#I still can't get my feelings about this side

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

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It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

You don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To leave without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose akward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can just warm your bed but no your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

[rueclfer]

best friend katsuki who starts finding himself getting a bit too flustered around you.

it starts with a hug.

you're so fucking dramatic, he thinks.

every time you see each other, you might as well be standing in the middle of an airport with the crowd split down the middle and fireworks going off in the background.

he'd never admit it, but he loves the theatrics. he loves the click between you when you lock eyes in a crowded room. he loves your "half-run" towards him and the hop you do right before you wrap your arms around his neck.

of course you two always get odd looks, because despite being best friends since childhood, and everyone knowing it, they still can't seem to understand how a person like you can get along with a person like him.

"you're choking me," he breathlessly chuckles, "ya missed me or something?"

"something like that." you murmur, the smile apparent in your voice.

katsuki stops breathing for a moment when his fingers sink into the soft skin of your waist and his palm goes flush against your bare lower back.

why the fuck is your shirt so short?

i should move my hand.

you're so warm.

i shouldn't be thinking about this.

he doesn't say anything, and he sure as hell isn't letting go first. instead, he buries his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, hoping that he could blame the blush blooming over his cheeks on the hot summer day.

"what's wrong?" you finally pull away, one hand locked on his shoulder and the other sliding down his bicep.

"what?"

his eyes lock onto your own. he's fighting the urge to trail his eyes down your body- see how that crop top looks from the front now that he knows how it feels.

"you seem weird."

"says the weirdo." he scoffs. "m'fine."

you roll your eyes, letting your hands drop to your side.

"come get a soda with me." you almost demand, starting to walk off knowing he'd follow close behind.

no one else in the world would dare speak to katsuki the way you do. he’d never allow it, but that attitude coming from you only had his heart racing even faster.

"you paying?"

"i have you to do that for me, don't i?"

you turn your head over your shoulder, flashing him that toothy grin of yours, and that's when katsuki knew for certain.

he was fucked.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Constellations on Your Cheeks

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Making out? But nothing past that

Summary: Just a soft moment between you and Luke and his freckles and birthmarks.

Notes: I just think he's a cute little connect the dots, y'know? This is so short because really there's not much to it, but I hope people enjoy the softness anyway and I really need to find a man to make out with cause I miss it, man....

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"What are you doing?" Luke's eyes are closed but he can still feel the way your finger traces rhythmic patterns across his skin. Your nail tracing from his forehead down to the middle of his brows then to the side of his nose, the top of his lip, his chin, his neck and back up to his cheek.

His lip twitches with a smile at the feeling, the gentle way you trace his skin as you lay on top of him. He knows that if he opens his eyes you'll be smiling at him, chin resting on the centre of his chest like you were made to rest there.

"Counting your beauty spots...." You watch the way his lip twitches in a smile, the way his eyelashes flutter against the height of his cheeks as you count each beauty mark that covers his skin. You've always liked Luke's beauty marks, something uniquely him the way they dot his skin like a series of stars. Like he wouldn't be look without them.

"Oh?"

"Mmm, it's like you have constellations on your skin." You watch the way Luke flushes red, cheeks turning pink as does the tips of his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and tries to hide a grin.

You lean forward to press a kiss to the little black mark at the hollow of his neck, a little soft kiss that makes Luke's skin tingle and his smile twitch further. He tries his best not to move, a little worried you might stop as you move on to the next mark on his neck, another soft little kiss to the left side of his neck, then just beneath his jaw. This one you spend a little more time on and he can't help the giggle the huffs out of him when you suck a little mark there.

"Careful, you little vampire..."

You pull back to admire the red mark you've left over the beauty spot, glaring and obvious, liable to get him some jokes in the locker room and likely to last for at least a few days. "You ashamed of me, Lukey?"

His smile grows a little wider, a little peak of his teeth showing, as you look down on him, eyes still closed to you, lashes long and fluttering across his cheeks. "No, but the boys might be concerned if I look mauled...."

"Are you calling my love bites a mauling?" Your voice huffs out in offense even as you joke about it, fingers tapping on the beauty spots across his skin now that your mouth is more occupied with bantering with your boyfriend.

"If the shoe fits..."

"I guess no more kisses for you then..." You go to pull away, sitting upright on his lap as Luke's eyes pop open wide, large hands reaching for your hips to pull you back closer again, "No, hey! Come back here! More kisses please...I thought you were counting my beauty spots, can't do that without kisses..."

"I can't?" You tease, smiling down at him as you let him pull you a little closer. Your hands resting on either side of his head as he looks up at you with a pout, curls falling away from his face against the pillow under his head.

"No, the kisses are the important bit, vital." Luke gives you a serious stare, brows furrowing as if the idea of counting his marks without a single kiss was ludicrous, as silly as trying to chop a carrot without a knife.

"Mmm, So I should probably start again, huh? Since I've lost count?"

"Mmhmm, definitely, baby." He grins up at you, neck elongating so you can start again from the hollow of his throat and you can't help but shake your head at him and his ridiculous antics even as it makes you smile because he's so smitten and it's so silly.

"One..." You press a kiss back to the hollow of his throat, the little mark there hidden by your attention as Luke's hands tighten on your hips.

"Two..." A kiss to the left side of his neck, soft and sweet, almost ticklish as his hands slide up to your waist, gripping just a little tighter as his breath shakes and his eyes flutter shut again.

"Three," You reach the hickey you've left as his hands run up to your ribs, squeezing once, twice, three times. His chest falls and rises in an even rhythm, smile wide.

You reach his chin, a kiss to a small almost imperceptible mark there, "Four," and then the two just above his lips, "Five and six." He almost chases you for a kiss to the lips but you avoid his smile like the plague, instead you kiss the mark on the side of his nose, the one that is so, so quintessentially Luke that if it disappeared he just wouldn't be the same man anymore.

"Seven..."

You linger there, a few kisses to that one mark as his hands twitch on your ribs and his cheeks return to a ruddy colour, warmth infusing them at the attention you treat him to.

Your lips move to the marks between his brows and over to the few on his forehead, counting each in turn until there are none left and you simply breathe over him, his hands tight on your body, his smile wide.

You raise a hand to smooth over his brows, fingers trailing down his cheek until you lightly grip his jaw, just enough to help guide his lips to yours. He sighs into your mouth, happy, pliant under you knowing that he's being treated, taken care of, that his brain can shut off for a minute.

He doesn't really think about it when his hands slip down into the back pocket of your jeans to pull you further up and against him. Doesn't really think when his mouth opens under yours, letting your tongue slip in and against his own. Barely considers who he even is when you sigh against him, your fingers tangling in his curls.

All he cares about is you. The warmth of you against him, the softness of your body, the way you sigh into his mouth and turn pliant, so pliant he could do whatever. Instead, he's content just like this, kissing languidly in the dim light of his bedroom.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, "You're staying over, right?"

You hum in confirmation, nose brushing against his own and he can't help but grin knowing that you're staying over and don't have to leave him for hours and hours and hours.

He can't help the way he grips your waist and flips you under him, his turn to press kisses to every freckle, every beauty mark across your skin as you giggle underneath him, ticklish and sensitive.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

What You Do

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.

But the asshole is still going to try.

Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!

Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 7.6k

Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person. 

He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person. 

He’s not. 

Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-

You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.

But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual. 

You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.

He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.

“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“

“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck. 

You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.

When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.

There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer. 

But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there. 

His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.

Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.

It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.

But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.

Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed. 

And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.

And you’d be left in pain and want again.

He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it. 

“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“

You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-

“Shit, are you-“

“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”

You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.

He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning. 

And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.

But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking- 

“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“

You’d passed out. 

When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone. 

The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.

You’d never moved faster in your life.

You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“

“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“

“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“

“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”

You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“

“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.

“When I’m what?”

 “I don’t wanna say it.”

“Sam-“

“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.

He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-

“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”

He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.” 

“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”

“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“

“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned. 

“Are you-“

You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“

“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”

 You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“

“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.

Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.

And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better. 

Until Dean made it better. 

So you were fucked. 

“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“

You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.

Tell him.

You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through. 

Please.

And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.

He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.

Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years. 

What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love. 

And he still won’t stop being a good person.

He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.

“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”

You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna-“

“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“

Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“

“No.”

“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“

Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that. 

“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress. 

You can’t look him in the eyes. 

You can’t really do anything at all.

“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.” 

Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.

“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.

“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.” 

“Bored?”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”

“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”

“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“

“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”

“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“

“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“

“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”

Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”

“No.”

“Your room?”

“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“

“My room?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.

“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“

“Shut up.” 

“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“

“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.

You fall out of your seat with a moan.

Dean catches you. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“

“Dean, no-“

“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“

You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-

“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”

Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“

“It won’t work-“

“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“

“That’s not what Sam said.”

There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-

“What are you talking about.”

“He said I needed an intimate connection.”

