe get a couple more towels when you get down?"

"Sure," Joel's voice comes out a little harsh, but you both hear Tommy's steps fading.

His hand is still resting on your mouth, when he turns his head back toward you. As if burned, he immediately pulls it away.

"Are you keeping me a secret, Mr. Miller?" You say and grin.

"That is not funny," he says. "I wouldn't even know how to explain that to Tommy."

"Do you trust him that little?"

"People jump to conclusions," he says.

"I've never cared about where other people jump," you say.

Joel's mouth twitches slightly. "I thought so."

You shrug. "People slip and get into accidents all the time. No big deal."

"So you regularly have these interactions with your superiors?" Joel asks mockingly.

"Will it make you happy if I tell you that you're the first, Mr. Miller?"

"Watch it, sweetheart," he growls. "I ain't up for that shit in my house."

He takes a quick glance down your body as if reminding himself of something and steps away from you. "And don't call me Mr. Miller when you're sitting on my bathroom sink barely dressed."

"If you prefer Chief, just say so." You put your palms on the counter and push yourself off, sliding down, until your feet hit the cold tile. "And the last time I checked, this was a pool party, so I will remind you that my attire is perfectly reasonable."

"If you think that thing is reasonable then you gotta watch a lot more than just your tone," he rumbles and crosses his arms. His chest flexes slightly and the image of him in his towel will probably be ingrained in your mind until you take your last breath.

"So you keep telling me," you say.

"Maybe you should start to listen," he replies.

"Maybe you should put on some pants before we're having that argument again," you suggest and mirror his movement, crossing your arms. "You know, to keep things professional."

"Maybe you should do the same," he retorts.

"What?" You say, looking down at your bikini. "You don't like red?"

He averts his eyes. "I really need you to put on your clothes."

You grab your bag. "This might be your house, Miller, but I'm not following orders on a holiday."

"Put on your goddamn clothes," he repeats in a threateningly low voice.

"No." You shake your head curtly. "And you can't make me."

His eyes lower themselves to yours and his mouth morphs into a wicked grin. "You'd be surprised at what I can make you do."

"Probably not." You shoot him the same grin back, make your way to the door and grab the handle. The door opens with a click and you catch his glance. "But I sure do like to see you try."

--------- 1 hour later ---------

Tommy has been busy at the grill, bringing out steaks and veggies to everyone. You're sitting at a table with Tommy's friends Dan and Ray as well as Casey and his friend Marie. Ray is big on musicals, so you're all still talking about the Wicked, when Joel steps out the backdoor of the house. His hair is dry and a little puffy. He is wearing a dark green button down, which seems way too warm for this kind of weather. His gaze rakes across the garden and surely directly lands on you. Without hesitation he begins to walk across the grass toward your table. He looks full of conviction. Let's see how long that will hold up.

"I told you it was Oscar worthy," Ray says to Casey, "She trained years to sing this way. Glinda has always been her dream role."

"Sure, sure," Casey agrees. "I just think she wouldn't have been as good without Cynthia. She basically carried the movie."

Until the last possible moment, you think Joel might walk past, but he takes a halt at the table, looks around it and pulls the empty chair, right next to yours to sit down. You look up at him, but he's watching Casey and Ray continue talking. His proximity makes you uneasy - as if you hadn't just had your hands on his chest moments ago. You can't get it out of your head. The way his body felt pressed to yours, the grip of his arms around your hips. You wish you had never felt it in the first place. Right?

"What do you think, Joel?" Ray turns to him and watches him expectantly.

"'bout what?" He asks.

"Do you think Ariana should have gotten the Oscar for her Glinda?" Ray explains and you frown at Joel. As if he had actually seen the movie.

"Don't know 'bout her," Joel shrugs. "But the green one definitely should have gotten one."

"Elphaba," Casey corrects and adds: "That's what I've been saying this whole time."

"You've seen Wicked?" You look at Joel in surprise.

He doesn't turn toward you, but Ray nods. "Oh yes, we do a movie night every first Friday of the month, when Joel doesn't have the night shift."

