#and then by the time she came out she was already so high

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ he’s harmless ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, alcohol and weed consumption mention, SWEETS ISNT CHEATING!!!)

It wasn't very often that the frat brothers of Nu Chi really got together to just part amongst themselves. They were a pretty close group of guys, they liked throwing crazy rangers, but sometimes they didn't want to have to worry about someone throwing up in the bushes out front or fixing a clogged toilet while they were high as hell. Sometimes they just wanted to drink a little something or smoke a little something with their brothers and a select few extra friends and that was it.

That was where you came in, as the official almost-girlfriend of Fratboy!Jaehyun, you were given this very special privilege only recently which is how you and your friends ended up in the Nu Chi living room with plastic cups of Jungwoo's mixed drink of the night and an empty bottles spinning around on he floor for truth or dare.

It had already been dramatic with this group. There was no, 'I dare you to tell us your crush' or 'is it true you you know so and so from so and so.' No! None of that! These guys went hard and there was no time for you to get acclimated.

Yuta had already been dared streaked down Greek row, Mark had already been forced to admit he stole everyone's snacks since he couldn't cook, your roommate Ari had to show everyone the embarrassing tattoo she had on her shoulder, and another person had been dared to call their fuck buddy and break it off. It was chaos, pure and utter chaos that only got crazier what with all the alcohol flowing and herbal delights being passed around.

It was fun to watch, sure, but you were nervous, not even the sweet mixed drink in your hand could temper the nerves. The guys didn't care that you'd only been around them for barely over a month, if you were here tonight then you were fair game.

Jaehyun had been somewhat reassuring at least with his arm around you, explaining some background information for specific dares or to tell you when a good dare was coming up. Weirdly, the ones that gave the best dares, Taeyong and Doyoung, had been the most calm and... normal to you. Interesting.

Then the bottle went spinning around again, a hollow sound growing more and more quiet as the bottle came to a stop upon Haechan. Haechan who was surprisingly sober compared to the times you'd seen him at parties. He waited patiently for Mark to give him his dare, sitting with a face all too calm for the person you knew him to be.

"Hmmmm, I dare you to," Mark began, pausing as his eyes went up to stare at the ceiling for the dare to come to him. Then his eyes went around the room, looking at everyone's faces in the hopes that something would come to him. And it seems something did come to him, when his eyes landed on you. "If she consents, I dare you to kiss Sweets."

Haechan's eyes lit up with complete happiness, already leaping to his feet while Jaehyun immediately began to argue, "fuck off, no way. Off limits."

Mark held his hands up, "dude, I said if she consents."

Johnny coughed out some smoke before answering, "hey bro, the only people off limits are official girlfriends and boyfriends. As far as we all know, Sweets isn't your girlfriend yet. So unless you have something you want to tell us..."

Jaehyun pouts, crossing his arms, "well, no. Not yet, but Sweets is my girl. Like, come on Mark, do we have beef or something?"

Mark just shrugs nonchalantly and you don't miss the rolled up bills Haechan sends in his direction. You chuckle under your breath and give Jaehyun's hand a squeeze before quietly reassuring him with, "it won't mean anything to me. He's harmless, alright?"

He keeps the pout on his face, lips pouted with a frown on his face like a child throwing a fit. It's cute, but you don't miss the way his hand squeezes yours in return.

Haechan dances over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you before cupping your face with warm and clammy hands. Immediately you laugh at the gesture. His eyes are wide with excitement, "Sweets, I have quite literally dreamt of this moment since the first moment I've seen you and I will think of this kiss until my last dying breath."

"Hurry it up, shit head!" Jaehyun growls, resting his cheek atop his hand as he stares in the total opposite direction of you and Haechan.

Haechan begins to lean in, his eyes fluttering shut before his puckered lips inch toward yours. You lean in slowly, keeping your lips puckers because you know that there is no way in hell you will be french kissing Haechan.

His lips are all too firm yet wet against yours. Your eyes and clenched shut, while you mentally count to 5. 1…2…3…4…5! You pull away, but Haechan chases you with a happy, “mmmmm!”

This animal opens his mouth and licks from your lips to your chin! A big, fat, warm, wet lap of his tongue. You place your hand in his chest to push him away while you burst out laughing.

Haechan makes his way back to his seat with a smile that looks like he’s stuck in a dreamlike state and somehow smug at the same time. Jaehyun immediately looks at you, his eyes serious and anxious, “you didn’t fall in love with him, right?”

“Jaehyun, he licked me like an overexcited dog. It was like when a toddler kisses you and you can only laugh because it’s so disgusting but cute at the same time,” you whisper to Jaehyun.

He let’s out a long sigh of relief, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, “I’m not kissing you until every skin cell that has been infected by that devil has been removed from your pretty face.”

You scowl softly at him and take your turn to skin the bottle, watching as it turns and turns until it lands on… Jaehyun! Perfect, revenge at its finest.

“Hmmm, Jae. I dare you to—”

“I didn’t choose dare—”

“I dare you to give someone a lap dance,” you interrupt with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Sweets, I’m about to give you the best lap dance of your damn life!” Jaehyun exclaims, pulling his t-shirt over his head and hopping to his feet. He starts toward with a swagger in his walk and a smirk on his face. Someone’s phone begins to play Usher’s Love in This Club.

You giggle, “not me!” His face falls and the group laughs, “give Johnny a lap dance!”

“Fuck yeah! Come here, baby boy!” Revenge is so sweet.

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(vi)

Your writing is already strong, with vivid descriptions and engaging emotions. Below is a revised version with grammar, punctuation, and flow improvements while maintaining your original tone and style:

Fast-forward to the night of the dance ball, and Jungkook was practically vibrating with irritation.

Here he was, leaning against the wall like some moody bystander, watching you laugh and twirl with Joon on the dance floor. Joon, of all people!

Jungkook scowled as Joon spun you around, your laughter ringing out like music. You looked beautiful in your black dress, hair swept up in that effortless way that made you look like a princess.

He took another sip of his drink, but it didn’t do much to drown out the voice in his head. That’s supposed to be me dancing with Y/N!

The irritation hit Jungkook like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even like dancing, but with you, it had always been fun. You used to drag him to the floor, laughing when he inevitably stepped on your toes, and he’d make some sarcastic remark about your poor teaching skills.

But now, you weren’t even looking in his direction.

“Dude, you okay?” one of his friends asked, nudging him.

“Yeah, fine,” Jungkook muttered, his eyes still glued to you.

He saw Joon lean in, whispering something in your ear, and you laughed again, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Jungkook clenched his jaw. He told himself he shouldn’t care—he was supposed to feel happy when you were happy.

But then, why did it feel like he was the one being left behind?

The dance ended with a spin, and you clapped as Joon gave you an exaggerated bow. You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you walked off the dance floor with Joon by your side.

Jungkook straightened slightly when you spotted him.

“Hey!” Your voice was as cheerful as ever.

You stopped in front of him, your cheeks glowing from the dancing. Joon was already wandering off to grab a drink, leaving you standing there with Jungkook.

“You’re not dancing?” you asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “Not my thing. You know that.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Joon is surprisingly good. He didn’t step on my toes even once. I think he might be the best dance partner I’ve had in a while.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Wow, high praise from Y/N. I guess that makes me what—your worst dance partner?”

You laughed. “Oh, come on. You know you’re great too. Just… in your own way.”

Jungkook smiled. He was about to ask you to dance when the live band started another song. But before he could open his mouth, Joon had already tapped your shoulder.

“Let’s dance again! This song is good!” Joon said excitedly.

You quickly nodded. “YES! Let’s go!”

Jungkook exhaled sharply as you and Joon disappeared into the crowd.

“Sucks,” he muttered.

“Why do you sound so grumpy, Kook?” another friend asked.

“Nothing.”

The friend laughed. “Really? Then why did I hear all of our friends were scared to come over and chat with you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s eyes never left you.

The friend followed his gaze, then smirked. “What, are you jealous seeing Y/N with Joon?”

Jungkook froze. “What? No,” he said quickly, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

The friend gave him a knowing look. “She’s happy when she’s around Joon. Let her be close with others, just like how she lets you be close with Jieun.” Then, with a chuckle, the friend wandered off, muttering something about how he knew it.

Jungkook stood there, staring at you and Joon.

Was he jealous?

[luvfae]

omg hiii ! i loved ur mini series CENTER STAGE and i wanted to know if i could request a thanos fanfic :p btw i love ur accs theme its BEAUTIFUL :3 so basically y/n breaks up w her boyfriend su bong because he does to much drugs XD so she tries to find a small job as far as possible from her old work place because she knows he will come visit (iykyk) Y/N starts working in a gaz station in the highway ! And guess what her dear dear ex bf thanos finds her :p im so sorry if is this so badly written btw you can do litteraly whatever you want (smut,angst,fluff its really up to you) OFC dont feel pressured to do this request and if you do pls tag me :) TOODLES

YOU CAN RUN, BUT

YOU CAN’T HIDE

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral (reader receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy), public sex, swearing, thanos is lowkey a stalker

You should’ve known better.

You should’ve known he wouldn’t just let you go.

It had been two months since you left him. Two months since you packed up and disappeared, taking nothing but the essentials, leaving behind the mess of a man who had become more of a ghost than a lover.

Thanos had always been reckless, but the drugs made him worse. He was slipping, spiraling, drowning in a lifestyle that had already eaten away at him, and no matter how much you tried to pull him back, he wouldn’t stop. So you left. Because if he was going to destroy himself, you refused to let him take you down with him.

You thought you had escaped.

But you were wrong.

You got a job at a gas station on the highway—a quiet, out-of-the-way place that barely saw more than a handful of customers on a good day. You liked it. The silence. The stillness. The fact that no one knew you here.

Until tonight.

Until him.

You felt it before you saw him—that suffocating weight pressing against your ribs, the eerie sense of being watched. The store was empty, the dim fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as you restocked the shelves.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

You turned.

And there he was.

Thanos.

Standing in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, watching you like a predator who had just found his prey.

Your stomach twisted.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he smirked. “Took me a while to find you.”

Your throat went dry.

He took a slow step forward, then another, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. The air in the store grew thick, the walls closing in.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around before letting his gaze settle back on you. “Not really your vibe, though.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the shelf. “What are you doing here?”

He cocked his head. “What do you think?”

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. He was high—you could see it in his eyes, that dark, hazy look that always meant trouble. But there was something else, too. Something sharper.

Something dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly.

His smirk faded. “Yeah?”

His steps were slow, deliberate, as he closed the distance between you. You forced yourself to stay still, even when every nerve in your body screamed at you to run.

Then he was right in front of you, so close you could smell the faint traces of smoke and cologne clinging to his hoodie.

“You left,” he murmured.

Your fingers twitched. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickered over your face, as if searching for something. Then, in a voice quieter than before—softer, in a way that made your chest ache—he asked, “Why?”

You swallowed hard.

“You know why.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

His hand lifted. Not to grab you. Not to hurt you. Just to touch.

You flinched.

That made something in his expression crack.