“Yeah, sex-“

“No-“

“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“

“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”

The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-

Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”

“Dean-“

“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”

You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”

You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“

“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”

“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“

“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“

“And mean it? I always mean it-“

“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.

You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.

But you’d said it. 

And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be. 

But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.

You pass out again.

It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body. 

There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.

Oh.

Oh, no. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“

“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”

“Dean-“

“You want me.” 

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.

His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.

“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“ 

Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him. 

This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-

There are worse deaths that this.

“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-

You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.

“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body.  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you. 

And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse. 

But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.

He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.

He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“

“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“

You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.

“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”

For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut. 

But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-

You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.

You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-

There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun. 

Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.

He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.

“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”

Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.

Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.

It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you. 

You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-

You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair. 

He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”

You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean. 

You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs. 

But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.

You need him. Now.

When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“

You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat. 

You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“

“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-

“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“

“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”

You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head. 

“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“

You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.

It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean. 

“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“

He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-

“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“

“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“

This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“

“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.

But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock. 

You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.

He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.

“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“

He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”

“Dean-“

“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”

“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“

The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss. 

His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge. 

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“

You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.

“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“

You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“

“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“

“Dean-“

“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“

You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.

“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”

The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.

He loves you. 

He needs you.

And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.

Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying. 

You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“

He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.

“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”

You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“

“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“

“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”

“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”

Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And did you mean it?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“

“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“

“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“

“Neither had you-“

“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”

“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”

Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“

“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“

“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sam is not little.”

“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“

“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”

“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin. 

You could get used to this. 

You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.

“Dean?”

He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.

“How long have you… loved me?”

“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”

“How long is-“

“Long enough that I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“How about you?”

“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before. 

And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.

You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.

“Are we- Is this it?”

“This-“

“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”

“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”

“More than anything.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.

“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“

It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.

“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”

Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known. 

A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.

“You and me, baby?”

“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”

“Awesome.”

End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??

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[hellinistical]

in which you get him to crush a watermelon with his thighs. And then ask for your head to be next. The thing is, you didn’t expect him to take you seriously.  suggestive. a/n: I know its still winter I just wanna be crushed.

tw: not proof-read wc: 2.1k

It was summer. It was hot- of course it was. 

Unfortunately, your loser boyfriend was a bit too….

You walked in on Caleb getting ready for the gym, his shorts tight and his wife-beater even tighter. Dear lord was this man too much. 

And normally, you’d have some decency. Some modesty with your gaze. 

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You could crush a watermelon with your thighs.”

Caleb froze mid-reach for his sneakers, looking up at you in faux confusion, his ears tinged pink for a split second before giving a smug look. “Oh, could I?” He stands up, flexing his right thigh a little. 

You rolled your eyes so hard you might’ve seen your own brain. "Don't let it get to your head," you muttered, trying to recover from the slip, but your face was already heating up like the summer sun outside. "I’m just saying. Objectively."

"Objectively, huh?" Caleb stood up, taking his sweet time, his grin never wavering. "You sure it’s not, like, a little subjective? ‘Cause you’re staring pretty hard."

You scoffed, folding your arms. "I wasn’t staring. You’re just... in my line of vision. Stop fishing for compliments."

"Fishing? Pipsqueak, you just handed me the biggest catch of the day." He leaned down to grab his gym bag, giving you a corny wink. "Watermelon-crushing thighs, huh? Maybe I’ll give you a demonstration later."

You sit up suddenly. Later? Definitely not. “We have a watermelon in the fridge.” He stares back. 

***

And that’s how you ended up in the kitchen on the floor beside him, with a towel under his legs and the poor watermelon that you took a shelf out of the fridge so it could fit between his thighs. 

Caleb glances down at the watermelon, then back up at you, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. "You're actually making me do this?"

"You said you'd give me a demonstration," you say, cross-legged on the floor beside him. "I'm just holding you accountable."

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he can't believe he's actually about to attempt this. "This is the dumbest thing we've ever done," he mutters, shifting his legs slightly to adjust the watermelon between them.

"That's a lie," you counter, watching intently. "Remember the time you tried to parkour over the couch and took out the coffee table instead?"

Caleb groans. "Okay, fair. But this is up there."

You grin. "Just shut up and crush the fruit, colonel."

With a dramatic sigh, he tightens his grip on the watermelon, muscles tensing as he applies pressure. For a second, nothing happens. Then, the faintest crack echoes through the kitchen.

Your eyes widen. "Oh my god."

Caleb's expression shifts from mild skepticism to determination. He presses harder. The crack deepens, the rind splitting just slightly, juice starting to bead along the surface.

"Holy shit," you whisper, half in awe, half in horror. "You’re actually doing it."

"Obviously," he grits out, adjusting his hold. "Told you I could."

"This is stupid," you say, even though you’re the one who suggested it. Even though you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbows on your knees, watching Caleb size up the watermelon like it personally wronged him.

Caleb adjusts his position, rolling his shoulders back. "You doubting me?" He smirks, gripping the sides of the fruit like he’s about to perform some kind of ancient ritual. "Because I feel like you’re doubting me."

“No- no, I’m not doubting you. I’m just saying-”

He exhales sharply, placing his hands on the floor for balance. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he tightens his grip. You watch as the muscles in his legs flex, the watermelon shifting ever so slightly under the pressure, the cracks in it becoming more tense.

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

Another tiny creak.

"Wait—" You barely get the word out before the watermelon explodes.

Watermelon juice explodes everywhere. Across the floor, up Caleb’s arms, splattering your shirt. The halves break apart with a sickening squelch, chunks flying onto the cabinets.

For a long second, neither of you move. Then Caleb, dripping in sticky pink juice, turns to you, smug as hell. “Well?”

You stare at him. Then at the carnage. Then back at him. “Great. Now do my head.” You pop another piece of the melon in your mouth. 

“What.” “My head. Crush it with your thighs. It's a thing.” “A thing.” “Mhm. Suffocate me with your thighs. Lemme die with honor.”

Caleb stares at you for a moment, blinking as if processing whether you’re joking or genuinely asking him to... well, suffocate you with his thighs. His lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh, but you can see that he's really considering it.

After a moment, he gets up, pulling you up with him. "Lets get cleaned up then I'll do it." 

You blink, looking up at him in confusion. "Wait, seriously?"

He nods, wiping the juice from his chin. "Seriously. But first, let’s not get more fruit juice everywhere. I have standards, you know?" His hand brushes against yours as he tugs you toward the bathroom, his playful demeanor somehow making the whole situation feel... different.

"But—" you begin, incredulous. "You’re actually going to—"

Caleb just laughs. “Besides, I think I’m gonna enjoy this.”

***

Caleb stretches out on the bed, his movements slow and relaxed, his usual playful energy softened into something more gentle now. He props himself up on one arm, looking at you with a little smile. "Well, you said you wanted me to suffocate you with my thighs. So... I'm just gonna take it slow, okay? No rush."

You, on the other hand, find yourself suddenly way more bashful than you expected to be. The way he's looking at you so calmly, like this is just a casual request, catches you off guard. It’s almost like everything that had been funny and carefree just a moment ago shifted into something heavier.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, your cheeks pink. "I— I didn’t actually think you’d take me seriously," you mutter, your voice quieter now. "I was just messing around."

Caleb chuckles softly, his tone soothing. "I know, but you wanted to try something, and I’m happy to go along with it. No pressure, okay?" He leans back against the pillows, his gaze soft, inviting you to join him in that space of calm. "So, if you're nervous, just let me know. We can take it one step at a time."

You glance at him, still feeling a little caught off guard. Why is this so much harder than I thought? You swallow the nerves and finally sit down beside him, your legs feeling heavier than usual.

"So, um... no crushing skulls or anything, right?" you ask, trying to ease your own tension with a light laugh, but you’re definitely still flustered.

Caleb smiles, his voice almost a whisper now. "No skull crushing. Just... whatever feels right for you." He shifts closer, his warmth close enough that you feel his presence like a weight against your own. "And if you don’t want to go through with it, we’ll stop."

You smack your cheeks, shaking your head. “Okay. I’m ready. Mama didn’t raise no bitch. Crush me.”

Caleb laughs, the sound deep and amused as he watches you hype yourself up. "That’s the spirit," he teases, shaking his head before gently guiding you down. His hands are warm on your shoulders as he eases you onto your back, positioning you carefully between his legs.

You try not to think about how casual he is about this, how his fingers linger for just a second too long on your skin, how his touch is both firm and incredibly gentle at the same time.

"Comfortable?" he asks, looking down at you with the kind of care that makes your stomach flip.

You nod, even though your heart is suddenly pounding way too hard for something that was supposed to be a joke just an hour ago. "Yeah. Totally."

Caleb hums, adjusting his position slightly, his thighs resting on either side of your head without actually applying pressure yet. He leans over you a bit, his grin teasing but his voice soft. "Alright, baby. Deep breath in… and out."