You can't help but grin, imagining Joel at the movies watching Wicked with a sobbing group of friends and your brother, who has always been easy to bring to tears ever since he was a kid.

"We love musicals," Ray says. "But my personal favourite is definitely Cabaret."

"What's your favourite?" You tease and finally Joel turns his head and lays his molten eyes on you.

He stills for a moment and then says: "The Sound of Music."

"Really?" You say.

He shrugs and without any hesitation, as if it were the most normal thing to do, lifts his arm and drapes it on the top of your chair, directly behind your back. "Maybe I just like women with an attitude and hate Nazis."

There's a rattle in your chest that makes you lean back a little into him. As if a skittish bird had just awaken from a clap in the distance. His arm at your back feels like a thousand matches scraping against a matchbox.

"Don't we all?" Ray claps his hands and gets into a conversation with the rest of the table about their plans for the rest of summer. Casey's eyes flick to Joel for a split second and his eyebrows narrow almost unnoticeable, but he just turns back to Ray.

"By the way," Dan says. "The garden looks lovely, Joel."

"Thanks," he says, a little hint of red appearing at the base of his neck. "I'm glad you like it."

He leans back into his chair and observes the conversation.

"The city has agreed to everything you suggested in your report," Joel suddenly mumbles and turns to you.

"I know," You nod. "Daniel told me."

"You know he didn't give you any credit, right?"

"Oh I knew that," you say. "I didn't do it because I wanted to get credit for it."

Joel's frown deepens. "Why did you do it then?"

You lower your eyes. "Because he said it was important to you."

Joel's head reels back slightly as if you had just said something offensive. He huffs out a breath and clears his throat.

After a few seconds of silence, he says: "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" You ask, meeting his gaze.

"Convince them," he says. "I've been trying to get them to sign off on these things for weeks."

"Well, it's sort of what I went to school for."

He shakes his head. "I've met a lot of lawyers and I don't think you can learn that shit in school."

"It's just about finding out what they need," you explain.

"Need? Like motivation?"

"No," you say. "It's not about what drives them. Ambition is too obvious and most people can easily see if you are just trying to appeal to that. It's more about what they desire when no one is watching."

"So like lust?" He mumbles only for you to hear. His eyes lazily graze over your mouth.

You shake your head slightly. "Not everything is about sexual desire. Most people don't actually care as much about that as one would think. It's much more about a specific feeling they crave that comes with receiving something you hadn't realised you needed in the first place."

"And how do you find out what that is?" His eyes are still stuck to your now parted lips. Dark. Waiting. Expecting.

"You look very closely and wait," you say. "People are too impatient. They don't see what's directly in front of them."

Joel furrows his brows but stays silent.

"You know like their incentive. That could be power, attention, acceptance?"

"Go on," he says.

"You create this idea in them that the thing you want them to do is actually going to satisfy that need. Almost as if you're not actually convincing them at all, they're doing it for you."

A slight breeze catches his hair and unlocks a strand that dances on his forehead.

"Everyone wants to do the right thing," you say. "You just need to assure them what the right thing actually ist."

"Do me," Joel mumbles, his voice is low.

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry?"

"How would you manipulate me?" He asks, a glint of mocking in the corner of his eyes. "Or is my soul of stone to hard to read?"

"I've watched you, Mr. Miller," you say. "And a lack of emotion is not something you suffer from."

"You've been watching me?" The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Of course I have," you say. "It's my job to shadow you, is it not?"

You lean back and the hem of your dress slowly falls back, revealing a glimpse of your upper thigh. Joel's jaw ticks, as he takes in your bare skin. His fingers on your chair twitch and softly touch the back of your shoulder just to immediately clench into a fist.

"And what have you found out?"

"That you're no exception," you say. "You also just want to do the right thing. Like a good chief of police."

"And the right thing is doing what you want?"

"It's not about what I want," you say.

"What is it then?" He asks and leans in.