“Did I ever hurt you?” His voice was low, rough.

You hesitated. “No.”

“Then why?”

Your breath shook. “Because you were hurting yourself.”

Silence.

For the first time, Thanos looked away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

Then, just as quickly, the softness vanished.

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw—not rough, but firm, holding you in place.

“You think you can run from me?” he murmured, tilting your chin up.

Your pulse pounded. “Let me go.”

He didn’t. Instead, his thumb traced your bottom lip, almost absently, his expression darkening.

“You left me,” he said. “Do you know what that did to me?”

You shuddered. “Thanos—”

His grip tightened just enough to make you gasp. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that you were his.

“You broke me,” he muttered.

Then he kissed you.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was teeth, tongue, and desperation—his hands moving from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he wanted to crawl inside your skin. You gasped against his mouth, your hands shoving against his chest, but he only kissed you harder.

You hated that you kissed him back.

Hated the way your body melted into him like it never forgot, like it never wanted to forget.

Hated that part of you missed this.

“Mine,” he murmured against your lips. “You were always mine.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter like he belonged between your legs. Like he had every right to claim you again.

And maybe he did.

Because you weren’t sure you had ever stopped belonging to him.

And that terrified you.

His hands were everywhere.

Sliding up your thighs. Digging into your waist. Claiming, possessing, reminding.

You shouldn’t let this happen. You should push him away, tell him to leave, remind yourself why you ran in the first place.

But you didn’t.

Because the moment his lips crashed against yours again—hot, desperate, hungry—you were already gone.

Thanos groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel him—hard, needy, pressing against the seam of your jeans like he’d been craving this as much as you had.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “You’re still so fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before pushing up, dragging the fabric with them. You arched into his touch, and he wasted no time yanking your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth was on you again.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking, biting. He wanted to mark you. Wanted you to remember who you belonged to.

You gasped as his hands unclipped your bra, letting it fall away before he palmed your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples.

“You missed me,” he murmured, his teeth scraping against your pulse point. “Didn’t you?”

You refused to answer.

So he punished you.

His mouth moved lower, trailing over your collarbone, down your sternum, until he was sucking a nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.

That made him grin.

“Yeah,” he muttered, kissing his way down your stomach as his hands made quick work of your jeans. “That’s what I thought.”

Your jeans hit the floor. Your panties followed. And then he was kneeling in front of you, his mouth inches from where you ached for him most.

You clenched your thighs together, but he pried them apart easily, gripping your knees as he looked at you.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his thumb teasing over your slit. “Did I do that?”

You shuddered.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I fucking did.”

And then his mouth was on you.

You choked on a gasp, your back arching as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate. He groaned against you, as if he had been starving for this, as if he had missed the taste of you like a man deprived.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, and you nearly screamed.

Your hands shot to his hair, gripping, tugging, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming pleasure.

He loved it.

“Hold on to me,” he muttered against your heat before diving back in, eating you out like he wanted to ruin you.

Your legs trembled. Your body burned.

And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right—fuck.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

You did.

Your body locked up, pleasure crashing over you in waves as he worked you through your orgasm, sucking, licking, owning you.

When you finally slumped against the counter, breathless, he pulled back—his lips glossy, his eyes dark, his smirk filthy.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, unbuckling his belt.

And the moment he pulled his cock out, thick and hard and aching, you knew you were in trouble.

Because you weren’t going to stop this.

Not tonight.

Not when he was looking at you like he would die if he didn’t have you.

And maybe—just maybe—you felt the same.

You sat on the counter, praying on one would come into the store, legs spread just for him. His cock pressed against your slick folds, teasing, sliding, waiting.

Without warning, he thrust inside you—deep, all of him, stretching you open in one slow, unbearable motion.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to the thick, perfect burn of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling forward, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

You clenched around him in response, just to be a brat.

His grip on your thighs tightened.

“Don’t start.” His voice was strained, barely in control. “Or I won’t be nice.”

You smirked. “You’re never nice.”

He laughed—dark, low, wrecked.

And then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace. Every snap of his hips slammed you against the counter, his hands gripping your waist, holding you still so he could take everything.

You were already unraveling, your body too overwhelmed, too sensitive from before. You felt everything—the drag, the stretch, the way he hit just right every time he bottomed out.

“Look at you,” he muttered, watching your face, watching every reaction. “Taking me so fucking well.”

You whimpered, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss—sloppy, desperate, more teeth than lips.

He swallowed your moans, groaning as he fucked into you harder, faster. The counter shook beneath you, the sounds of skin slapping and breathless gasps filling the small, dimly lit gas station.

“Missed this pussy,” he muttered against your mouth. “Missed the way you squeeze me—fuck, baby—”

Your thighs clenched around his waist, locking him in, pulling him deeper.

His rhythm stuttered. His jaw clenched.

And then he lost it.

He grabbed you, yanking you against him, fucking you harder, chasing his release, chasing yours.

Your orgasm hit you fast, ripping through you like fire, your nails sinking into his back as you came with a broken cry.

He followed, his hips jerking, his breath ragged as he spilled inside you, filling you, owning you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just panting. Clinging. Feeling.

Then, after a long pause, his lips brushed your ear.

“Told you,” he murmured, voice wrecked but smug.

You frowned. “Told me what?”

His teeth nipped your jaw, lazy, possessive.

“You can run,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your spine, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“But you can’t hide.”

[itsgiovanna]

playing for love (chapter 1)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist with secrets of her own. he becomes determined to break through the walls adeline has built around herself. but some wounds don’t heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: hey, everyone! this is the first chapter and i’m so happy to introduce you to mason & adaline's story. hope you like it! enjoy 🤍

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none

teaser | chapter 1 | chapter 2

The locker room was buzzing with energy — voices overlapping, boots scuffing against the floor, the clap of a teammate hyping up the squad. It was the usual match routine, but to Mason, something felt off. He sat at his locker, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his feet. His stomach was tight, but not in the usual way. Normally, it was adrenaline, that restless hunger to get out on the pitch and play. This was different, it sat heavy in his chest.

Maybe it was just in his head. But it had been there for weeks now — like a weight he couldn’t lift. Since joining United, everything had felt harder. The pressure, the expectations, the constant questioning.

He already knew what people would say if he had another bad game.

“Mount struggling to find his place.”

“United’s number 7 failing to deliver.”

A hand clapped against his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

“You good?” Mason looked up to see Marcus Rashford standing over him, adjusting his captain’s armband. His expression wasn’t just casual concern — he was really looking at him, like he could tell something wasn’t right.

“Yeah. Just focused.” Mason forced a nod. 

“Focused, huh?” Marcus raised a brow. 

“I’m fine, mate.” Mason let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. 

“Alright. Let’s do this.” Marcus studied him for a second longer before giving him a firm pat on the back. 

The team gathered around as Ten Hag delivered his final words. “Stay compact in midfield. No sloppy passes, no hesitation. And Mason.” — his gaze locked onto him — “Be aggressive. No holding back tonight.”

Mason nodded, but the unease in his chest didn’t go away.

The first half was a battle. Manchester City were relentless, pressing high, moving the ball quickly. Mason was doing his best to keep up, but it wasn’t enough. He felt a step behind, his touches just a little off. Every mistake felt heavier, like it was adding to the weight pressing down on him.

Then, early in the second half, his moment came. A misplaced pass from City’s defense sent the ball rolling into open space. He sprinted forward, reaching for the ball — but, everything happened at once.

A body crashed into him, full force.

Rúben Dias.

Mason barely had time to think before he was sent flying. 

The pain was unbearable, his knee twisted violently before giving out completely, his body collapsing onto the grass. He gasped, his hands clutching his leg, but it was like a fire spreading through him, sharp and unrelenting. 

The noise of the crowd faded. His ears rang. The only thing he could focus on was the agony tearing through his body.

Then came the voices.

His name. Shouts for the medical team. Hands on his shoulder, his arm — steady, grounding. Rashford and Hojlund were crouched beside him, his face tight with worry.

“Mase, talk to me. You alright?” Rashford put his hand on Mason’s shoulder, but voice cut through the chaos—loud, sharp, and angry.

“What the fuck was that?”

Mason barely turned his head in time to see Rúben Dias standing a few feet away, arms raised, shouting at the referee. But he wasn’t apologizing — he was blaming him.

“He threw himself into it!” Rúben snapped, shaking his head. “That’s not on me!”

A wave of anger rolled through Mason’s teammates. Rashford was up in an instant, stepping toward Rúben. “What’s your problem?” he shot back. “He’s on the ground, mate. Have some fucking respect.”

Lisandro Martínez shoved past Rashford, glaring at Dias. “You’re not helping Dias. Just walk away.” The referee quickly stepped between them, telling them to calm down, but Mason couldn’t focus on the argument. The paramedics were already beside him, voices low but urgent.

“How bad?” one asked.

“Looks like ligament damage. Possible tear.”

“Quick, we need to get him off now.”

Mason barely processed their words. His pulse pounded in his ears, the stadium lights too bright, the voices around him distant. The stretcher appeared beside him, and Mason barely registered the hands lifting him onto it.

This wasn’t happening.

He wasn’t supposed to go out like this. Not injured. Not like this.

As they carried him off, pain flaring with every small movement, the crowd’s noise became lower in the background. He shut his eyes, swallowing down the disappointment, the fear.

(...)

The ambulance ride was a blur of flashing lights and muffled voices. Mason lay flat on the stretcher, his body stiff, every bump in the road sending pain through his leg. His knee felt like it was on fire, a deep, throbbing ache spreading through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, but it wasn’t working.

“Hang in there, Mason. We’re almost there.” One of the paramedics hovered over him, adjusting the straps securing his leg.

“Male, twenty-six, severe knee trauma. Suspected ACL tear. Pulse stable, high-pain level.“ The other spoke into a radio, relaying updates ahead to the hospital.

ACL tear.

Mason clenched his jaw. He knew what that meant. Months out. Maybe longer.

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the stretcher. The sound of the sirens was distant, drowned out by the pounding in his head.

The ambulance doors swung open the moment they arrived at Manchester Royal Infirmary, one of the best hospitals in the city for sports injuries. Everything moved fast. Bright lights, rushed voices, the sharp scent of antiseptic.

“Took a direct hit before collapsing. Pain’s at a ten.” The paramedics wheeled him through the corridor, speaking to the medical staff waiting for them, prepared to do the scans.

The words barely registered. Mason felt lightheaded, the pain and exhaustion weighing him down. He barely reacted as they transferred him onto the hospital bed.

And then, finally, known voices.

“Mason!” His dad’s voice cut through the hallway.

Mason forced his eyes open, blinking against the brightness. His dad, Tony, was standing at the edge of the bed, his face tight with worry. His mom was beside him, arms crossed over her chest like she was physically holding herself together.

“We came as soon as we got the call.” Tony said, his voice steady, but Mason could see the concern behind his eyes.

“They think it’s my ACL.” Mason swallowed hard and the words felt heavy on his tongue. “I don’t know how bad.” Before they could say more, the doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard.