You do as he says, exhaling slowly, your nerves settling just a little. Then, with a careful squeeze, he applies the tiniest bit of pressure.

Your brain short-circuits.

Oh.

You don’t know what you expected—maybe something overwhelming, something suffocating—but instead, it’s Caleb. Steady. Strong. Unshakable. The heat of his skin against yours is distracting, his thighs firm but still gentle, like he’s holding back just to make sure you’re okay.

You blink up at him, and Caleb chuckles at your expression, his fingers brushing against your hair. "You good down there?"

You make a noise—something between a hum and an incoherent help—because suddenly, words are really hard.

His smirk deepens. "What’s that?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. "I’m fine."

"Yeah?" Caleb tilts his head, his eyes twinkling. "You sure? You’re looking a little…" He gestures vaguely at your face. "Dazed."

You narrow your eyes, mustering what little dignity you have left. "Shut up and do it properly."

Caleb grins. "As you wish."

And then—he squeezes just a little tighter.

Your cheeks burn—not just from the pressure but from the sheer insanity of the situation. Caleb, your sweet, smug, too-hot-for-his-own-good boyfriend, is up there watching you, his thighs snug around your head, very much enjoying this.

You don’t know what’s worse—the way he’s so calm about it or the fact that your brain is rapidly turning to static.

He tilts his head, his fingers absently brushing against your forehead. "You're blushing," he notes, amused. "Feeling okay?"

You let out a strangled noise. "Shut up."

His chuckle vibrates through the air, deep and easy, and for a second, he squeezes just a little tighter—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he could.

Your breath hitches.

Before you can even process it, Caleb leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead—gentle, sweet, completely at odds with the absolute devastation he’s about to unleash on you.

And then—you’re smushed.

Completely.

Your entire world narrows down to thighs. Caleb’s thighs, warm and unyielding, pressing in on either side of your face like some kind of divine punishment (or blessing—you haven't decided yet).

Your hands instinctively fly up, grabbing onto his legs as if you need something to ground yourself. "Mmph—"

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you like a damn freight train. Oh.

Oh.

Ohhhh….

No wonder he’s such a fan.

This must be what he experiences when he goes down on you. The warmth, the pressure, the overwhelming sensation of being completely surrounded, the absolute helplessness of being surrounded, consumed, smothered in the best way possible—no wonder he’s such a fan of it. You suddenly have a whole new respect for the man’s enthusiasm.

Your fingers tighten slightly on his thighs, not sure whether to push him away or pull him closer. "Oh my god," you mumble, your voice barely a breath.

Caleb, of course, picks up on it instantly. His grin turns downright wicked. "Oh?" He tilts his head, feigning innocence. "Having an epiphany down there?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning. "Shut up, Caleb."

You gape at him, utterly offended as he mocks you in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice.

"Shut up, Caleb," he repeats, fluttering his lashes dramatically like some damsel in distress.

You push at his legs—hard—but the bastard doesn’t even budge. He just grins down at you, thoroughly enjoying himself, and flexes his thighs slightly like he's showing off.

Your cheeks burn all over again, and you refuse to dignify that with an answer. Instead, you reach up, grab his smug face between your hands, and yank him down into a kiss, effectively shutting him up. Caleb makes a surprised noise before immediately melting into it, his hands finding your face in return, palms warm as they cradle your cheeks, his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. Caleb deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his touch.

You swear you can feel him smiling against your lips. Smug bastard.

When you finally pull back, your breaths mingling, his grip on your face lingers, his eyes flickering over you with something dangerously fond.

“…Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing but undeniably soft. “You definitely love this.”

Your heart stutters, but you refuse to let him win.

You huff, trying to look unimpressed despite the warmth spreading through your entire body. “Shut up, Caleb.”

And the worst part? He just grins.

[draggomon]

This is something I've been working through with my current partner. My therapist referred to me as a "emotional medic".

I would constantly prioritize the safety and boundaries and comfort of EVERYONE else before allowing myself even the barest minimum of self care. I would shut down, constantly, just to keep myself safe.

Any emotions I felt that would be an inconvenience to the people I was with would be shut down and ignored until something broke and I was hurt further.

I developed this after years of being with and around people where, even the most minor of boundary setting or messing up (on either side, them or I) could potentially lead them to huge spirals and multi day long depression / anxiety episodes.

It's something I'm learning to get past. I'm tired of being the medic and I deserve to have people who will give me the benefit of the doubt when I fuck up. Who trust me to act like an adult when they fuck up. Who treat themselves and ME as a adults in an adult relationship.

I remember talking to my therapist about my partner at the time not being an abuser. He was a good guy! Just...anxious....yea?

"You don't have to be a bad person to be an abuser. You're being punished and trained to react in a way that fits him. He can be a good guy and still be taking advantage of you, of manipulating you, of hurting you. Until you stand up, you can't walk the path of healing.

Standing up would inconvenience him, and he has trained you to believe his needs outweighs yours. You need to stand up, or you'll die laying down. "

We deserve better. All of us.

Edit to add some further thinking:

We can all be abusers. You can be an abuser without intending on it. I have a partner, and then I have some people I'm intimate with. I've taken advantage of them before without meaning to. I've manipulated them before without meaning too.

You can't make yourself a safe person to exist around until you make it ok to be confronted and questioned. When my partner or "pseudo partners" come to me saying I made them feel a certain way, then it starts a dialogue.

I call this "coming to the table". I make sure the table I keep is calm. If I need to calm down, I'll leave and do so. I won't punish or minimize, but I also will allow myself space to feel my emotions and share my experiences.

I can hurt one of the people in my circle, and it doesn't make me a bad person. But the fact that I can recognize that hurt, make space for it, and can do so without self punishing or spiraling, means they can focus fully on themselves and what they need. That means it's safe to say no, to say they don't wanna prioritize me. It's safe to say I'm not the only thing keeping them together.

I'm wanted, not needed. Which is scary AF. It also is why our relationships are so strong.

It's not just about your ability to not spiral during the minor things. It's you showing love and care during the dark times, without punishing yourself. It's humanizing and loving yourself even after you've hurt someone, so that they don't have to take care of you or minimize themselves.

It's allowing yourself to be strong enough to realize that you're not powerful enough to ruin someone's life so easily, that you're scared and sometimes you hurt people. That you can still love those people, and loving them means confronting that you hurt them by saying "I hurt you. I love you and didn't mean to. I'd like to make space for your healing, however that looks like. I got me, I won't take it personally. We're still a team."

And you gotta trust them to not lash out. To not use this hurt as an excuse to hurt you. Because when we are afraid, when we feel alone or betrayed, and we feel hurt, we attack th3 thing that hurt us. It's in our nature. We're still animals.

If you can't be fully honest when hurt, then you'll retreat and barriers will start to be built. Once built, it's hard to tear that shit down. Make it so that it's safe for others to be fully honest with you, even when both of you are hurt.

Btw when someone says "don't talk to me like that, I don't know you" the normal thing to do is apologize for the perceived overfamiliarity and correct the behavior. Just in case anyone was wondering

[marsmaximoff]

i’m begging you. namgyu x reader, it’s lights out and namgyu needs to relieve his stress, SMUT!!! but consensual duh

🌑; lights out * ✧₊☽⋆˚

content warning: fem!reader. smut. unprotected. exhibitionism. praise/degradation. light choking. fingers sucking. getting caught. cum swallowing.

word count: 1k

author's note: oh, anon, if only you knew the way i smiled when i read the request.... anyway, first time posting smut (you can tell), and can we talk about how fucking weird writing it is? i did what i could, also english is not my mother language so bare with me. im sorry y’all 😔😔

dividers by @cafekitsune and @strangergraphics <3

voting leaves the room plunged into an eerie environment. you lay awake, haunted by the hopeless souls, when some ruffling is heard and your bed sinks slightly. you don’t need to ask to know who it is.

“you good?” he doesn’t have to utter a single word to show his agitation. the sounds he lets out are proof enough.

“i can’t fucking fall asleep. those x motherfuckers are riling me up the wrong fucking way.” he scoffs while finally lying down. uneasiness is clearly staining his voice, and you know that tone; he’s on the edge.

“you high?” he snuggles closer to you, pressing his back to your chest before playfully whispering in your ear, “how’s that feel to you, baby? mhm?”, his hard-on against your lower back. 

“fuck” 

“exactly,” he purrs. “i’m desperate as fuck.” needy hands begin to roam all over your body. “and you’re gonna help me.” he leaves a sloppy kiss on your neck before rasping out, “right?” his fiery breath has goosebumps exploding on your skin alongside a certain pressure starting to arise on your belly. still, you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers all piled up mere inches away. “can’t you get out and jerk it off?” his frisky laugh intensifies your arousal and you feel yourself getting hotter with every word he mutters. how can someone’s voice be so damn attractive? “why the hell would i do that when i have you right here? come on, be good for me.” his hands move underneath your shirt, and the dangerous mix of his alluring tone with the fire the physical contact is igniting on your back while he caresses it with his fingertips turns your brain into mush, making it almost impossible to stay sensible. 