"Huh?" You reply and catch yourself raising your chin to meet his face. The conversation at the table has completely drowned out. You hear nothing but the sound of his breath on your face and feel only his arm pressing against your back. You wonder what it feels to be touched by him with intent, not just by accident. Would he move differently? Or do his hands find their way just as easily?

"What is it that you want?" Joel drawls.

"Are you trying to manipulate me?" You asks, wearily.

"I'm trying to understand you," He says.

"For what?"

"So I can figure out why your mouth seems to never match the story your eyes are telling."

And it's in that moment you realise that the chief of police might be capable of more than what you thought you'd bargained for.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader #fanfiction

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magic-shop-stories · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,”

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note:

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,” “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.”

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,”

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks”

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...”

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...”

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…”

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.”

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.”

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight:

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat:

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor”

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.”

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm)

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild”

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!”

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.”

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.”

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?”

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.”

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.”

next morning:

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares:

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note:

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.”

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.”

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line:

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.” sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.”

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?”

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.”

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101”

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.”

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!”

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem:

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias”

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.”

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook:

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!”

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall:

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.”

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.”

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.”

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!”

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.”

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.”

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.” “That’s your third metaphor today.” he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.”

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.”

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.”

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.”

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.”

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow:

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.”

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.”

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.”

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,”

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...”

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.”

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

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mamiobesssionfics · 1 day ago

Text

A War for You

MobBoss!Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: Tension has been brewing for weeks, but Rhea refuses to tell you why. When an argument finally boils over, you leave to clear your head only to be snatched by her enemies.

The storm outside matched the rage burning between you and Rhea.

Rain hit against the windows of the penthouse, lightning splitting the night sky as you stood in the middle of the living room, hands clenched into fists.

"Just tell me what the hell is going on, Rhea!" you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration.

Rhea stood a few feet away, her broad frame tense, shoulders squared like she was preparing for a fight.

She had been distant for weeks, her moods unpredictable, her usual cold control giving way to something darker, something dangerous.

And she refused to tell you why.

"I told you, it's nothing you need to worry about," she muttered, rubbing a hand over her jaw.

"Nothing I need to worry about?" You let out a humourless laugh. "You're out at all hours, coming home covered in bruises, your men whisper the second I walk into a room, and now..." You exhaled sharply, gripping your temples. "Now you won't even look at me!"

Rhea’s hands twitched at her sides like she wanted to reach for you but was holding herself back.

"I’m handling it. That’s all you need to know."

You took a shaky breath, trying to stay calm, but your heart was hammering in your chest. "You don't get to shut me out like this, Rhea. Not when we promised-"

"I promised to keep you safe!" she snapped, her voice breaking on the last word.

You flinched, eyes widening.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rhea clenched her jaw, breathing heavily as she looked away. You had never seen her like this before; she was so broken and vulnerable.

The weight of her words sank into your bones. This wasn’t just about her shutting you out. It was about something bigger, something she believed could hurt you. And she was trying to bear it alone.

"I can't do this right now," you whispered. You turned on your heel, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I need air."

Rhea took a step forward, her body language screaming restraint. "It’s not safe."

"I'll be fine," you said over your shoulder, not turning back.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold night air hit you, sharp and biting.

You walked blindly, your mind replaying the argument over and over. The streets were quiet, eerily so, but you barely noticed.

You just needed space. Needed to think.

But you didn't make it far.

The van came out of nowhere, tyres screeching. You barely had time to react before hands grabbed you, rough and unyielding. A cloth pressed against your mouth, muffling your scream.

Darkness.

When you woke up, your head was pounding.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of damp concrete filling your nose. Your wrists were bound, the rope digging into your skin as you shifted, groaning.

Shadows loomed around you, men muttering in the corner.

"So this is the one Ripley’s been keeping all to herself, huh?" one of them sneered, stepping closer. "Pretty little thing. No wonder she’s been distracted."

Fear lanced through you, but you lifted your chin, refusing to let them see it.

"If you think taking me is going to break her, you don't know her at all."

The man grinned. "Oh, we’re counting on her coming. But breaking? That part comes later."

The warehouse doors burst open with the force of an explosion.