“Mason, we’ve reviewed your scans.” he said, flipping through the papers. “It’s a complete ACL tear.” He met Mason’s eyes. “You’ll need surgery.”

“Dear, God." his mom gasped. "And, the recovery?"

"It'll take at least six to eight months.” the doctor responded.

Silence.

Mason’s chest tightened. Six to eight months.

His season was over. His career, put on hold.

“We’ll get through this.” His dad pressed a firm hand on his shoulder.

Mason exhaled, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. The pain in his knee was unbearable, but right now, the pain in his heart was worse. Suddenly, the disappointment of letting down, the fans, his teammates and his family was greater than anything else.

(…)

The sterile smell of the hospital still clung to the air, heavy and cold. Mason lay on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling, his mind swirling with frustration. The pain from his knee was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t just the injury. It was the weight of the season ahead — the expectations he was expected to carry, the doubts creeping in after another setback. His career, his future, all of it felt uncertain now. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the nurse entered, her steps light but confident. She had black hair and a name tag reading "Charlotte" clipped to her uniform. She smiled as she walked toward him, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Mason.

“Mr. Mount.” she said, her voice sweet, but with a touch of something more. “How are you feeling?”

“Same as before.” Mason barely looked at her, keeping his gaze on the ceiling.

Charlotte moved closer to adjust his IV, her touch is gentle, but there was something about it that felt a little too warm. Her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, and as she finished, she smiled.

“I bet you didn’t expect your night to go like this. Right?” she said, her voice softer, a little flirtatious, though Mason wasn’t interested.

He could tell she was trying, but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone. Not right now.

“I’ve had better.” he replied flatly, still not looking at her. She laughed lightly, and Mason couldn’t help but feel like she was laying it on thick.

“You’re not gonna stay mad at me, are you?” she said, leaning in just a little, her words dripping with intent.

“Not mad. Just not in the mood.” He shifted uncomfortably, finally meeting her gaze, though it was more to put an end to the exchange than anything else.

She raised an eyebrow, her smile a little less subtle this time. “Well, if you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” she said, lingering for a moment longer before stepping back, lingering on him as she made her exit.

Mason couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. The last thing he needed was someone flirting with him when he could barely get a grip on his own thoughts. After a few minutes, the door opened again, and this time, it was his sister, Jaz, and her husband, Sam. Jaz had that look on her face — the one that always came when she knew something wasn’t right, her worry barely hidden beneath a smile as she walked toward him.

“Mase.” she said softly, pulling up a chair next to his bed. “How’re you holding up?”

Mason turned his head toward her, but his expression remained guarded.

“Just another day.” he replied, though it didn’t sound convincing even to him.

Jaz sat down next to him, her eyes full of concern as she studied him. Her hand reached out, brushing his. “I know this has been tough on you.” she said quietly. “I can see it, Mase. I know what leaving Chelsea did to you... and now this.” Her voice cracked a little, but she quickly recovered, squeezing his hand. Mason didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t in the mood to explain. He wasn’t in the mood for pity.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

Jaz didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, she leaned in, her voice low and gentle.

“You don’t have to be fine, Mase. Not with me. Not with Sam. We’re here. Always.”

“You know we’ve got your back. Whatever happens.” Sam, standing at the door with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement.

Mason felt a surge of gratitude for them, but it was mixed with anger. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want them to see him like this. He hated feeling weak. But Jaz wasn’t having it. She pulled him into a tight hug, resting her cheek against his.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you.” she whispered. “Leaving Chelsea... coming to Manchester. It’s a big change. But you’ve always been strong. You’ll get through this. I know you will.”

For a moment, Mason didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable, especially not with his sister, but the warmth of her embrace made him realize how much he needed this. How much he needed them.

He hugged her back, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I just... I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I can keep going.”

Jaz pulled back slightly, her eyes soft with understanding.

“Mase, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But don’t give up on yourself.” The words hung in the air, and Mason found himself lost in them, his walls starting to crumble a little.

(...)

Adeline stood in the kitchen, wiping down the countertops as the evening light dimmed outside. The small flat in the heart of Manchester felt quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that only settled in after Lilith had gone to bed. The last few hours had been spent in the usual routine — dinner, playtime, bedtime stories.

Adeline couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Lilith was the light of her life, the reason she kept going even on the toughest days.

She had fought for Lilith before she was even born, through sleepless nights filled with doubt, through the suffocating fear of wondering how she would do it alone. The father had never been in the picture — he hadn’t wanted to be — and she had long stopped caring. What she had gained was far greater than what she had lost.

Lilith was her heart walking outside her body.

Every sacrifice, every long shift, every moment of exhaustion was worth it.

And it wasn’t just about being a mother. She loved her job, too.

Physiotherapy wasn’t just a career — it was something she was passionate about, something she had worked relentlessly for. Helping people heal, watching them rebuild their strength, seeing them step back into the life they thought they’d lost — it was fulfilling in a way nothing else was.

She had climbed her way up, studying late into the night after putting Lilith to bed, taking extra certifications while balancing work and motherhood. It hadn’t been easy. But she was good at what she did.

She remembered the early days of motherhood, when everything had felt so uncertain. There was a time when she had been terrified — terrified of raising Lilith on her own, terrified of how hard it would be. But there was also a moment, after months of sleepless nights and endless worry, when she’d found the strength to tell herself, don’t give up on yourself. She had whispered those words like a promise, a way to keep her head above water.

Now, years later, she repeated that phrase whenever things got tough. It wasn’t easy, but she had made a life for herself and for Lilith, one small step at a time.

“Mum? Mum!” Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice from the hallway when Lilith called, her little voice muffled from her bedroom. “Mum, I can’t sleep.”

Adeline dried her hands quickly and moved toward the door, calling out gently, “I’m coming, Lily.”

Lilith was curled up in her bed, clutching her stuffed bunny. “I had a bad dream.” she mumbled, holding out her arms.

Adeline bent down to scoop her daughter up, cradling her in her arms. “What happened, darling?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair from Lilith’s forehead.

“I dreamed the bunny got lost.” she said softly. “Can we keep him close?”

“Of course, my love.” Adeline smiled and settled them both under the covers, letting Lilith snuggle into her arms. “He’s safe now, I promise. No one’s taking him.”

As she laid there, her phone buzzed from the kitchen counter, the vibration loud in the quiet room. Adeline’s eyes fluttered open, and she reluctantly got herself away from Lilith, tucking the blanket around her daughter before heading back to the kitchen.

She frowned when she saw the name of your boss, Dr. Hearst, on the screen. It was nearly 11 p.m. What could he want this late?

“Dr. Hearst?” She answered quickly.

“Adeline, I’ve got an opportunity for you. A big one.” His voice came through steady, direct.

She straightened. “I’m listening.”

“Mason Mount came in tonight. Complete ACL tear. Manchester United is assembling a team to handle his recovery, and they need the best physiotherapist for the job.” Adeline was not a football enthusiast, she’s heard his name a few times, but that’s it.

“And… you’re saying that’s me?”

“Yes. You’re the most qualified in our department, especially with your postgrad in sports injuries. I vouched for you.”

“I appreciate that, but-” Adeline hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter.

“I know what you’re thinking.” he cut in. “But, listen. They’re offering serious money. More than double your salary. This isn’t just about your career, Adeline. This is about securing a future — for you and Lilith.”

Lilith.

Adeline’s gaze flickered toward the closed bedroom door, where her daughter was sleeping soundly, unaware of the weight pressing on her mother’s shoulders.

“When do they need an answer?” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

“Tomorrow morning. We’re finalizing the medical team, If you want in, be at the hospital by eight.”

A beat of silence passed.

Adeline swallowed. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long.” Dr. Hearst warned. “This is the kind of chance that doesn’t come twice.”

She ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring at her phone.

Footballers. She’d heard enough stories from her colleagues — entitled, arrogant, difficult to work with. But…

She glanced at Lilith’s door again.

This wasn’t just about her. This was about her daughter’s future.

And Adeline always put Lilith first.

(...)

[nomie-11]

The General - Part 2

masterlist! | Right Wing - Part 1

synopsis: hockey had always been ellie’s first choice. yours? not so much (soulmate au)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was nine when she was adopted by a fifty-one year old man named Joel Miller, who had lost his one and only daughter when he was thirty-four. They didn’t have much to talk about, much to bond over, except for Ellie’s love for comic books and dinosaurs, and his love for playing her favorite songs on his guitar. 

She didn’t know much about her birth family—didn’t know much about her mother or where she was from, all she knew was Joel, his house in Jackson, and her aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. That was her entire world, and she was content with her world to be that. 

Until one freezing December where a lake outside of Jackson froze over solid, and the boys from the high school cleared out a section for hockey, where Joel put her in a pair of Sarah’s old skates and a puck in her hand, and taught her to skate. 

Ellie was nine when she first stepped onto the ice. 

From then on, her world was that: hockey, Joel, Jackson, aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. 

Joel had been hesitant at first—Sarah had been more into soccer, and Ellie had the foot-eye coordination of a baby deer on a good day. But after weeks of watching the older boys play pickup games on the frozen lake, Ellie had begged to go out again. And Joel, who had already lost one child and was still figuring out how to love another, couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

She had started with Sarah’s old figure skates, the leather stiff with age and the blades dulled from years in the attic. They were a size too big, and the first time she stood up, she fell flat on her ass. Joel had just laughed, crouching beside her with his own skates laced up tight. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he had said, offering her a hand. “First lesson: learn how to fall. Second lesson: learn how to get back up.” 

And that was how it started. 

Joel taught her how to find her balance, how to push off with just enough force to glide without toppling forward. At first, she wobbled like hell, arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. But every time she hit the ice, she got back up, scowling, determined. 

And then Joel gave her a pair of hockey skates and a stick. 

That was when something clocked. 

Ellie didn’t just like skating—she loved hockey. She loved the speed, the way the puck glided across the ice, the sharp scrape of her skates when she made a tight turn. She loved the way Joel’s face softened when she scored against him, how he called her kiddo with something like loving pride in his voice. 

She started playing with the older boys on the lake, bruises blooming on her arms and legs from rough checks and missed falls. They played hard, but Ellie played harder. She never backed down from a fight in the corners, never shied away from a body check, even when she was half the size of the guys coming at her. 

Joel saw it in her then—that aggression, that fire. 

She tried playing with the little girls’ league in Jackson for a season, but it didn’t last. Teh coaches kept telling her to be gentler, to play nice. She got called for roughing in every other game, even when she ‘barely touched anyone.’ When she checked a girl ‘too hard’ into the boards one time, her coach benched her, saying she needed to learn some self-control. 

Joel hadn’t been angry—not with her, at least. He had just sighed, shaking his head.

“Think you need a different league, kiddo.” 

So Joel fought for a spot on the boys team, and she played with the boys instead. That was where she learned how to really play. 

They didn’t hold back, and neither did she. She fought for the puck like her life depended on it. She took hits that rattled her ribs and gave them right back. The boys stopped underestimating her. They stopped treating her like some little girl who couldn’t take a punch.