“shit, gyu. here? now?” you make an incredible effort to fight your lust, “shhhh. don’t you wanna help relieve my stress?” and he shatters all of it, sending your remaining clarity away.

“fuck, yes.” you turn around and immediately yank his face towards yours, finally tasting heaven-like relief. “good girl,” he pants against your lips. “you feel so much better.” the kiss is messy and hungry. desperate. like you need it to survive. and in a way, he does. 

when your tongues make it too laborious to breathe, he pulls back with your lower lip caged in between his teeth. “why don’t you ride me a bit, mhmh? make me forget those assholes.” you don’t think ‘no’ could ever be a possible answer, not to him. so you nod, already craving that pleasure, and he quickly removes your green sweatpants. he doesn’t bother prepping you or even pulling your underwear down, tho, he’s way too gone for that. he simply grabs you by the hips and makes you sit on top of him. nothing else. the work is yours to do. 

without hesitating, -you want this way too bad-, you take his reddish, stiff member out and give it a few strokes. he grunts and you can't take it, so pushing your panties to the side, you sink in.

“yeah, that's what i'm talking about.” he gasps, totally unconcerned about the circumstances, as always. who cares about the other players when your pussy is taking him so deep? you however, bite your lips to hold back a moan while moving up and down, following a leisurely rhythm, not wanting to get too carried away. although the speed doesn't really matter. he feels wonderful, and a few seconds are all he needs to have you seeing stars. “you're so wet, such a perfect slut for my dick.” you shiver at his praise and he chuckles, gripping your waist with such passion it hurts. but only because you have to suppress your burning satisfaction.

“ride me harder.” the sight of him lying back, talking to you like this with the way he’s staring, has you instinctively bucking your hips. the pace escalates, and you slowly let loose. the grinding turns into bouncing, whimpers become full moans, and you're both so fazed the bed screech accompanying your noises goes unnoticed. 

you use his lean arms as support, gently tracing his perfect veins as a comfort gesture. “god, you’re so good…” your voice is groggy and strained. “i know.” you could get pissed at his overly confident attitude, but truth is you find it hot as fuck. he knows no one could make you feel like this.

“i- i’m- i’m sorry, could you please be quieter, if it’s not too much trouble?” 

it takes you a moment to process what’s happening, your lewdness acting as a blinding veil, but namgyu answers for you. 

“give me bullshit like that again and i’ll break your face, whore.”

the random woman is astonished as well as appalled. she apologizes again and seemingly leaves her bed, the footsteps dying out.

“fucking cunt. bothering me when i’m railing my girl...” he pushes you down and gives you a harsh kiss, the new position snapping you out of your trance. “what the fuck? ur still hard?” you ask through moans. “goddamn, if you knew how fucking good your pussy feels, you’d understand. ‘ts a damn drug.” at that, your walls clench, his sweet talk getting you every. single. time. and it motivates him to change positions, laying you on your side, as you were initially. but you're still a bit weirded out, and he notices. how could he not, with how well he knows your body?

“focus on me. don’t want you thinking ‘bout that or anything that isn’t me and the way i’m fucking you, got that?” his hand travels to your throat and adds a bit of pressure.

“yeah.” 

his girth perfectly stretching you out turns off anything that's not his cock, his movements get harder and deeper due to the still present indignation. “i’m close, gyu…” you cry out, yearning for that release. “of course you are, with how fucking much you’re leaking,” those words only make it worse. “i think you were just as desperate as i was, huh? such a perfect nympho for me”, he groans, thrusting faster. your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder, his dick hits you with such precision it’s hard to even keep your eyes open. slender fingers climb up your skin and reach your lips, which you instantly part letting out a low moan. with that, he pushes them inside, pressing down your tongue. and you suck them with all you’ve got left, licking and slurping while he fucks you in both holes. 

the double pleasure takes control over your body and you start to notice your shakiness. “gyu…” you babble, the capacity of forming full sentences is gone, not only because of his hand. “cum on my cock like a good girl, come on.” he demands against your neck, and your brain listens, as usual, sending throbs and contractions through your hips. your belly drops as if from a plane, he abandons your mouth eager to hear your falling over and you don't disappoint, squeezing his biceps while panting for air. “oh, fuck…” the aftershocks keep going while he pulls out, “damn, you drenched me” you’re not in your right mind to fully comprehend yet, “now, i don’t want it to go to waste, so you’re gonna swallow me up real good. yeah? not gonna drop any?” you answer by sticking out your tongue, and before you know it, the thick, salty, warm liquid fills your senses. you swallow and hear him sigh, relieved.

“shit, i’m spent. you’re such a good stress reliever.”

he falls asleep on your bed and ends up snuggling against you :3

❤️‍🔥 want more namgyu?

[cherrybr4t]

mingyu and ab riding? God everytime I come back to the CK shoot another part of me diesss

no bc ure so real for this anon.. i stand and stare in awe every time i walk past calvin klein. 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️

mingyu and ab riding (+18, mdni)

WARNINGS: idol bf!mingyu (calvin klein mingyu) & non idol gf!reader, riding on mingyu's abs., praise (f rec), not much warnings tbh but! enjoy <3

—

it's no secret that your boyfriend is a total gym rat, and he takes absolute pride in maintaining his physique. you get reminded of it time after time - be it him walking around with just his sweats, or when he steps out of the shower with the towel barely hanging on his hips.

and tonight, you gawk at your boyfriend mid-netflix-watching when he steps into the bedroom with just his calvin klein boxers. he dries his hair with a towel and you salivate as you observe how his muscles tense with every moment he makes.

"god, is this the episode where yang leaves seattle?" he hops into bed; to be specific — on top of you, while you're on your belly re-watching grey's anatomy.

"i can't breathe gyu," you choke out as you feel yourself deflating into the mattress the longer your giant puppy of a boyfriend is perched on your back.

he rolls off to the side, sending you accusatory comments that you've just called him fat and that you don't love him anymore. to which you giggle and roll your eyes.

"dramatic much? sometimes you're like a fully grown dog who still thinks they're a puppy. you're not a lap dog gyu,"

he props his elbow up, turns to his side as his head leans on his hand — "nope, i refuse. i am your lap puppy,"

you get distracted once again by mingyu and the way his chest muscles tense and the way his abs contract while giggling.

"baby, why are you acting as if it's the first time you've seen me shirtless," mingyu smirks as he noticed how spaced out you've become, with your eyes darting around frantically his frame.

"are you ovulating?"

you snap out of it and smack him lightly on his chest.

"ow, i'm just asking.. based on my calendar and memory though, it does seem like it's about time,"

you drag a sigh out, fingers drawing out random figures on his abs.

"just amazed. how do you look exactly like all your pictorials — especially the calvin klein ones,"

mingyu giggles, little canines poking out while getting shy, "well, just giving you more bragging rights to all your friends baby,"

"yeah, cause it's all mine right? only i get to see and touch you for myself," you boldly brush your hands all over your boyfriends body, silently claiming the man as yours and only yours.

mingyu grabs your wrist halfway and pulls you in closer, "yeah baby, all yours to touch and play with, wanna see what else these muscles of mine can do?"

you giggle and nod as you look at your boyfriend through your lashes, the sultry atmosphere of the room seeping in.

he lies flat on his back and has you sat right on top of hips.

"remove your pants for me baby, and don't forget your panties too,"

you cock your head to the side, not sure what your boyfriend has up his sleeve but you abide by his instructions nonetheless. wiggling out of your night shorts and panties, you prop yourself up, straddled on your boyfriend's hips again.

"sit on my abs baby," you move up closer, bare cunt in contact with his defined muscles. he twitches the moment he feels your cunt already seeping juices onto his stomach.

"good girl, now make yourself cum with my abs," he crosses his arms behind his head, completely relaxed as he watches you intently; with a small smirk on that smug face of his.

"gotta mark your territory right baby? come on, you're not going anywhere til you've came on my abs,"

your cheeks radiate a certain tint of red as you feel both your cunt and and face getting warmer. you steady your thighs, before starting to move up and down the hard and textured abdominal muscles of your boyfriend.

"that's it, fuck baby you're fucking drenched," he peeks at his stomach, only to find his muscles glistening with all your juices.

you whimper, feeling encouraged by mingyu and his filthy words towards you. you were determined to paint every crevice of his muscles in your juices, your cum.

"f-feels good gyu," you balance yourself by grabbing onto his chest, allowing yourself to grind down on his abs with more pressure and at a quicker pace.

"yeah baby? you're doing so well, so desperate to cum for me aren't you," he groans and you feel his hard on start to poke at you from behind through his boxers.

you nod so fervently, feeling the pressure and ball constrict in your lower abdomen, like a tightening coil that's threatening to break loose any moment soon.