Gunshots rang out. Chaos erupted.

And then she was there.

Rhea.

She moved like a shadow, a force of nature tearing through them with terrifying precision. By the time she reached you, the last man had fallen, groaning in pain on the ground.

Her chest heaved, her knuckles bloodied.

But the second her eyes locked onto yours, all that rage melted into something raw. Something broken.

She dropped to her knees in front of you, hands shaking as she reached for the ropes binding you. "Baby," she rasped, voice thick with emotion. "Are you hurt?"

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "No. Just get me out of here."

She made quick work of the restraints, pulling you into her arms the second you were free.

You clung to her, your body shaking against hers, and she buried her face in your hair, breathing you in like she was afraid you’d disappear.

"I thought-" She exhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to cup your face. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the outline of your jaw. "I thought I'd lost you."

Tears collected in your eyes. "I was so scared, Rhea."

She let out a shuddering breath. "I should have told you. About the war. About the threats. I thought keeping you in the dark would protect you, but it only put you in danger."

You searched her face, seeing the torment in her eyes. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," she vowed. Then, before you could say anything else, she kissed you.

It was desperate, frantic, like she was pouring all her fear, all her love into the moment.

Her lips moved against yours, warm and demanding, her grip on you unrelenting.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your skin. "You're mine. And no one takes what’s mine."

You nodded, heart pounding. "I'm yours."

And in that moment, you knew, no matter the bloodshed, no matter the war raging around you, she would always fight for you.

Always.

#rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley imagines #rhea ripley x reader #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction #wwe raw #wwe imagine #rhea ripley #rhea ripley fanfic #rhea ripley x you #wwe rhea ripley x you #wwe rhea ripley imagine #wwe rhea ripley x fem reader #wwe rhea ripley x reader #wwe rhea ripley imagines #wwe rhea ripley #wwe imagines

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milkfordragons · 3 days ago

Text

How To Be Eaten.

A post-fall fic exploring Will's past, weaving through time to find Hannibal, love, cannibalism and other drugs. TW. The mind perceives existence as a thread unspooling, one event birthing the next, past sculpting present, present carving the future. Yet in dreams, the mind dissolves, slipping between moments, untethered by time, stripped of causality. There, in that formless drift, we glimpse a hidden truth: that life, which appears so linear, is but the rippling echo of a primordial force, a breath from the vast and originless void, where only the great nothing hums.

Here, we are not architects of our future, nor sculptors of our fate. We are first-degree witnesses, adrift on an endless ocean, where waves do not rise from some distant beginning but have always been—moving, colliding, unfolding everywhere at once. And yet, to touch each moment, the mind slows, weaving the illusion of time, a trick of perception that lets us believe in sequence, in order, in a story being written rather than simply revealed.

So Will couldn’t bring himself to blame his mother for everything that had happened in his life. Even when she had plunged his head beneath the water, her trembling hands gripping his small shoulders, he couldn’t find it in himself to resent her. She had whispered fevered prayers, calling upon God to cast out the darkness she believed had taken root inside him. If anything, he wished no one had come to save him. If anything, his mother had been right.

“What a precious little thing, with those big blue eyes,” an old woman cooed, leaning over the stroller where baby Will lay swaddled in blankets.

Elizabeth Graham forced a smile, the corners of her lips twitching as though the muscles had long forgotten how to hold such an expression.

She didn’t think her son was precious. She didn’t think anything of him at all, really. Her body had been hollowed out into a graveyard, and Will was nothing more than another tombstone. Another punishment from God. Another child of the devil sent straight into her womb, a creature she had to purge from this world before he could curse it. But no one believed her. They called her sick. Delusional. Hospitals and medications, white rooms with no edges, bitter liquids forced between clenched teeth.

So she learned to pretend. To be quiet. To smile, to nod. Because if she didn’t, they would take her away again. They would lock her up, and the demon child would be left to wreak his havoc on another family.

So she remained quiet about Will.