She wasn’t just good. She was vicious. 

And then the scouts came, and then the offers, and then the University of Vermont. 

Hockey was her whole word, and she was good at it. But then—

University of Vermont Women’s Hockey got destroyed by Boston University Women’s Hockey Team Ellie’s sophomore year of college, and she got into a few too many arguments after that loss. But after being kicked from the Vermont team, Joel didn’t let her quit, and Ellie went to open tryouts for the very team that wrecked her. 

And suddenly, she was here, stuck at Boston University, being forced to play on a team that had steam-rolled her. 

Ellie thought that the Boston University team was just… better. There was nothing more to that, they had stronger players, the individuals were just better. But then she met you—The General—and her army. 

Ellie hated you. 

She had hated you front the second you told her to pass the stupid puck like the tattoo imprinted on her wrist in a radiant gold. 

You were the perfect captain—the golden child of BU women’s hockey, the one every listened to, respected, her soulmate. You played like you had something to prove, like winning was the only thing that mattered. And worst of all, you were right. 

Ellie had spent years thinking she knew hockey better than anyone, that she didn’t need a cohesive team, that she could bulldoze her way through any defense if she just tried hard enough. 

But you—you had systems. Strategies. You saw the ice like a general plotting a war. You read plays before they happened, called shots before they were taken. And every time Ellie ignored you, every time she tried to do things her own way, you made sure she paid for it. 

By the fourth week of practice, Ellie had bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise. 

She had learned fast—if she didn’t pass, Vi would crush her into the boards. If she didn’t keep her head up, Caitlyn would pickpocket her before she could blink. And if she let herself get distracted, even for a second, you would strip the puck right off her stick and leave her in the dust. 

She had never played hockey like this before. 

She had never played smart. 

And she hated that it was you teaching her. 

It was after one particularly brutal practice—after Vi had laid her out twice and Abby had chirped her so hard she nearly threw a punch—that Ellie found herself lingering by the locker room, still fuming. 

She had been careless. Sloppy. 

And worst of all, she had let you see it.

You walked past her, still in your gear, your helmet under your arm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. 

That pissed her off even more. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ellie blurted. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?” 

Ellie scowled. “You act like you’re fucking invincible out there. Like you know everything.” 

Your eyes flickered, something sharp and unreadable behind them. “I know the game, Williams.” 

“Yeah? Well, guess what? So do I?” 

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her fully. “Do you?” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I do.” 

You stepped closer, your expression unreadable. “Then prove it. Play with us, not against us.” 

Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need a lecture, Captain Perfect.”

You held her gaze, unwavering.

And then, quietly—

“Why are you really here, Williams?” 

Ellie froze. 

She knew you weren’t asking why she was standing in the locker room. She was supposed to be at Vermont, not Boston, playing D1 on a team that had given her a full ride, not a team that had picked her up on a whim, making a name for herself. 

But she wasn’t. She was here. And she didn’t have an answer for that. So she just swallowed hard, set her jaw, and shoved past you. 

But as she walked away, her wrist burned. 

And she hated that, too. 

—————————————

Before hockey, there had been figure skating. 

Before Ellie Williams and her infuriating smirk, before the rough checks and brutal scrimmages, before you had built a fortresss of a team around yourself—there had been sequins, music, and the dream of gliding across the ice like you were weightless. 

You loved figure skating. More than anything. 

You had started young, barely old enough to tie your own skates, chasing after the older girls at your rink with wide eyes and boundless energy. The first time you had landed a jump, you thought you could fly. The ice had been a blank canvas, and you had painted it with your blades, carving out stories with every routine, every careful, practiced step. 

And for a while, it had been perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until your coach started correcting things that had nothing to do with your footwork. 

“You skate like a boy.” 

“You’re too stiff.”

“You don’t have the grace for this sport.” 

You tried to fix it. Tried to make yourself softer, quieter. More delicate. You watched the other girls, their effortless elegance and beauty, the way they seemed to float rather than skate, and you tried to be more like them—be more normal. But it never looked right. Never felt right. 

And then, when you were thirteen, your coach found out you had a crush on one of the other girls in the club. 

The comments changed. 

“That explains it.”

“No wonder you skate like that.” 

“You’re too much of a man for this.” 

The whispers spread through the club like wildfire, turning warm smiles into cold shoulders. One by one, the girls you had spent years laughing with started avoiding you. They avoided the locker room when you were in there. Invitations to hang out after practice stopped. You were alone, locked out of the one place that had always felt like home. 

And suddenly, the ice didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You held on for as long as you could, forcing yourself through practice after practice, pretending it didn’t sting when your coach praised the other girls for their ‘feminine grace’ while you got sharper criticisms and even sharper glares. But eventually, it became unbearable. 

You quit. 

You quit, and for the first time in your life, you thought you might hate the ice. But the ice wasn’t done with you yet. 

Because while the figure skaters had turned their backs, the hockey girls had welcomed you with open arms. 

They didn’t care if you were graceful or not. They didn’t care if you were too sharp, too aggressive. In fact, they liked it. They wanted the power, the strength. When you skated, it wasn’t about looking delicate—it was about speed, control, and dominance. 

And you thrived. 

At first, hockey had just been an excuse to keep skating. A way to stay on the ice without the crushing weight of expectations you could never meet. But then, something shifted. The first time you laid someone out with a clean, brutal check, you felt something electric in your veins. The first time you won a puck battle, fought for it like your life depended on it, you felt it. The first time you scored? The roar of the crowd, the way your team tackled you in celebration, the rush of it all—that was when you realized. 

You didn’t just love hockey. You were made for it. 

So you fought. You trained. You climbed. You worked harder than anyone, outskated every single person on the ice until you had no choice but to become the best. Until you made it here—captaining the Boston University team, leading your girls into battle, proving to every single person who had ever doubted you that you didn’t need to be graceful. You didn’t need to be soft. 

You would carve your name into the ice with your skates, with your bruises, with your victories. 

You were Boston University’s General—fearless leader of the women who believed in every play you called, and you wore that title with pride.

And then Ellie Williams showed up. 

Ellie, who played like she had something to prove. Ellie, who fought against her own teammates instead of with them. Ellie, who burned with the same kind of rage you had buried deep in your bones. 

Ellie, who had your words etched onto her wrist. 

“Pass the stupid puck.” 

It made you sick. Because she didn’t listen. She never listened. 

And yet…

She had something. Something raw. Something untamed. Something you recognized because you had spent years trying to beat it out of yourself. 

You hated her. You hated her because you saw too much of yourself in her stubborn defiance, in her reckless style, in the way she played like she was trying to prove something. 

And you hated her because she saw right through you, too. 

You could feel her eyes on you every time you yanked your sleeves down, every time your fingers twitched toward your wrist. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was curious. 

And curiosity was dangerous. 

So you did what you did best. 

You kept your distance. You shut her out. You reminded yourself that she was a liability, a problem to be fixed, not someone to be close to. 

But then, in a late-night practice, when the rink was empty except for the two of you—Ellie finally passed you the puck. 

And you thought, just for one second, that maybe you were both exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This is part two of a multipart series! Read part 1 here!

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me) pt. 2

Continuation of Part 1

2919 words | Set before the events of s3 | Rating: G (maybe T&up) |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Steve runs into Brown Eyes he’s freezing in an itchy, too small pair of shorts.

 He hasn’t seen him in—well he doesn’t know how long because keeping time after inter-dimensional shit goes down for the second time gets pretty difficult for him, but he knows he hasn’t seen him in long enough to forget what shade of brown his eyes were or maybe it was just dark and he never really got that good of a look in the first place but that didn’t really matter because he thought he would never see him again, he was supposed to never see him again.

Steve’s parents came back for all of three days to lecture him about hospital bills, bills he only had because the kids couldn’t tell their parents about the Upside Down. They didn’t ask about the scar that ran down his left arm, they didn’t ask why he was wearing medically prescribed glasses to numb the headaches they didn’t know he got and they didn’t ask if he was okay. The conversation ended with his father telling him that if he wasn’t going to college then he had to get a job to pay back the bills.

So here he was, elbow deep in ice cream that dried in flakes on his skin and pulling at the hem of shorts that couldn’t be his own. Robin must’ve mixed them up again. Hers fell to her knees and she had to pull them up with a huff whenever she moved. 

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Aboy!” She chirped at the kid standing in line, only just able to hide the dead eyed stare she’d had on a second ago, “What flavor can I get for you today?”

The kid stared before pushing one sweaty finger against the glass at the chocolate bin. They were out of chocolate.

Steve sighed because he knew he would be the one who would have to get it from the back freezer when the kid threw a fit and he knew he would be the one who had to clean the glass back to shining.

Robin was desperately trying to sell any other flavor to the kid, “It looks like we’re all out of chocolate, big guy. How about some banana extravaganza?”

The kid shook his head, “Chocolate!” He shouted, voice squeaking. Steve rubbed his temples.

“Hey, dingus, do we have chocolate in the back?”

Steve trudged over to the freezer, bracing himself for the chill, and threw open the door. Carefully arranging the leg of the break room chair to wedge between the door because it got stuck when it shut and the inside handle was frozen over.

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Exactly one tub of double chunk-o chip chocolate ice cream sat on the shelf. Frozen to the metal, because of course it was.

“Okay, you can do this, just go out there and…be ice cream.” Jesus Christ. Talking to ice cream, Steven, talking to yourself in a dingy freezer.

Steve shook his head, rubbing his eyes to dispel his father’s voice. Steve blew into his hands, rubbing them together so he didn’t get freezer burn for a week—because that was something that happened when the ice cream sat on the shelf for too long—and tugged the bucket down.

When he managed to pry the tub of ice cream off the shelf Robin had already convinced the kid to get another flavor. 

“Thank you so much, Steve,” He dropped the tub on the counter, rolling his eyes, “It means a lot that you go into the freezer with all your migraines and concussions for nothing.” Stop whining, Steven, Harrington’s aren’t babies.

Robin just stared at him, deadpan, and Steve scoffed, grabbing a scooper to replace the chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t like he didn’t like her or anything, she was just weird. That was mean, he wasn’t that guy anymore, he was better than some high school peaking idiot now. He should apologize. He should apologize for a lot lately and so far he can’t say any of it, maybe he’s not so different from the asshole who stood by while his friends—

Robin dropped her scooper and shrugged off her vest, tossing her hat onto the table in the back as she walked past it, heading for the door.

“Hey, wait, where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.” Steve called. 

“Lady problems, dingus.” She didn’t even have to look back for Steve to know she was smirking.

Can’t even take one shift alone, Harrington men are supposed to be independent, Steven. He could—he would be fine on his own, he could handle this, it was just a few kids in a line that got longer and longer and—he was fine.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get for you today?” He droned on, customer after customer. 

It was nearing the end of his shift when it happened. Steve was grumpy and the lithonia lighting really drills into your eyes, goosebumps dotted his arms and legs. 