"i'm so close gyu — fuck, please please," your voice starts to crack as you feel yourself inching closer and closer towards that euphoric moment.

he reaches a hand towards you, creeping underneath your nightie to tug at your nipples. he plays with the soft fat around, before focusing on playing with your perked up and sensitive nipples.

"come on baby, give it to me — need to feel you cum all over me,"

"that's it baby i can tell you're right there, cum for me,"

with a few more encouragements from mingyu, you feel the knot start to unravel as you jerk uncontrollably on top of your boyfriend, breaking out in a string of moans that crescendoed, and shouting out your boyfriends name in cries.

you feel your boyfriend tense up under you, "so good - fuck baby, fuuuuuckkk" you feel a warm sensation through the stretch of his boxers.

as you came down from your high, you realised that you made your boyfriend come untouched.

"gyu did you...?"

"fuck...yeah baby... couldn't help it. you looked so fucking hot getting off like that right on top of me i-"

"shh shh" you smile, heart beaming with pride before leaning down on his chest.

—

a/n: soo.. ITS BEEN A LONG TIME ! but i'm sorta back. and with my current mingyu obsession, this ask couldn't have came at a better time! i hope you like it dear anon,, <3 muacks!!

[rhiannonsknife]

feeling.. a bit.. whorish 🫣

but was thinking of reader who gets roped into going to one of lottie’s parties and there they also get roped into playing spin the bottle.. which coincidentally majority of the yellowjackets are playing also—

basically reader getting to kiss/make out with the members

- 🐉

oh my god we gotta love a whorish 🐉 anon ask!! nsfw-ish content. so mdni. part 2.

you're trying not to think too hard about what's happening around you as nat (who’s been making out with jackie for the past minutes) licks her lips, like she’s savoring the last bits of jackie in her mouth, and reaches for the bottle in the center of the circle of yellowjackets.

then she spins it.

the air feels thicker as the bottle slows, the suspense stretching impossibly thin. your stomach flips as it finally comes to a stop. pointing directly at you. “fucking finally,”

your face heats instantly, your mind reeling at the implication behind her words. you don't get the chance to ask what she means, because nat is already on her knees, crawling toward you

“nat, don't break them,” shauna teases from her spot in the circle, leaning back on her hands. “i’m gentle!” she insists with a low chuckle.

all eyes are on you as nat leans in.

you don't realize you're holding your breath until her lips brush yours. for a brief moment, she hovers there, her mouth barely grazing yours as if she's daring you to lean in and close the gap. when you don't, nat’s hand slides up, her fingers curling just under your chin to tilt your face toward her.

and then she kisses you.

her lips move with a confidence that makes your head spin, coaxing you into it until you can't think about anything else.

when she finally pulls back and you find yourself chasing her mouth with a low whine, nat’s grin is wide and triumphant, her eyes scanning your flushed face with satisfaction.

“not bad,” she says, sitting back like she's just done you a favor.

you barely have time to catch your breath, let alone process before jackie speaks up. “i don't know…” she taps her chin. “i think i can do better!”

it’s not a question. not really. jackie is already sliding closer.

her lips crash into yours, and the difference is immediate. where nat's kiss was measured, jackie is messy, frantic.

her hand curls around the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she tugs you closer. jackie’s manicured nails lightly graze your skin and the force of it sends a shiver down your spine. you can't help but gasp against her mouth.

jackie takes full advantage, licking into you like she has something to prove, like she needs to claim this moment as hers and no one else's: she kisses like she's been starving for you, like this is something she's been aching for but denying herself until now.

when she pulls away, you're dizzy. jackie just smiles, wiping the corner of your mouth with her thumb. “yeah,” she rasps. “much better…”

“that’s not fair,” shauna says -no, whines- suddenly, pushing off her hands and shifting forward. “i didn't get a turn!”

jackie, whose hands still cup the side of your face, makes room for her. “suit yourself shipman,” she tilts your head so you’re looking past her at shauna. “they’re all yours!”

the words barely have time to register before shauna is there, framing your face with both hands as her lips meet yours too. you inhale sharply, your mouth still puffy and wet with jackie’s saliva.

where she was rough, shauna is steady, patient, her lips soft but firm, her thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as she deepens the kiss. somewhere behind you, you hear nat’s breath catching in her throat as she watches you kiss shauna back while jackie lingers close to you. her hands roam your back, fingers digging into your shoulders in what’s supposed to be a grounding gesture. it only sends more heat through your body that pools between your thighs.

when shauna pulls back, her dark eyes linger on yours, pupils dilated impossibly wide. her jaw drops when jackie, impatient as ever, cradles your neck and turns you back towards herself immediately after.

she sighs into your mouth this time, an almost-moan slipping from her as she gets her own taste of shauna’s spit in your mouth.

lottie's voice cuts through the moment suddenly, “i think it's my turn,”

she doesn't sit down when she reaches you, doesn't kneel like the others did. instead, she stands tall, towering over you. lottie's hand lifts, her fingers gentle as they cup your jaw. she tilts your face up toward hers, then curls her fingers in your hair.

lottie doesn't rush. there's no hurried crash of lips, no frenzied energy. the kiss lasts longer than the others, feels more deliberate and when she pulls away, you're breathless. lottie grins, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “yeah,” she says softly, like the others aren't even there. “that's more like it,”

the silence that follows feels charged. you glance around, realizing all of them are still watching you expectantly. jackie breaks first: “you're not done yet, are you?”

unable to string together any coherent sentences, you just shake your head, dumbfounded and so, so turned on.

“pass them over here,” shauna murmurs, and suddenly you're moving again, their hands on you, their mouths finding yours from all directions.

you lose track of time, of whose lips are brushing yours, of whose hands are sliding over your skin and tugging at your clothes. the room spins around you, a blur of low hums and teasing words, but you don't care. not when jackie's teeth are grazing the base of your neck, or when shauna is whispering sweet nothings against your ear. not when nat pulls you into her lap and gently rocks you back and forth, or when lottie kisses you again, slow and consuming, like she's trying to leave her mark.

[i-feel-it-in-the-earth]

Botox for migraine headache literally changed my life. It's a huge pain to get insurance approval if you're USAmerican, and you also will likely have to contact the specialty pharmacy to order the drugs and authorize/schedule shipment to your doctor's office and the specialty pharmacy WILL be obnoxious about this ("I called you weeks ago to authorize shipment of my botox for my appointment on X date - why didn't you ship it?" "You didn't schedule the shipment" "...why would I authorize the shipment and provide you with the date it's needed by if I DIDN'T ALSO want you to ship it?"). Even with the hassle, though, it's been such a game-changer for me.

My doctor fast-tracked me through all of the medication classes insurance companies demand you try before they'll approve botox because he knew it was the most likely to help in my case. I technically have a chronic daily headache, and without treatment I'm in moderate pain constantly and with frequent (3+ times a week) spikes into severe migraines that last for days and I can do nothing but sit in a dark silent room.

With the botox? My daily pain is mild, less reactive to triggers but more responsive to as-needed pain meds, it only becomes a migraine and/or severe more like once a month or so, and when it does, it typically goes back down to normal (normal for me, anyway) levels after sleeping - so only ONE day of suffering once in a blue moon instead of more than half of every month in debilitating pain.

Botox lets me travel, play with my niece and nephew, ride the train, enjoy moderate physical activity, drive safely, do my job, cancel plans less often. I still have some limitations - flashing/strobing lights are horrible for me, I can't go to concerts or really anywhere with concert-level noise, strenuous physical activity can still make me feel worse. But I carry earplugs and my as-needed medications (Fioricet and Nurtec), and even those I need less than I did before.

Because of the above-mentioned hassle with getting botox sometimes, there have been a number of times I've had to wait longer than the twelve weeks between treatments, meaning the botox wears off. When this happens, my headache/migraines pretty quickly become as severe as they were pre-treatment. It sucks when this happens, but hey, at least I have confirmation it's working! (because when you're in pain for so long, sometimes you start to second-guess yourself and think you're faking it 🤷‍♀️ )

The worst side effects for me are some pain for a vew hours at the injection sites (icing them right after the treatment helps a ton with this) and somewhat limited eyebrow movement since I need the botox in my forehead (but damn if my forehead isn't smooth af)

If you feel like you've tried everything and nothing works, I highly recommend looking into botox with a neurologist. For a short office visit 4-5 times a year and some shots in your head neck & shoulders (depending on where you need the nerves deadened) with a very tiny needle, you just might find some relief and get a lot of control of your life back.

Sending love and good vibes and peace and pain relief to op and anyone else who needs it ❤️

If you can see this, this isn’t directed at you because I blocked the person, but oh boy, nothing quite like someone telling you to “try taking Tylenol AND ibuprofen” for your chronic migraines to turn me into a colossal bitch.