Will didn’t think he remembered being a baby. But the sensation of boiling water flooding his nose, blurring his vision, pressing against his skin like a second, searing body…that never left him. Sometimes, even now, he could feel it. Unaware of where the memory came from, only that it lived inside him, dormant until sleep pried open the locked doors of his mind and the truth came spilling through the cracks.

“LIZZIE, NO!” A man’s voice, half-swallowed by the water.

“Let me go! We have to do this!” she yelled, thrashing against his grip, her wet hair plastered to her face in wild strands. She clawed at his arms, but he shoved her back, sending her stumbling against the tile as he lunged toward the water. He pulled baby Will out, cradling the soaked bundle against his chest, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, brushing dripping strands of hair from Will’s forehead. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.”

“My God, no wonder you’re such a weird little thing,” Margaret Thatcher scoffed, exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. She tilted her head, her yellowed, brittle hair cascading over her shoulder in stiff strands. Her long red nails tapped against the armrest as she studied Will with blue-shadowed eyes, lined heavily with kohl.

“I mean, with a mother like that,” she added, taking another slow drag. “Who wouldn’t turn out a little strange?”

Will sat silently beside her, small hands clasped in his lap. Outside the smudged car window, fluorescent gas station lights buzzed faintly in the night. They were waiting for his father, who had gone inside to buy cigarettes. A few years had passed since his mother had been institutionalized, and in that time, Robert had met Margaret in some roadside bar. She had been around ever since—rude, sharp-edged, wrapped in the stale scent of nicotine and whiskey.

“You’ll have a big brother to look after you,” Robert had told him when they loaded their things into the truck, bound for Margaret’s trailer park. “It’ll be good for you.”

Jason was fifteen when Will was five, and he did not look after Will.

Jason thought Will was stupid. A silent, strange little boy who never talked, never fought back. They shared a room, and Jason wasn’t bothered by Will’s presence there, no matter what type of activities he was engaging with. And after a while, he decided Will should participate in his activities, whether he wanted to or not. And so, whenever Will felt the crushing weight of something pressing down on his back, the scent of sweat and old pillowcases thick in the air, he remembered Jason.

Robert and Margaret were heavy drinkers. They would come home in the early hours of the morning, fumbling at the door, voices slurring into incoherence before one of them collapsed in a heap on the couch. Sometimes, they didn’t make it that far. Will had stepped over them more times than he could count, their bodies sprawled on the stained carpet, their breath thick with liquor.

Jason took those moments alone with Will as opportunities to experiment with the human body. Maybe he wanted to be a doctor, who knows? He definitely liked to see what he could fit inside Will, no matter what it was. It was a fun game for Jason, who had a crazed smile on his face throughout the entire time.

This went on for two years, until one night, Will woke to screaming.

He followed the sound, his small feet padding hesitantly across the cold floor. When he reached the kitchen, he froze.

Margaret was clawing at Robert’s arms, her fingers scrabbling for purchase as his hands tightened around her throat. Her face, once flushed with fury, was draining of color, her lips parting soundlessly.

As if something had snapped, her body crumpled, falling heavy against the floor with a dull thud.

Robert turned, chest heaving, eyes dark and unreadable as they landed on Will’s small, rigid form in the doorway.

“You listen to me,” he said, voice steady, almost gentle. He crouched to Will’s level, his large hands bracing against his knees. “If you ever tell anyone about this, you’ll be out on the streets. And you know what happens to little boys out there, don’t you?”

Will’s breath hitched. He said nothing.

Robert nodded as though he had expected the silence. He reached out, resting a heavy hand on Will’s shoulder.

“I did this for you, son.”

Will was young, but he knew his dad hadn’t done it for him. Margaret wasn’t kind, that much was true. She gave him smaller portions at dinner, let his clothes sit unwashed, ignored him when he needed help. She threw away anything that reminded him of his mother—photos, trinkets, even the blanket he had clung to as a child. She forced him to sit through adult movies he was too young to understand and asked him strange questions afterward.

No wonder Jason was sick.

But Robert hadn’t killed her to save Will. He had done it because that was the way they were, him and Margaret. They fought constantly. This time, it had gone too far. And Will believed his father when he told him he’d end up on the streets if he said anything. So he stayed quiet.