He was seconds away from filling his hat with ice cream and throwing it over his eyes to combat the headache forming and to top it all off some kid had dumped their banana split down the front of his shirt because it was ‘too cold’. The scratchy material of this stupid sailor costume was sticking to his chest, sopping wet and catching on the scar on his shoulder as if he needed another reminder that it was there, as if it didn’t already throb every few days just to show him he’d never really be okay again and he wanted to cry—if he hadn’t been in public he would’ve been sobbing on the floor. Get yourself together, Steven, you’re a working man not a pathetic little girl.

The bell rang again and he gave himself a second to prepare before lifting his head and facing the customer.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, how may I help you on this fine—” Steve looked up, breath catching when he saw a familiar face, hazel—they were hazel, “—day.”

“Uh…” Brown Eyes’ eyes darted around, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey.” Steve said, sounding more breathless than he felt but that was stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking hey, “I…uh, I wasn’t expecting—” to ever see you again, to ever think about that night again but that’s lie because it’s all I can ever think about. Because Steve had told himself to forget about it, give up on whatever had happened and live a normal life but now—

“Look, man, I didn’t even know you worked here,” Brown Eyes was putting his wallet away, “if I had then I never would’ve come here, I swear.”

“You wouldn’t?” He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. Pull yourself together, Steven, have we taught you nothing. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

Brown Eyes’ eyebrows crinkled, “No?” But he sounded confused which Steve couldn’t blame him for. 

He’d been confused a lot since that night. Confused about why he let the gap close, why he pushed forward—why he liked it because that’s not something that happens to him. He liked girls, just like every other guy in this godforsaken town who liked girls, he had to because he and Tommy kissed once in fifth grade on a Saturday night after baseball practice just to see if it would feel different and Tommy had pushed him away gagging. Tommy had told him that his dad was right and boys shouldn’t kiss boys because it was gross so Steve didn’t think about why it didn’t feel different and they never talked about it again. Hadn’t thought about it again, until he was ducking under arms and following strangers to get away from Tommy years later at a party he wished would end and maybe it wasn’t as gross as he told himself it was. Maybe—maybe he—

Steve heard the back door open and slam closed and took his chance, “I’m taking my break, Robin!” He yelled as he grabbed Brown Eyes’ wrist over the counter and pulled him around it, walking them both to the freezer and passing an exasperated Robin.

“You already took a break, Dingus, you can’t just decide to take another!”

But he didn’t stop and she just rolled her eyes.

Brown Eyes was glancing around frantically, “Listen I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone, dude, I get it! You didn’t mean to kiss me, I stupidly thought that was what was happening. It won’t happen again, I swear, man!”

The freezer lights were blinding and the faint buzz was more grating than usual. If Steve were thinking about it he would’ve known he was dizzier than he should have been. If he had been thinking about it he would have picked up on the beginnings of a migraine worming its way in. 

He wasn’t thinking about it, unfortunately, because Brown Eyes was still rambling and he was really cute when he was nervous but Steve wished he wouldn’t. Because Steve’s been doing some thinking since that night, thinking about why it didn’t feel so gross when Tommy kissed him, thinking about why he felt like he’d been strung up and gutted when Brown Eyes took off. He’s been doing some thinking and he’s pretty damn glad he did it before he had to face Brown Eyes again.

The second time they kissed was no more coordinated than the first—probably less so because Brown Eyes was mid apology and Steve flinched when the freezer door slammed shut—

Shit.

Brown Eyes hadn’t moved. He just stood there, mouth hanging open—well opening and closing and then opening again like he didn’t know what to do with it—eyes wide and confused. Because—because Steve kissed him, what the fuck was he thinking? Harringtons aren’t fucking queer Steven. And they weren’t, they weren’t. 

What would your father say? And for the first time since he’s ever really thought about it it was his mother’s voice.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered, backing against the cold metal shelf, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again because he didn’t know what else there was to say.

Maybe it was the plummeting feeling in his stomach that did it. The swooping and the dull thud of his heart against his ribs—he didn’t know. But he was doubling over so fast his already throbbing head spun, falling on shaking knees, not fast enough to swallow the bile before he was emptying whatever was left of his stomach into an empty tub of ice cream.

There was a panicked squeak behind him, “Uh, are you—should I—“ and then he was crouching down beside him, “I didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, Jesus, Harrington.”

 And Steve couldn’t help the snort that fell out of him even though it made his nose burn and his eyes water.

Brown Eyes hadn’t stopped fidgeting, “Sorry, sorry, that was stupid—I don’t know why I said that, just nobody’s ever thrown up around me and I don’t really know what to do. I guess rambling’s not the most comforting thing in the world and I can’t stop talking. Do you—should I get—I should go get napkins, probably, right? I’ll do that, yeah, just…wait here—”

But Steve reached out, stopping him with a hand on his wrist because he’d been so caught up in his own head that he forgot to stop the door and maybe he should have felt embarrassed for wiping his mouth on that stupid hat but, “Can’t go anywhere, man. Door’s stuck.” He breathed.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes swore.

“Yeah.” Steve sat up, wincing at the bucket and pushing it away, “‘’Sides, I can handle myself.”

“Right, no, obviously—“ Brown Eyes kept spinning a ring around his finger, tapping a pattern on his knuckles, “Has that—does that happen a lot?”

Steve huffed, leaning his head back against the metal shelf and closing his eyes as the sharp pain spiked behind his eyes, “Migraines. Happens if I ignore them.”

Brown Eyes slid down the shelf, he had a chain link hanging from his belt and it clacked steadily down. He opened his mouth again, barely took a breath before he was closing it and then seemed to shake off whatever nervous energy clung to him.

“Why’d—uh, why’d you ignore it?” He asked, and then, “Oh. Shit, man, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Dude,” Steve let his head tip, ear stinging where it pressed into the cold metal of the storage shelf, to look at Brown Eyes, “It’s not your fault, not like you knew about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right— obviously. No way I could’ve known, I mean it’s not like we know each other.” He was still moving. An almost jumpy motion to the way he spun his rings, pulled his hair in front of his face, tapped his foot against the tile floor over and over, “I mean we do—or I do. Figure you’ve heard rumors but never put a face to the name, huh, Harrington?”

And Steve caught the almost hopeful way Brown Eyes said his name, the hopeful but shame-filled and god if he didn’t know about shame. The longing that curled bittersweet in his stomach every time he was reminded of a life he could never be brave enough to take for his own. The overwhelmingly dreadful certainty that he would only ever live to settle down, to buy a house and start a family and die a peaceful death beside some woman he liked well enough because technically it wasn’t out of the picture for him. 

Because maybe all this thinking he’s been doing has opened his eyes to the parts of him he was suppressing but it didn’t make the other parts, the parts that wanted a family and small little porch that overlooked a garden that won best in show at the neighborhood fair, just disappear. And he knew the path his life would take him down and he accepted it because he was scared, a fucking coward. Fought fucking demons and you’re still afraid, Steven, always afraid. So he ignored it, the hope. For now.

“’S not like you ever told me yours.” Steve hadn’t meant to sound so pissy about it, he wasn’t owed the guy’s name just because they kissed. Never be anything better than a high school bully, Steven, we raised you better than this—

But then Brown Eyes grinned, snorting a little in surprise. Leaned in fast, close enough Steve could feel their breath mix between them and just looked at him like maybe he was going to finally tell him. Or kiss him again. And honestly Steve would welcome either option.

“Maybe I like the mystery.” Brown Eyes was enjoying this entirely too much.

Steve was about to respond, shoot back some snarky reply because that was okay to do now, it would be reciprocated, when he heard the yelling.

“Hey, dingus! Your children are here!” Robin. She pounded on the door, “Jesus, d’you seriously get stuck again?”

Steve sucked in a breath, ignored the sharp pain that speared through his head as he scrambled off the floor. He caught Brown Eyes’ eye, the resignation in them, and only had a second to feel guilty about what must’ve looked like the embarrassment of being caught together. Only had a second to reach out, thought maybe he could grab his hands—it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s the fear, it’s always the fear and I can’t do a damn thing about it. But that sounded far too much like a break up to say to somebody you’ve only kissed twice. Somebody whose name you don’t even know. It’s not you, it’s me, because I don’t even know you but if I did it’d still be me.

The door swung open, Robin keeping it from closing on them with her foot, “What the hell are you doing in here, dude?” She asked, “We’ve got customers. Your tiny friends.” 

“Right. I’ll—uh,” Steve glanced back at Brown Eyes, helpless to say anything as he pushed himself up and made for the door.

“Thanks for the tour, man but I should really get going.” No, no, wait, not now please wait, Brown Eyes tipped his head at Robin in a little curtsy as he read her name tag and it would’ve been endearing if Steve’s heart wasn’t pounding in his ears, crawling up his lungs and choking him, “All the gratitude for freeing us, lady Robin. See you around, Harrington.” 

Except you won’t, Steve wanted to call out, I graduated, I don’t know your name, stay stay stay—

“Steve.” Robin clapped her hands, “Small children. Waiting for you at the counter.”

When Steve looked back at the door Brown Eyes was gone.

“I got that, thanks.” He muttered.

If he gave Mike a little less ice cream in his free sample when the kid told him he was ‘watching the door wistfully’ he didn’t notice. And if he blamed his sour mood on his headache then it wasn’t technically a lie.

And if anyone noticed anything about it, they didn’t comment.

When Steve got home he hung his jacket up in his closet, bumped the door with his hip by accident and sucked in a breath when he saw the shoes. The ones Brown Eyes left at the party. The ones he’d kept, stupidly telling himself he would return them if he ever got the chance only he’d had the chance and he hadn’t said anything about them. 

Now he never would have the chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3?

Fun Fact: I got so much second hand embarrassment from writing Steve throwing up that I had to stop writing for 2 days

PERMANENT tag list (open):

@yesdangerpls, @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse, @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin, @tinyplanet95, @gatorguy777, @grtwdsmwhr

[orleans-jester]

“Zonkeys…” Ellie repeated, with awe and amusement. Not only did they exist, but they had a name for them as well. A fitting one, too. Sounded like something that Figaro would love. Something that went along with Zombeavers and Zoombies.

And then a new plethora of information came spewing out. The Magic Man. The island was being run by two souls, as well as Oogie still thinking that she had a hand in the island, despite not being able to reach it for the last year. This whole thing, this whole piece of land, was already becoming quite the mess.

But that was far from all of the information that she wanted, that she needed. The Magic Man was more of Babyface’s curse to bear. He had killed him. Ellie - well, she didn’t want Maz to be abused, but she didn’t take part in the slaying. She didn’t know about it until after. There were other things that her mind was more focused on in that moment, other questions that she wanted asking.

“Hey, cool it ginger,” She said, her blue eyes turning to Bebop. “Even if you get back, it’s not the same place it was before. New ownership. Zombies probably aren’t going to be the only things you have to worry about.”

She had been there with permission from Delta and Frank, for the Halloween party. But she knew that it was only for a short time. Elsa had told her that she had been rejected from going there, all professional like through emails, so a stranger like Bebop probably wasn’t going to be high on the accepted residents list. And as much as she loved to get under the other ginger’s skin, she didn’t want him to go running into death.