Like, I’m sorry. Here’s me been experimenting with anti-seizure medication and a whole bunch of other nasty shit so I don’t walk into oncoming traffic and you really think my ass who had 200+ migraines in 2023 and developed occipital neuralgia in 2024 on top of the trigeminal neuralgia I’ve already had for years because the nerves in my head won’t turn off hasn’t tried over the counter pain relief?

I should be allowed to start biting.

[slytherin-princess-x]

Don’t get caught

Theodore nott x y/n riddle

An/ hi guys I’m back with a new short story, enjoy

The air in my dorm room was thick, charged with the illicit thrill of stolen moments. Theodore’s hands were tangled in my hair, his lips hot and demanding against mine. My back was pressed against the cool wood of the door, my legs locked around his waist for balance. The world outside the confines of our clandestine bubble ceased to exist.

We’d been doing this for weeks now, navigating the treacherous waters of Hogwarts’ social scene while attempting to keep our relationship a secret. It was a dangerous game, one made all the more exhilarating by the lurking threat of discovery. Tonight, the risk felt palpable as his fingers grazed my bare skin beneath my school shirt, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold castle air.

Then, the world crashed back in with a jarring knock. My heart leaped into my throat, and I knew, before I even heard their voices, that our recklessness was about to catch up with us.

“Hey y/n, open the door!” Mattheo’s voice boomed from the other side, followed by Tom's, more measured but just as insistent, "Open up y/n."

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. I pulled away from Theo, my cheeks burning. The kiss was broken, the spell shattered. Theo, his grey eyes flashing with annoyance, released me, clearly frustrated at the interruption. I scrambled to unwrap my legs from his waist, my movements jerky and hurried. He was about to protest, his mouth opening to say something, but I slapped a hand over his lips, my eyes wide with warning.

“Shhh!” I hissed, pointing to the narrow gap between the door and the wall. He glared, but understood the gravity of the situation.

I pushed him behind the door where he wouldn’t be seen when I opened it. My shirt was disheveled, my breathing heavy, the only thing I had was my school shirt and my underwear. I tried to appear as calm as possible under the circumstances. Taking a deep breath, I edged the door open just enough to create a narrow opening, my back pressed against the frame.

“Hey Mattheo,” I said, my voice a little breathy. I focused my gaze on my brother's face, careful not to let my eyes wander past the threshold. “I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

Mattheo tilted his head, a flicker of suspicion in his dark eyes. "Busy? At this hour? What could be so important that you can't open the door?" he questioned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tom, ever the observer, stood behind Mattheo, his expression unreadable. I knew what they were both thinking.

My mind raced, trying to come up with a believable explanation. "Oh you know… study, cleaning… loads of things" I rambled, wincing at the patheticness of my alibi. It was clear I was flustered and it didn't go unnoticed by my brothers.

Meanwhile, Theo decided to be a menace. I felt his tongue dart out to lick my palm. He was testing me, pushing the boundaries of our precarious game. It was a dumb move, but a wave of something almost like amusement washed over me. I knew what he was doing. He wanted to see what I would do when put under pressure. Wrapping my hand around his neck, I squeezed gently, my nails grazing his skin. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't resist, the amused smirk still playing on his lips. I knew what he wanted. If he wanted to play, I would play.

"You sound a little out of breath" Tom stated, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the small gap through the door.

"I um.. was just doing some yoga to wind down" I stammered, trying to maintain a straight face. I could feel Theo fidgeting behind the door, I hoped he would stay put.

Mattheo chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent another wave of panic through me. "Yoga? Really?" He was obviously not convinced either.

"Yeah, it helps me relax, you know?" I continued to lie, wishing I had an invisibility cloak handy.

I could feel their eyes piercing me, trying to see through the narrow gap. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. This was it, I thought, they were going to figure it out. I could almost hear Theo's exasperated sigh behind me.

"Well, if you're not going to open the door, I guess we'll just go" Mattheo said. He backed away slightly, Tom following him.

"Whatever" I huffed, trying to act like it didn't bother me that they didn't believe me with a small roll of my eyes.

The brothers gave me one last look before finally turning away. As soon as I heard their footsteps fade down the hall, I slammed the door shut, letting out a shaky breath of relief.

I immediately turned to Theo, my gaze full of equal parts panic and anger. "That was too close!' I hissed, my voice trembling. He peeled my hand off his mouth, his expression still annoyed despite the close call.

"Tell me about it, now where were we?" he said grabbing my face and pulling me in for another kiss, my panic immediately forgotten as I was swept into our secret world once more.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[azurem]

It was a frequent question he had, buzzing in his ears like a particularly annoying fly. As such, he felt no shame in his question:

"Is there a reason why you drink the... blue?"

Ink glanced at him, a raised eyebrow. He turned his head to look at him, keeping within his closed fist the catalyst for the question itself. "...Hm? I thought I told you already. My emotions aren't—"

"—natural, no," Nightmare finished for him. Seeing as that wasn't enough explanation —Ink was just looking at him blankly— he said, "still. Isn't blue the color of sorrow?"

"So, what if it is?"

"I don't see why anybody would choose to feel sadness," Nightmare said. He moved closer, just enough so his thigh would brush against Ink's. "You have happiness beneath your fingertips, courage... affection. I don't see why you'd take the option of suffering through your own sadness when it's unnecessary."

"Well—" Ink looked to the side, in thought. As he looked back at him, as if sensing something in Nightmare's expression, he smiled. "—what's it to you?"

"Pardon?"

Ink kept smiling. "Why would I drink the blue when I could just not do it?"

Nightmare looked away. Even when their joining hasn't been recent, he still struggled with keeping a poker face whenever Ink smiled like that. "...Well—"

Nightmare thought about it for a second, maybe more. Naturally, his thoughts drifted to the very balance he chose to forsake. "—You can't feel happiness if there's nothing to compensate it for."

"Nope," Ink said. "Not for me. I could just feel happiness all the time, if I wanted to."

"It's a thing about contrasts, then," Nightmare said instead. He closed his eye, unwilling yet to look at him. "You can't enjoy happiness if there's nothing to compare it to."

"You're getting colder," Ink said. He tilted his head, as if to look at Nightmare better, before he took his hand, slipping something inside it. When their eyes met, he didn't make any particular expression, yet his eyes shone with the hue of someone in the middle of reading. "Think again?"

"Hm." Nightmare turned his head to look at them, accepting the offering without any particular word. By its shape, he already knew what it was. His next words were hesitant, a bit clumsy: "maybe... You drink it to look normal. People wouldn't accept someone that wouldn't feel as they did."

"Pf. C'mon, now that's just depressing," Ink said. He snorted when Nightmare just gave him an unimpressed glare, which he promptly responded with an elbow to his arm. "You're thinking about it way too hard."

"Am I, now?"

"You totally are," Ink said. "Making stuff way more complicated than necessary— you do that a lot, y'know?"

He could feel his eye twitching. "Won't you just tell me?"

"I will," Ink said. He faked a yawn. "It's rather simple, really— mhm. A simple, simple thing—"

"Which is?"

"Huh, impatient," Ink said. He winked at him when Nightmare made a huff. "Y'know. Usually people just do stuff because they feel like it."

"Because they feel like it," Nightmare echoed, feeling somewhat disappointed. Still, this didn't clear his question. "But why? Why feel sadness, when it's a feeling everyone would rather discard if the choice arose?"

"See? Thinking way too hard about it."

"Ink— I insist. Is it not about the contrast? About normalcy? Why to feel, when it's—"

"An emotion," Ink said. "You're weird, y'know?"

"You— You vex me," Nightmare said. It was like trying to do a puzzle in the dark. "Incredibly so. You choose unnecessary, undesirable things— you love to make your own life more complicated than it should."

"Then we're the same," Ink said. His hands felt twitchy, so he looked down to look at them, curious of the way they dug into the cloth of his overalls. As in echo, he commented, "I don't get it. Why insist on knowing? Isn't it enough to just... let it be?"

"A life without knowledge is nothing better than the life of an animal, you must understand it well. Though...—" Nightmare looked down at him, at the way his hands seemed confused and lost. "—Though I assume a life without emotion is nothing better than the life of a machine."

"It's not," Ink said quietly. He took a moment before he looked up again. "...Still. You're pretty much a weirdo."

"...I've been called worse," Nightmare said after a moment. It felt somewhat disgraceful to know that he wasn't speaking in deceit.

Ink smiled at him. "Y'know... I wasn't lying. I do it just because, because I like feeling blue. Even if there wasn't any yellow for me, I'd still choose to drink it every time. I'd still like it, even if it was my only emotion."

"You're lying to me," he said. Ink only kept on smiling. It was not a lie. "...Where is the beauty in sorrow?"

"Where's the beauty in joy?" Ink echoed, almost teasingly. "You're a complicated guy, Nightmare. But that's why I like when you get serious with me."