He stayed quiet as his father made him stand there while he cut Margaret into pieces, muttering under his breath as he worked, as if she was still arguing with him. Will stayed quiet as he watched Robert fit those pieces into a wooden box like a grotesque puzzle. He stayed quiet when they drove out to an empty stretch of land and buried it beneath the cold dirt. Margaret had been a drunk, a mean and bitter woman. People expected her to disappear. When Robert went around, red-eyed and slurring about how she had left him, no one asked questions. He sent Jason to live with his grandparents. That was that. No one came looking for her. Or if they did, Will never heard about it.

"You got a lighter?"

Will looked up from the dock where he sat, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the boatyard. A boy stood in front of him, dirty blond hair sticking up in places, green eyes catching the light.

Will pulled out his lighter—a cheap gas station one, red and blue—and handed it over. The boy flicked it a couple of times, then lit his cigarette, inhaling deep before flashing a grin. Will didn’t know it then, but he would keep that lighter for years.

They were sixteen when they met, two kids killing time in a place where time stood still. Will’s father worked on boats, fixing motors, and so did Dean’s. But Dean’s dad wasn’t around much. When he was, he was the kind of man people avoided.

Empty afternoons filled with smoke, grease, and books became something else with Dean around. Will had never had friends before—he didn’t like how people looked at him, the way they filled silence with empty words. But Dean was different. Like Will, he carried an invisible weight, the kind only wounded boys could recognize in each other. Will saw it in the way Dean deflected with humor, in the glint of his eyes that only those who fought demons had. But they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to.

Instead, they would drive around in Dean’s old car, wind tearing through the open windows, Nirvana blaring from the radio. They climbed onto the roof, lay back, and smoked while staring at the stars. Will didn’t understand, then, the strange tightness in his chest when Dean laughed or the way his skin prickled when Dean’s arm brushed against his own. He only knew he wanted it more.

When Will dozed off in Dean’s car, he would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat. Dean’s hands would find his shoulders, grounding him.

"My brother gets those, too," Dean had said once, voice low.

Will didn’t know much about Dean’s brother. They went to the same school, but Dean never talked about his family. All Will knew was that the nightmares ran in their blood, that his brother was quiet and strange, and that he liked dogs. Like Will.

At home, things got worse. Robert had learned after Margaret that it was easy for a man like him to get away with things. And so he started collecting bones.

Women from bars, the ones no one missed. He’d bring them home, slit their throats, make Will mop the floors. Cut them up. Take a marrow. Dispose of them.

Will learned to shut down. His body moved through the motions like a machine, a vessel emptied of anything human.

Dean talked about running away all the time.

"We can make money easy. I know a few tricks, and we don’t need much," he’d say, lighting a cigarette, the glow illuminating his sun-kissed skin. "We’ll take my car. Sleep in it if we have to."

One evening, Dean picked Will up from the boatyard. Will’s hands were trembling. His father had hidden a body earlier that day—the first one that year, in that town—and he couldn't shake the cold weight of it. He wasn’t hiding it well. Dean noticed.

"We leave tonight," he said. "I can’t take this anymore either, you know? My dad—he…" He shook his head. "Doesn’t matter. We’ll get rid of them tonight."

So they left. They drove until the world stretched out wide, until they were nothing but two boys parked in the middle of a canyon, the night vast and open above them. They stayed there, one night, then another.

One morning Will woke to soft, broken sobs in the driver’s seat.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, voice groggy.

Dean wiped at his face, shook his head like he could brush off the feeling. But he couldn’t.

"I have to go back," he whispered. "I can’t leave my brother alone."

And so they turned around.

When Will walked back into the house, Robert didn’t say a word. Just looked at him, long and heavy.

Dean never showed up again. Not at the boatyard. Not at school. Not ever again. All that was left was the blue and red lighter.

#Fine I did it #you asked and here it is #let me know if I should keep going because this was hard hahaha #musings #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #fanfic #htbe

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