Not with what she had heard about what Frank and Delta could do.

With her warning in place, she looked to Mazzie. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute, alone?”

The mystery was solved. Mazzie and Jax really had been on Pleasure Island the entire time.

The mystery was solved he wasn't sure he wanted solved. His MIA family were in fact truly dead.

There was a mystery he hadn't expected to want to solve and that was why his Beagle brothers were being kept on chains as being fed like zombie pets.

There was a mystery solved he hadn't even thought to wonder about because frankly he didn't care enough to think about them. Honest John was pet zombie chained while Gideon seemed to be the new ring leader throwing meat to the tigers.

Then Ellie asked a golden ticket question for yet another mystery Babyface didn't know he needed to wonder about. Were there zombie donkeys? In Feral it didn't affect the animals. This wasn't exactly Feral. This was Pleasure Island and these weren't normal animals. These were naughty boys turned into donkeys.

Gideon would shake his head and point an arm he was pulled out of the feed bucket towards the barn. "Stables are full of zonkeys. We try to keep 'em separate from the jackasses unless they kick up a big fuss. Then eh- What do ya do?" He shirked a shoulder like it was what it was.

What it proved was at their core they were still human under their donkey skins.

Living in Nola all their lives these kids were used to their fair share of bizarre and supernatural. Still, Babyface felt a little squeamish seeing his own family's corpses treated like that.

"Why aren't you hacking their heads off?" Babyface had to ask.

Bebop shrugged, "Gideon said the Magic Man was working on a cure."

Babyface shook his head. He was never the brightest bulb in the pack, but he said, "Zombies have been around forever. There's never been a cure. That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. The Magic Man is dead. I know. I killed him."

Gideon ran over and put his hands over Honest John's ears as if Babyface just said the most blasphemest lie. At least he would have been had Honest John had full ears still. They were quite decomposed. The only thing that really helped identify Honest John was the hat. Truly Babyface was standing there wondering how it stayed on.

This is also where Jax butted in. "Go ahead and tell 'em Mazz. Can we tell 'em?"

Mazzie looked at her two friends from what felt like so long ago.

"Remember the story I told you about the island and how it lives? Well, the Coachman's still here. Yes, you killed his human. Now he's the island with his wife. We're feeding them both now."

Babyface's heart dropped into his stomach.

It all made sense now. It wasn't Oogie's new decor as to why the island presented different. It was because there two souls in the island now.

Babyface was slowly realizing what this meant and why Mazzie kept asking if he'd stay no matter what. He knew he was going to have to make it up to the island, the Coachman's wife somehow, but something told him she might be angry at the old man. It was hard to believe she wouldn't be. So dealing with the island felt like one thing to Babyface, but the soul of the monster he murdered? This was other level. His mind went further than that. Did the island push his family into dangerous situations to get them killed as revenge because of Babyface? He tried to shake it out of his mind, but it was hard.

"Oh. Soooo, he's the reason for the big clown and.... stuff?"

"Yeah."

For as much red flags and warning signs that went through that Beagle Boy's head he was still the same ol' Babyface Beagle. He ate red flags for breakfast. He would always be headstrong and dive in headfirst. "Well shit. I guess we got double the donkey to harvest then."

"Fuck yeah we do. I'll teach you to make zonkeys Baby." Bebop said while snatching his brother in a headlock glad he wasn't chickening out.

And thus all the mysteries were set before Ellie solved. If she needed anymore information to help her decide whether she was going to stay on she now knew it all, nothing withheld. The island was more powerful than before.

While the mysteries of Pleasure Island were all being revealed to Ellie a different sort of mystery started to plague Bebop.

"How did you guys get here?"

"Boat."

"You guys have a working boat? Here? Right now? Are you fucking serious?"

Right after it looked like he was welcoming everyone to settle in Bebop looked like he was ready to jump ship and bail out.

"What the fuck guys. Why didn't you say so?"

[the-lazy-cat-bakes-souffles]

Who is the Antler Queen? A Theory Deep Dive

The identity of the Antler Queen has been a mystery at the heart of Yellowjackets since the pilot, and in the time since fans have speculated about many possible candidates. But there’s one in particular that’s been rapidly gaining traction in the fandom: that the Antler Queen is none other than everyone’s favourite lesbian ghost, Jackie Taylor. With the launch of Season 3 I wanted to delve deeper into the idea and why I think it would make perfect sense for the series, especially after the latest two episodes. Cork boards and post-its at the ready folks, this is gonna be a long one. And of course, spoilers. 

I’ll start off by referring to this Vanity Fair article from 2023, which gives a succinct rundown of this theory. To summarise, it posits that the Antler Queen as an individual doesn’t exist, per se, and is instead a manifestation of the girls’ collective perception of ‘the Wilderness’. This would track with what’s been established in the show and how the Antler Queen has been framed thus far; as an esoteric, supernatural figure that haunts the narrative in a similar way to The Man with No Eyes in Tai’s storyline - or indeed, the figment of Jackie in Shauna’s. The Wilderness is already personified extensively by the girls owing to Lottie’s visions and the religion that sprouted around it, referred to as a sentient entity with a will of ‘its’ own.

This is where Jackie comes in. Jackie as a character, from the very beginning, is defined not by who she actually is or was, but by how she is perceived - by both herself and those around her. Jackie is the first character we’re formally introduced to in Yellowjackets, and the scene is centred on her performative pleasure for her boyfriend Jeff while looking utterly miserable. We immediately cut to her aggressively brushing her teeth before clutching her iconic heart necklace with a forlorn expression. Her reflection is split across several mirrors, symbolising her fractured self and the many roles she plays, none of which are a truly accurate representation of Jackie the person.

The smitten high school girlfriend (who can’t stand her boyfriend), the queen bee who has it all (who is unfulfilled and lost when nobody's looking), the charismatic soccer captain (who is constantly undermined by her team), the self-centred, stifling best friend (who loves Shauna more than anything). Later she’s the pariah (who was one of the few remaining voices of reason), the first sacrifice (who never believed), the dearly departed teenage girl who so loved rabbits (she was indifferent to them at best). In death, as in life, Jackie is forever condemned to be what others make of her. That’s the inherent tragedy of the character, to never be truly known, to be an idea more than an individual. 

Secondly, Jackie is often described as the embodiment of civilisation’s values in Yellowjackets, but she is also the unwitting architect of the Wilderness’ new status quo. Out of everyone, it was Jackie who committed the first act of brutality after they crashed: leaving Van to burn alive to save Shauna. This was long before anyone had descended into savagery, and set a precedent for the Yellowjackets as a whole. Although her intention was to grasp onto some semblance of normality and bolster team morale, Jackie also sowed the seeds of the spiritual practices they would go on to adopt. It was Jackie who organised the séance, in doing so triggering everyone’s first exposure to forces beyond their understanding as Lottie is seemingly possessed by the spirit of Dead Cabin Guy. It was Jackie who came up with the idea of Doomcoming where, with the help of some hallucinogenic shrooms, the girls surrendered to their most primal selves and attempted to ritually sacrifice Travis. And of course, Jackie’s death is a paradigm shift where the old order crumbles to make way for a new one - and so passes the glory of the world.

After her death, Jackie continues to be a catalyst for the Wilderness’ machinations. She is the first person to be cannibalised, marking a point of no return for the Yellowjackets. Unlike the bleak horror of eating Javi, Jackie’s consumption is a heightened, ritualistic affair, presented as a bacchanal feast - a religious festival. In one of the rare cases of the camera assuming the perspective of the Wilderness, the wind rushes through the pines, blowing the snow perfectly onto Jackie’s funeral pyre and cooking her corpse. As the starving Yellowjackets congregate around her charred body later that night, Shauna says, “She wants us to.”

Jackie is portrayed posthumously in much the same way as the Wilderness itself: even though she has no voice, a will is ascribed to her. It’s important that Shauna is the one leading this. Although she doesn’t buy into the mysticism like Lottie and many of the other Yellowjackets, Shauna instead envisions Jackie as her personal saint (“They were all so tragic”) and tormentor. There is every possibility that this season, either spearheaded by Shauna or in spite of her, ‘Jackie’ will become the figure the Yellowjackets worship, too.

Lastly, there’s a heavy amount of foreshadowing and symbolism lending to Jackie as the Antler Queen. The obvious being that she was the Yellowjackets’ team captain. As the Vanity Fair article points out, Coach Martinez’ words to her in the pilot could well be more than dramatic irony: “You possess something no one else on this team has: influence. When things get tough out there, those girls are going to need someone to guide them.” We even see this called back to in ‘It Girl’ when Lottie says, “We call to Jackie, now with the Wilderness. Guide us.”

Then there’s the vision Jackie experiences before she dies, surrounded by doting teammates expressing their admiration, cloaked in a blanket beneath the antlers suspended above the cabin’s hearth. It’s all she ever truly wanted, to be loved and seen for who she was. How tragically poetic, then, would it be for her to finally receive the adoration she craved in death as a bastardised and diefied version of herself.

And of course, there’s the necklace. To Jackie it was a symbol of protection and her love for Shauna, but we know that it ultimately comes to be worn by those ‘chosen’ to be hunted by the Wilderness. Shauna initiated this with Nat, who continues to wear it after being crowned the first leader of the survivors. This practice of being marked for leadership or death by the necklace is an extension of Jackie becoming mythologised by Shauna and the rest of the Yellowjackets. Again, the line between ‘the Wilderness’ and ‘Jackie’ is blurred.

Let’s look at the show’s promotional material, a lot of which heavily features Jackie throughout the series. The main poster for the first season features a dirty and dishevelled Jackie sporting a bloody nose while a single yellowjacket wasp perches on her cheek. What’s often missed, however, is the reflection of the Antler Queen in her left eye. This symbolises Jackie as a victim h(a)unted by the Wilderness, but it could mean something even deeper than that: the living, real Jackie could be staring at a dark mirror of herself. 

A poster for the second season again features Jackie’s face, only this time that of her frozen corpse. Here there are two yellowjackets perched on her lips, and she’s wearing her heart necklace.

Another poster for Season 2 depicts the Antler Queen standing ominously in the snow. She’s wearing a Yellowjackets varsity jacket, cuffed jeans, a sweater, and a pair of sneakers. While some details are different (the sweater being black instead of striped and the sneakers being pink instead of white), the basic outfit bears a striking resemblance to the clothes Jackie was wearing when she died.

A teaser video for the third season shows a dirty skull carved with the Wilderness symbol. Three yellowjackets buzz around it, and Jackie’s necklace hangs from its right eye socket. In this context, it’s safe to assume that this is Jackie’s skull, especially as we know that the girls retrieved and buried her bones offscreen between seasons. We’ve already seen Shauna tamper with and project onto Jackie’s remains, and it isn’t that far-fetched to see them repurposed in that way once again. 