Nightmare raised an eyebrow at him as Ink's hand insisted on his own, making his phalanges close on the vial of class within. As if Nightmare would have ever let it fall.

"Tell you what," he continued, bringing his hand up to his chest as if to trace the emptiness in between the colors of his chest, as one would do with a missing tooth. "Until you find the answer to that, keep it with you. It'll be a funny story."

[angelackless]

I CAN FIX HIM

Biker!Dean Winchester x sunshine!reader

THEY SHAKE THEIR HEADS SAYING "GOD HELP HER" WHEN I TELL THEM HE'S MY MAN.

YOU WERE THE SUNSHINE TO HIS RAIN, DEAN FELT WHOLE WITH YOU AND COULD GIVE ZERO SHIT ABOUT WHAT OTHERS SAY. But, he would be lying if he said all the comments didn't started to get to him.People know nothing about you guys relationship, but still felt like making opinions about it, like how he is corrupting you or he is a bad influence on you, and even if he knows it's bullshit it didn't made it any better.

You were currently making dinner in your guys apartment, he just got home from his outing and went straight to take a shower. He walked downstairs now changed into some grey sweatpants and a black shirt.

"How was your day?" You asked as you felt his arms wrapped around you

"could have been better" he buried his face in your shoulder

"do you want to talk about it?" at your question Dean's grip on you tightened

"just bunch of idiots who still thinks they know our relationship" he muttered into your shoulder "I just hate how they make it look like i'm the big bad wolf who's taking advantage of a lamb"

"you know that it's bullshit, right?" You asked and put the kitchen knife down and turned around to face him "what did you heard?"

"some guys were talking about how someone like you shouldn't be with a lowlife like me" at his words you could swore your heart broke a little.

Dean was nothing like what people painted him to be, atleast not with you. Was he agressive at times?sure, still not with you, he treated you like a princess,like you were a porcelain doll that could break any moment.

"I know that,but..all i've been hearing my whole fucking life was that I should do more,I should be more like Sam, I shouldn't be so goddamn grumpy all the time, and I just can't help but think that you deserve more than me" he said as he avoided eye contact with you at all cost "someone who..I don't know, doesn't get in fight, someone who can control his anger more-"

"stop'' you interrupted, well tried to interrupt him

"no,you do, you deserve someone better than-'' his words got cut off as you pulled him down for a kiss, his hand was on your hips, holding onto you like his life dependent on it. You slowly pulled away from him and cupped his cheek

"listen to me, I don't care what others think or say about you or about us" your voice came out gentle, but still somewhat firm "okay?I fell in love with you because you make me feel safe and loved and appraciated, and I love you as you are, every single flaw that you have makes me fall in love with you so much more, so don't you dare talk about yourself like that again"

"what did I do to deserve you?" Dean asked with a quiet voice, his hands rubbing against your sides "I love you so much, (y/n)" he pulled you into a tight hug, kissing your forehead "I don't know what I would do without you''

"you never have to worry about that" you answered, tightening your grip on him "i'm here to stay"

[violue]

Normally I'd probably just have scrolled past this, as I saw it while looking for new Mel fanart, but seeing that it had 200 notes made me so sad.

I just can't agree with this at all. I've been black for nearly 41 years and I would have killed to have media like this when I was a young anime loving nerd. Not just because every frame is art, or because the music was so on point and impactful, or because every character was so damn interesting, or because I was a League of Legends player.

Because it was special.

Mel was incredible. Just because Jayce and Mel parted ways (ish)? Doesn't mean she was treated as disposable. She was a straight up Deus Ex Chosen One Perfect Goddess Wolf, and the narrative gave her plenty of growth, character, and plot. She had a deep and interesting dynamic with her mother, with Jayce, with the Black Rose, with her own self. The show also made it clear by the end that her story was just getting started.

The same goes for Ekko. Him being the single most important part of the final act is huge. Him getting to experience that happier world was part of his story, the romance was an aside. It wasn't his main purpose. If anything, Jinx is a side character in his story in many of the scenes they share. He is a genius inventor, he had a life changing impact on a 300+ year old Heimerdinger, he was a revolutionary part of a crucial resistance against Piltover, Jinx, and any other threat that came by. Maybe you just didn't care about his story aside from how it developed with Jinx?

Sevika had an incredible arc that started with her as a snarky henchman to Silco and the chem barons, to an aimless "henchman without a boss", to a momma bear, to the sole voice of Zaun on the Piltover council. And she did a lot of that with one damn arm. As for the ogre thing; she's tall and muscular. If she was the only character with brown skin on the entire show and that ogre line came out, I'd be side eyeing it too, but she wasn't.

Sky existing only to further Viktor's storyline to ME feels a lot more like lazy misogyny than purposeful misogynoir. She got fridged, but she was still an intelligent woman of color, not the most common thing even in these 2020s.

You didn't mention Ambessa, but what a character. Aggressively flawed, powerful, shrewd. A type that's usually designed for white male characters, but instead she's a powerful Black leader commanding an entire army.

Now I'm not Jewish, so there's always been a lot of antisemitism in media that went completely over my head, but when in the world did we decide Silco was supposed to be Jewish? I even tried googling it while typing this post, and I can't find anyone suggesting this. Is it possible you're projecting Jewish stereotypes onto him???

I also definitely disagree with the idea that they went for a "both sides are bad" cop-out. They went out of their way to show why both sides are extremely complicated, and how different those factions can be depending on their leader. Piltover was always the city on a shining hill, and Zaun was always the unfairly maligned undercity rebelling against their unfair circumstances.

I'm frustrated, because to me, it feels a little like you're creating problems out of thin air so that people can congratulate you on being the one person smart enough to acknowledge them.

Look. If I come off over the top, it's because this bit of media meant a lot to me. The show's central (canon) romance was two women. There were multiple, smart, clever, powerful, black and brown female characters that were written to have multiple dimensions, purposes, and fates. They had a surplus of powerful, intelligent female characters in general. They had disabled, neurodivergent, queer characters. They left the Bechdel test in the dust.

They explored the way the wealthy can exist in comfort and ignorance at the expense of the poor, and how law enforcement is used as a tool to further that agenda. It explored corruption in law enforcement, government, and even criminal enterprises.

For me it was mindful and inclusive, which really impressed me considering the writing staff is mostly a bunch of white people.

... the pacing in season 2 was a mess though.

Now that arcane is over im seriously starting to doubt its “inclusion”

Mel being the disposable black girlfriend

Sky existing solely for the development of a white man (viktor)

Ekko and sevika both dedicating their lives to the betterment of zaun and getting absolutely 0 recognition and instead being favored for the white girl that didn’t even want the position (jinx)

Ekko having no personal development outside of jinx (white girl) and his only real purpose in arcane being to save the day and never being mentioned again

Silco being an antisemitic stereotype

Sevika being called an ogre by a white girl?????

Now that I’m actually looking at this shit, it kinda sucks. And when you consider the fact that the whole p/z conflict was thrown out the fucking window with the “both sides are bad” p.o.v + the fact that the whole reason the p/z conflict exists in the first place is because of ship angst, it feels like they never cared about any of it. The inclusion, the commentary, the mindfulness, it was all fake. Like damn. They really dont give a shit and never did. Its all just racism in pretty packaging :/

[ughtyrell]

Jayce is sent back in time to when the councilors argue about Zaun's independence and Jayce just wants to get his partner out of there

Jayce felt himself let out a gasp, the kind when you've just woken up from a nightmare. Glancing around he realizes he's in the council room. The councilors still raging over Zaun's independence. He knows they'll agree but then it wouldn't matter anyhow because half of them would perish a minute later.

"Jayce?"

It felt like Jayces heart would stop, that voice, that beautiful voice. To his side is Viktor, beautiful, perfect and flawed, whole Viktor who is staring at him in concern. The only one who heard his gasp and is noticing his panic at the moment. Right. The whole reason he's here right now.

"Viktor we need to go." Standing up and facing Viktor, ready to lead him away immediately. Except Viktor is looking at him in disbelief and the beginning of anger.

"The peace agreement Jayce." He says as if that will matter when he's dead. He's going to die. No! That's why Jayce is here. To change that. Then Jayce wouldn't need to merge him with the hexcore. He wouldn't become the Herald. He wouldn't be a lonely mage at the end of the world. All would be different if he can just get Viktor out of here now.

"Viktor I have a really bad feeling. We need to leave. Now."

Jayce hears the councilors quieting over his strange behavior, Mel saying his name in question. He doesn't care, the only one who matters he's already looking at. His partner who seems like he's going to fight Jayce about this. Something Jayce missed about Viktor. His attitude and willingness to use his sharp tongue as a weapon. He'll let Viktor yell as much as he wants later.

"Please. You trust me right. Never mind it doesn't matter." Too much time has already been wasted. Viktor will hate him for it but Jayce is going to scoop him up and run.