Finally, let’s look at the recently released poster depicting the Yellowjackets dancing around a fire. Note how all of the main girls are here, including Nat, Lottie, and Shauna (the main living candidates). The implication here is that the Queen’s identity can’t be attributed to any single one of them. Maybe it’s a rotating role, but it also lends credence to this idea of the Queen being a construct. There are three skulls burning in the fire, representing those of the fallen - Javi, Jackie and Shauna’s child (Laura Lee and Crystal’s remains aren’t exactly accessible, after all). From the flames rises the figure of the Antler Queen: symbolically, she is born from the remains of the dead, and she’s burning just as Jackie burned on the pyre. 

With all of this in mind, I think there’s plenty of solid evidence to suggest that Jackie’s bones could end up being repurposed into some sort of effigy, mounted on a stick, adorned with locks of hair and a veil fashioned from a soccer net, and crowned with a pair of antlers. Jackie would finally lead the Yellowjackets in a way she never could while alive.

In conclusion, despite her death relatively early in the series, Jackie’s presence looms large over Yellowjackets. She remains an integral part of its iconography, its themes, and Shauna’s character (the closest the show has to a de facto protagonist). After her agency, body, and legacy have been repeatedly consumed, appropriated, and warped throughout the series, it would be a natural evolution for the Yellowjackets to fully transform everything Jackie was in making her their idol for the Wilderness. It’s human nature to anthropomorphise what we don’t fully understand, to give it a face and a name. It’s also human nature to deflect the responsibility for monstrous acts to avoid looking at the monster within ourselves. For most of the characters, this is the Antler Queen. But Shauna will only ever be able to see the girl she loved, the embodiment of her guilt. Perhaps, somehow, the true Jackie will finally find a way to reclaim her agency and personhood through that. There is no ‘it’ there’s only ‘us’. But is there really a difference?

[theamarischapter]

Conquering Cupid ➳❥

a/n: beomgyu isn't technically cupid exactly, but he's a love fairy! i wanted to write something for valentine's day and this idea came to me when i was, funnily enough, playing the dti (roblox) valentine's day quest LOL. also kinda inspired by royale high... anyway, hope you guys like it! i was literally fighting for my life to finish this semi-on time... happy valentines day! <3

pairing: fairy!beomgyu x fairy!reader

w/c: 4.3k

genre: fluff, fantasy au (a magic academy), one-shot, strangers/acquaintances to lovers, (past) heartbreak

warnings: beomgyu is a stubborn idiot, not proofread b/c im lazy

summary: the love fairy, a charming but mischievous boy, seems to avoid love at all costs, leading you on a mission to capture his heart and uncover the mystery. the closer you get, the more he pulls away—ironic, isn't it? a love fairy who "despises" love.

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

All love fairies take pride in who they are—to gift love is a magical and honorable responsibility. But one particular love fairy seems to disagree: Beomgyu. 

Perhaps you’re overthinking it, but it’s hard to ignore the way he actively avoids love. He dodges affection like an arrow gone astray, charming yet distant, admired yet untouched. You, for example, have spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring from afar, which is how you’ve come to notice this odd behavior—the way he dodges using his spells and magic, steering clear of anything love-related. 

But why? 

Well, naturally, it’s now your duty to do the impossible—love the unlovable, and beat the love fairy at his own game. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 1: Befriend him 

It should be a simple task, right? He’s already quite outgoing and friendly—easy to approach, easy to talk to. You’re sure he has plenty of friends, so what’s one more? 

Besides, fate seems to be rooting for you. The dean—Mrs. Elderose—personally requested that you tutor the boy. It’s a perfect opening to get to know him and hang out alone, where he feels less pressured to uphold a facade of upbeat charm. The only problem? He’s already ten minutes late. Your leg bounces incessantly beneath the table, fingers idly fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket. Your eyes periodically glance around the vast school library, where towering bookshelves line the walls and warm lights hang from the domed ceiling, illuminating the golden engravings on each book. Hushed voices blend with the gentle flutter of wings, barely audible beneath the whisper of a calm breeze, which reaches you through the slightly ajar window to your right. Carrying the crisp scent of pine, it drifts in from the endless woodland beyond. Your gaze lingers there, admiring the warm hues of the sunset sky as they color the landscape. Beomgyu still has yet to arrive.You should’ve known he’d skip. With a resigned sigh, your hands move to pack up the scattered pencils and notebooks you had out. Just as you’re haphazardly stuffing your bag with the first notebook, a teasing voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“What’s the rush? Waiting for someone?” Beomgyu’s bright expression comes into view as you turn your head towards his voice. He’s smirking, one corner of his lips tilted upwards as his deep brown eyes, hidden behind light bangs, gleam with mischief. “Honestly, I wasn’t gonna show up—but Mrs. Elderose dragged me here after she saw me trying to leave.”

You offer a laugh, purely out of awkward pity. Honestly, you’re not that amused. He just told you to your face that he doesn’t want to be here. Then again, you can’t really blame him. If the dean forced you to get tutoring, you wouldn’t be very eager either.

“Well…I’m glad you made it.” You smile, and for a moment his expression falters. His smirk falls; he looks almost surprised by how earnest you sound. Subconsciously, he’d assumed you were as unwilling as he was to be here in the library. But it seems you feel the opposite way—you want to be around him.  It shouldn’t be such a revolutionary idea—there are plenty of people who like having him around. So, what’s with the weird warmth spreading through his chest at your comment? Why is he happy that you want him around? He doesn’t even know you yet, but he feels drawn to you in a familiar, unreasonable way—one he refuses to acknowledge... He won’t hurt himself again. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He mutters, huffing out a small laugh in an attempt to regain his composure. Usually, he has more control over himself, but his defenses seem to naturally crumble at your genuine compassion. With a quiet breath, he plops into the seat beside you, slouching. “I’m a waste of time.”

You frown, head tilting to the side. Beneath the layers of playfulness, you sense something genuine in his statement. “I disagree.” You say quietly, opening one of your notebooks. “I mean—I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

“You’ll see soon. I have no intention of improving, anyway.” He replies, looking away from you. There’s a thoughtful expression on his face, his gaze captivated by the smooth, dark wooden table. You’re tempted to outright ask all of your questions, but refrain—there’s no rush. 

Love requires patience. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 2: Carefully get closer; earn his trust 

So far, you’ve barely scratched the surface. Just when you think you’ve made progress, he pulls away—always with a laugh, a joke to distract from any real emotion that leaked out. At the very least, he shows up to every tutoring session and occasionally says hello if he sees you in the halls. You’re friendly, but not quite friends. And he has no intention of changing that. 

“You did it!” You exclaim cheerfully, standing beside him. The gentle breeze flows through your hair, bright strands of grass beneath your leather boots. The outdoors, naturally a suitable place to practice spells. You’ve been focusing on the basics with him—specifically levitation since it’s a simple but useful tool to have. Your eyes admire the pretty rose floating in front of him, its smooth petals matching the faint pink hue of his cheeks. 

“It was luck,” he mutters. He frowns at the sight of his accomplishment, arms crossing as the rose drops to the floor—except, you never even taught him how to undo the spell, he just…did. Perhaps it was just something natural; he didn’t necessarily need your guidance for something as simple as that…right? You shouldn’t overthink it.

“Luck or not, it’s an improvement.” You smile, bending down to pick up the rose. A dumb idea comes to mind, but you don’t bother to stop it. Maybe if you’re straightforward he’ll be more willing to try and open up. You hold the rose to him, looking into his deep, sparkling eyes. “How about we celebrate? Are you hungry?”

His fingers brush yours as he takes the flower, the touch fleeting but warm. It lingers longer than it should, even as he quickly clears his throat, looking away from you. It takes him a second too long to find his words. “I…um, I don’t have money—“

“It’s okay! I can pay.” You reply enthusiastically, collecting your things. His lips part, but no words come out. Instead, he just stares, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He doesn’t understand what you want, why you’re even here. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it—he’s not allowed to run away this time. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When you stare at him expectantly with those big, pretty eyes, how could he decline? He’d hate to see disappointment in your gaze, so he nods mutely, diverting his attention to the flower cradled delicately between his fingers. Just this once, he’ll allow his heart to win. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

You sit across from him in the school cafe, a dark wooden table between you. Warm light reflects down from the ceiling, casting soft shadows over his smooth, pale skin. His fingers trace his warm cup of cocoa absentmindedly, the warmth spreading through his fingertips. 

“I’m proud of you, Beomgyu. I think you’ll do really well on our next evaluation.” Your voice is gentle, a sincere, soft smile on your lips—which he finds himself staring at. Get it together, Beomgyu. When he finally processes your words, he straightens his posture, ears heating up and wings fluttering—a telltale sign of his apprehension. 

“Um, yeah. Me too.” He mumbles. What’s wrong with him? He’s normally so outgoing, but now the words are all tangling together in his mouth—even in his brain, it’s a jumbled, confusing mess. His heart stutters, a wild, erratic rhythm that refuses to settle. Each breath comes faster, shallower, like his body is betraying him. This isn’t normal. This isn’t fair. He hates this feeling—this infatuation, this longing. It never ends well. “I mean, I'll do better, at least.” 

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath, the rapid thumps of his heart calming. He manages to smile, fingers tapping restlessly against the table even as he huffs out a small laugh. “Maybe my charm will get me a few extra points.” 

You scoff, chuckling and shaking your head. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lift your iced coffee to take a small sip. You hum in thought, leaning over the table, closer to him. “Have more confidence! Mrs. Elderose is keeping you here for a reason. There’s potential.” 

He raises an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. His elbows rest on the table, head leaning on the palm of his hand as he feigns nonchalance. His gaze travels through the space, lingering on the warm cup of cocoa in front of him instead of you. “Tch, yeah—potential failure.” 

“Are you saying I’m a bad teacher?” You joke, gaze carefully observing him. You’re searching beneath the surface, through the cracks of his carefully upheld persona. Behind every smile, every laugh, and every joke, is a quiet, insecure boy—at least, that’s what you’ve deduced thus far. There are always other reasons he may feel the need to downplay his talent. 

“Wh—no! You’re great. But, like, I’m just saying…” He refutes quickly, his pale hair bouncing as he frantically shakes his head. He’s wide-eyed, a small pout forming on his lips, as if he’s upset you would accuse him of something so horrific. You’re not a bad teacher at all; you’re smart, patient, encouraging, pretty…um, wait, never mind that last one. The point is, he’s actually learned a lot from you, and he’d hate to make you feel bad. 

“Right…saying what? That you hate me and you learned nothing?” You ask, teasing him further, even if only to see the flustered expression on his face. It’s also a good tactic for getting him to admit how he feels if he feels anything. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! You’re putting words in my mouth!” He defends, almost whining, before huffing out a short breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, pretty eyes focused on you with a helpless plead to stop this defamation of his character!

“You didn’t deny it? Wow, I’m offended.” You continue, and he sits up straight, hands slamming onto the thick table. Heads turn, all eyes on you both for just a brief moment before the audience loses interest. His ears are a bright shade of pink, his wings twitching. 