And he does. Voices around him raise and demand to know what he's doing? To stop this nonsense! None louder than Viktor who looks like he wants to bodily harm Jayce at this very moment. Jayce hears Viktors cane hit the ground but there's no going back for it even as Viktor yells about that too.

"I'll make you a new one! Please I just have a horrible feeling, we need to go Viktor!" Something in Jayces voice or expression must get through Viktors outrage, some of Jayces desperation and fear because he stops trying to fight his way out of the hold he's in. Making it so much easier to run with him.

How much time left? Jayce can't think. They need to get at least one floor down. More would be better but no matter what Jayce will use his own body to cover and protect Viktor if needed.

This is inspired from a fic I read but can't find for the life of me to credit. I searched 7 pages of my ao3 history. I wonder if they deleted it. That one ends differently. I just really wanted to write Jayce picking up Viktor and getting tf outta there asap. No time to bicker and fight ur boy Jayce, just run ! He can hit you with his newly made cane you gift him later!

Anyways these guys totally survive, Jayce takes them like two floors down, are in a landing of the stairwell where he stumbles and drops Viktor when everything starts to shake but makes sure to cover him from any danger. They are A-OK tho, not a scratch. Only Jayces wounded pride and guilt that he dropped Viktor. He probably teared up about it and Viktor tried to be comforting because Jayce did just save his life. But that sentiment only goes so far when he thinks Jayce is just being dumb.

[artsninspo]

002 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

⇚ 001

♠ authors note: hi! wow, wow, wow - the first part of this is doing so well. thanks to everyone who has liked, commented and reblogged. a few notes firstly- I've changed the POV . Our OC is Lorence Cole commonly referred to as Cole professionally, no worries though she’s very much a black woman.

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is still keen on recruiting Lorence for the open directors position within his security firm. Her stellar results during both tactical and physical trials makes her a top candidate but his reputation is in the way of her eager acceptance of the offer.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~1.5K

⌖ - Richmond Inc. Training HQ

Second to being in the presence of the Boss, tactical day is my second least favourite part of my job. It’s not that I’m a pacifist but the idea of pulling the trigger and striking a human being in a vital artery is the last thing I want to be doing. Securing my ear protection I let the rounds go being as precise as possible so I can leave sooner than later. This training is proactive and preventative for agents like me who never see the more violent side of the field. It's a necessary evil. A team is only as strong as their weakest link and if shit ever hits the fan I never want to be the person left behind who can't carry their own weight.

“Hey Cole join our competition” a couple of the guys call as I pack up the firearm.

“No thanks” I respond. “Wouldn’t want to make you boys look bad.” I add playfully and they all laugh telling me my comment is wishful thinking. The Boss is huge on being proactive. Since its inception Richmond Inc. has only lost one employee while on assignment. That was while he was being a hero and not doing what we were trained to do. I move onto a larger weapon and look through the scope taking the stationary targets down one by one before heading  on to the moving targets course. This one is a simulation, kind of like virtual reality but it feels real. It’s a culmination of all of our training, unfortunately us women are required to perform it twice. Once with heels and the other time in footwear of our choosing. My score is satisfactory and I relax after finishing the tactical portion. I take a short breather before I head to finish the physical training. Some of the field agents come out to place the weighted vests and ankle weights on me before I’m forced into the pool. Stay afloat for twenty minutes or cross the length of the pool twice. I manage the crossing with difficulty before I’m pulled up from the up edge. It’s the track that sees me next. I dry off as much as I can before making quick work of the three miles within the time constraints. When I’m finished I take my time in the sauna before changing. I get dressed and make myself presentable before emerging from the facilities. I’m gonna need an energy drink and a coffee to make it through the rest of today. Chatter gets my attention and I find the Boss standing in front of the exit. I look for another exit to avoid any interactions. I curse myself again for finishing so quickly - I wouldn't have if I knew he was in town.

“Lorence, of course you’re top twenty” A familiar voice shouts, blowing my attempt at discretion. Still, I smile at the sight of my mentor wearing a proud smile. Joel taught me everything I know about passing both the tactical and physical trials, lord knows I was bottom ten when I first joined the firm. “Rich told me you declined a director position. Why would you do that? You have everything it takes.” He asks discreetly. Unlike the Boss Joel is generous, kind and patient. He spoiled me with his easy going temperament. If it were a director position under him there’d be nothing to discuss. I’d sign the dotted line in a heartbeat. The possibilities of how ugly this job can become would be my only worry and not verbal abuse from time to time.

“I’m not good under pressure” I mutter.

“Yeah fucking right. How many times have you talked us out of a bind?” Joel asks like a proud father figure. His greatest leadership quality is that he likes to see others shine and knows how to get the light out of them. “More than half of us in the field aren’t as smart as you. Negotiate. The Boss isn’t above reason and always puts the company first. I can put in a good word.” Joel offers.

“It’s not that I’m smarter, it's that none of you guys listen. I’m not interested in Joel” I respond jokingly.

“No, your testing proves you’re the right one for the position” he says.

I sigh. “I enjoy my life, okay?”

“What, sitting on an overpriced couch? Spending hours cooking for one?” Joel teases and I glare at him while he has a laugh at my expense.

“Come on, try the winter circuit - it’s lowkey and easy to get your feet wet. You can shadow me. $750k to do what you can do in your sleep” Joel says being a salesman.

“What? Do you get a commission?” I tease.

“No, I'll get my best agent back.” Joel says.

I take a deep breath in and weigh my options. “I have one condition before I seriously consider it. If you don’t think it’s possible then drop it”

“What” Joel asks, brow raised and ready for a challenge.

“I deal with you and not the Boss” I tell Joel who seizes up. His brows bunch like it's the most ridiculous request. Confusion covers his expression, most of why people become directors is for the position's proximity to Mr. Richmond. It's worth his weight in gold. “You know I make mistakes in the beginning and he’s an eagle eyed freak who blows up on people. I don’t do well with that. If you can take the tirades for me I’ll consider the promotion” I explain and understanding settles into his expression. He nods looking down dimples settling into his cheeks.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Joel laughs shaking his head side to side.

I’m not at all amused. “It’s my line, it’s my condition. I like peace” 

“Are you being this insane for praise too or just criticism?” Joel asks, patronizing me.

“Both are fine with me, they can trickle down through you” I shrug and the hulk himself comes over looking down at his tablet. Black cashmere sweater, silver watch, grey cargos and a fresh trim. Stop it, I scorn my thoughts as he joins us.

“Impressive results Cole” Richmond says.

“Thank you, Joel taught me everything I know” I confess and Joel gives me a half smile.

“She’s a quick study” Joel says, throwing a compliment back my way.

Richmond continues scrolling on the tablet before pausing. He looks up with visible concern. “Monitors show significant distress while shooting.”

“Pacifist” Joel smiles looking from me to the Boss. “Unless bugs are involved. No bodies, no blood” Joel explains.

“Hmm” Richmond says, tapping on the tablet.

“You’re virtually fearless though” he says, continuing to scroll like I'm not right in front of him.

“Exactly. An unreasonable amount of disregard for her own well being but tremendous concern for others. It’s what makes her one of one” Joel says, being exactly the kind of sponsor I’d want under any other circumstance.

“I see,” the Boss nods, looking at me. I hold his gaze for a few seconds before turning back to Joel.

“Well Joel I hope you know you’re getting nothing for that flattery. I’m heading home. Mr. Richmond” I interject nodding in the Boss’ direction to cut the conversation short. It’s like a part of me knows observing Richmond from afar is fine but up close it’s hard to forget I'm in the presence of someone absolutely lethal.

“Drive safe” Joel responds and I nod.

“You too, thanks” I force a smile heading out the front door and into my car where I take a few deep breaths. When I pull out of the lot I see Joel and Richmond in conversation and cringe internally. The agent in me says suck it up and take the position but every other part is warning bells that say stay away. Just the thought of one of his full metal jacket tirades makes me shudder in place. Maybe that’s what was required of him in the army but it doesn't inspire people like me who want to do good. I don’t need anyone telling me what an idiot I am after I make a mistake I know better than anyone else. I was sick for a week when one of my proposed exit routes was subject to a traffic jam. I was the head logistics navigator and spent the next thirty minutes covering my ass to save the clients. Although everything went off without a hitch I demoted myself. Joel was generous but no amount of consolation minimized the fact that I shit the bed. I ran another 10 assignments at a subordinate rank before I felt comfortable at head rank again. The margin of error for director’s is less forgiving under certain circumstances. Gaining intel and filtering for what's necessary is no small feat the success of every project is on your shoulders and so are everyone else’s fuck ups.

New directors are routinely on the Bosses bad side and that's a place I never want to be.

authors note: thanks for reading 🖤 sound off in the comments on if you think Lorence is making good or bad decisions in regards to her promotion and how we think Mr. Richmond handles her terms 💭 cant wait to see what you all think!

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