“Stop—“ He attempts to defend, but you’re quick to cut in. He can feel butterflies swirling around in his stomach, and he hates it. He hates you for making him feel this way. 

“I mean, really, I thought we got along pretty well. But I guess I was wrong—“ You’re exaggerating, of course, faking a frown as you place a hand over your heart in offense. He’s had enough. 

 “I like you, okay?” His mouth moves faster than his brain, desperate to prove you wrong. For what reason? Because, well, he can’t stomach the thought of you not liking him, of you thinking he doesn’t like you. Once he realizes what he’s said, he freezes, wings twitching so violently behind him that the table shakes just a little. His hands clench into fists in an attempt to comfort himself. Stupid. That was so stupid. His heart beats rapidly against his ribcage, and the heat crawling up his neck makes it impossible to pretend he’s unaffected.

“Geez,” he mutters, slouching, arms crossing over his chest. “Can’t a guy be self-deprecating every once in a while?” His voice is quieter now, more grumbled than spoken. He fixes his gaze on the untouched cup of cocoa in front of him as he contemplates his life choices. He risks a glance at you, just for a second. You’re smiling. It’s small, just a slight curve of your lips, but paired with the faint pink hue on your cheeks, it’s enough to make his chest squeeze uncomfortably tight. 

“N-Not like that!” He blurts, practically whining as he sits up. His wings flutter again—another traitorous giveaway. He swears under his breath. “You know what I meant.”

 “Do I?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. He likes you. Your smile widens at the thought, meanwhile, his pout deepens. He looks cute like that, you think. Maybe you don’t mind upsetting him every once in a while.

✧༺🩷༻✧

Evaluation day arrives fast. Too fast. 

You should be excited—it’s your moment to prove yourself again and make your parents proud. And you are, sort of. But your focus keeps drifting to Beomgyu. He stands a few feet away, looking awfully comfortable. Too comfortable for someone who’s flunked every evaluation before this. He sighs, stretching his arms lazily as if he couldn’t care less about any of this. Everyone else is shifting anxiously in place, wings twitching, fingers fidgeting with their sleeves. Chatter fills the arena, students laughing and joking about how screwed they might be. Your gaze catches his, and for a moment, there’s something, a small glimmer in his eyes—regret. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual, careless smile and a small nod as you part ways. 

The results are posted the next day. Your name is at the top where it always is, but it’s his name that catches your eye. Your stomach knots when you find it. Choi Beomgyu. Dead last. Again. It makes no sense. You trained for hours and rewarded his immense improvement. He should’ve passed—or, at the very least, passed any of the subjects with a grade higher than a D. But this…? Your hands tighten at your sides, your heart sinking into your stomach. There’s only one explanation; he’s been failing all of these things on purpose. The realization hits you like a wave of cold air, stealing the breath from your lungs. You should’ve known. He literally warned you that he was a “waste of time.” He told you he had “no intention of improving.” You just didn’t believe him—you figured he was just insecure. But now, staring at his name at the very bottom of the list, you’re left with only one question: Why?

You manage to speak to a friend of his: Kang Taehyun, a reserved but kind classmate of yours. You catch him as he’s heading to the dormitory. 

“I need to talk to you.” You say, getting straight to the point. 

He frowns, barely reacting to your statement. “About?” 

“Beomgyu. He’s been failing on purpose, right?” You reply. He sighs, taking a step back and crossing his arms. He doesn’t look all too impressed, in fact, he looks tired of the conversation already. It’s not that he’s mean, he just cares about Beomgyu a lot. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” He asks, gaze scrutinizing you, searching for any hint of malicious intent in your posture, expression, or tone.

“Well, I just don’t get why. But, I figured you would know.” He hums in thought, head tilting to the side, expression still unchanging. 

“And why do you need to know?” 

Your mouth opens, then closes—you hadn’t thought that far. Somehow, you figured he might just come out and tell you, for some reason. You thought he’d sense your earnest desire to help. Instead, it almost feels like you’re on trial, as if he’s searching for any reason to withhold the information from you. 

“I want to help.” You finally say. He’s still staring at you, waiting for something more. “Please.” 

He hesitates, mulling it over. There’s a hint of reluctance in his gaze, but it’s not because of you. It’s because of Beomgyu. He knows his friend, and he knows that he’s never going to explain himself. He won’t stop being stubborn, and his self-sabotage is going to get him expelled sooner or later. Taehyun exhales, nodding slowly. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

The story goes something like this: 

Beomgyu was young when he fell in love for the first time—with a girl named Arielle. From the moment he first met her, the feelings surged all at once, like an unrelenting tide swallowing him whole She had an aura that attracted people effortlessly—someone you wanted to be around, hold onto and never let go of. 

She was a natural beauty, her long, sleek hair framing her round, delicate features. Her wide eyes shimmered with warmth, as if she constantly saw the best in everyone. When her eyes fell on him, the world quieted. Beomgyu could breathe. He could exist without effort, without overthinking. Her gaze alone felt like the sun shining down on him. But the deeper he fell, the more suffocating it became—it felt as though he’d been trapped in a self-imposed prison. Someone as great as her, as perfect as her, could never be with someone like him. And sure, he’s a love fairy—he could have used magic to draw her closer. But Beomgyu was stubborn. He wanted love to come naturally. He craved authentic attraction—and, magic was never his strong suit, anyway. So he waited. 

He became her shadow, her anchor. He caught her when she stumbled, offered his heart with both hands—without hesitation, without expecting anything in return. And she took, and took, and took, but never gave. Of course, it’s not like she owed him anything—he did everything willingly, but it still hurt. He devoted himself to her, promised to wait until she was ready, but she couldn’t return the favor. Even as a friend, she couldn’t lend him an ear nor comfort him on his shortcomings. She couldn’t make time for him, couldn’t lend a helping hand. Beomgyu eventually got fed up and finally stood up for himself—and that’s when she crushed everything to pieces. 

She took his heart from his chest, cradled it in her delicate hands, and then trampled it. She turned his fantasy of love into a nightmare, showed him how cruel it could be. To her, he was nothing but a tool to be used. She never really wanted him—no, she wanted someone to fuel her craving for love and attention. And when she got bored? He wasn’t useful anymore, so she discarded him like a piece of trash, told him he was “a waste of time,” even though she was the one who’d failed the relationship.

He hasn’t been the same since. Love became a distorted concept, a reminder of his inadequacy. He hated himself for who he was, who he failed to be. His trust was taken and demolished, so now he hides. He hides from himself, from everything that reminds him of her—everything related to love. He’s a love fairy who’s afraid to love, unable to trust. 

And, most importantly, he imposes failure on himself because he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to hide forever, wants to forget that who he is—a love fairy—is what he hates. And yet, in the quiet corners of his mind, he still feels her warmth, like an old scar that never fully fades.

✧༺🩷 ༻✧

Beomgyu has been a ghost in your life. He’s carefully kept his distance, looking the other way when you’re near, taking the scenic route to class just to avoid crossing shadows. He ignores the pull in his heart, the tightness in his chest that threatens to consume him. The feelings come uninvited—fluttering in his stomach, warmth creeping up his neck, his heart stuttering out of rhythm. And then, just as quickly, the fear swallows him whole. Each sensation is followed by swift dread, nausea, and guilt. He tells himself he shouldn’t feel this way, that he has no right to. But deep down, he knows the truth: he’s just afraid. His heart pounds against his ribcage, breaths quickening at even the thought of surrendering his heart once more. He can’t. He won’t. In the end, the only one he trusts with his heart is himself.

You manage to corner him with the help of Taehyun, who brings him along to the school garden. You sit on the edge of the marble fountain, tracing your fingers along the cool surface. The clear water glistens in the warmth of the sun, birds chirping in the distance as the bushes rustle in the cool breeze. If you focus, you can hear faint footsteps, coming from nearby within the maze of flowers and greenery. A movement catches your eye. From between two towering bushes, Beomgyu steps into view, his presence sending a ripple through the stillness. Taehyun, who’s close behind him, gives a nod of encouragement before nudging Beomgyu toward you. 

Your eyes connect and time stops. His light hair brushes across his face, confusion and apprehension flickering across his face as his eyebrows draw together. His lips part wordlessly, chest rising and falling rapidly with each quick, shallow breath. He’s suffocating once more, his lungs straining against an invisible force. His chest tightens, each heartbeat sharp and unrelenting. He stumbles back, fingers searching for something solid, something real. But nothing feels real—not the warmth of the sun, not the garden around him, not even himself. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face his feelings so head-on. 

“Beomgyu, can we talk?” Your voice pierces the silence, gentle but unwavering. He flinches, his gaze darting anywhere but you, as if doing so will make you disappear. You press onward, calming your own rapid heartbeat. You just need to connect, reach deeper into his fragile heart. “I- I know why you’re…afraid. Why you won’t use your magic.”

You risk a step forward, holding a flower to him. His eyes flicker with suspicion, scanning your expression like a wary animal expecting a trap. He’s looking for deception, for cruelty, for any sign that history is repeating itself. But all he finds is sincerity. He lifts a hand, feet dragging quietly against the stone path. He steals another glance at you—you have the same, patient expression, encouraging him to continue. His hand hovers over the flower, hanging there for a few moments. There’s a lump in his throat, an invisible barrier that prevents him from moving forward. His fingers brush yours, and he pulls his hand back, as though the touch burned. His hand falls limp at his side, chest heaving with a shaky exhale.

“Beomgyu.” You say gently, afraid to scare him away. It’s a miracle he’s still standing in front of you, at least willing to listen. His gaze finds yours, urging you to continue. “You, of all people, should know how precious love is.”

His eyes burn, chest tight and lungs burning. He manages to speak. “It’s not precious. It never ends well—everyone always gets hurt. I’ve seen it.”

Which, is admittedly true. It’s only natural that a love fairy would have seen the most love, and thus the most heartbreak, too. He’s seen the beauty and the raw, ugly flaws. But he focuses on the bad because it’s what has affected him most profoundly. 

“Doesn’t that make it more precious?” You reply, risking a small step closer. “If everyone had it, it wouldn’t be special anymore.” 

Tears pool in his eyes, a few spilling over as his bottom lip trembles. He’s showing you his heart now, no longer suppressing the emotions clashing together in his chest. Gently, you take his hand, and he squeezes, lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Heartbreak is not a downside to love, it is a representation of love. To have loved fully is to grieve deeply. People love—and continue to love—despite knowing the risks. Because love is a gift to yourself and the people around you.” You cup his face gently with your other hand, swiping away the hot tears streaming down his face. He says nothing and everything at the same time. His gaze holds an indecipherable appreciation—perhaps, an admiration of how beautiful you are physically and emotionally. 

“I really, really like you. So give me a chance to love you, Beomgyu. I’ll give you my heart, so long as you trust me with yours in return.” You whisper. He nods, sniffling quietly as he stares into your gentle, caring gaze. The emotions consume him without permission, a surge of warmth flowing through his chest, heat creeping onto his cheeks. 

“I- um, I mean…I like you. Too—a lot.” He mumbles, still struggling to express himself confidently. He squeezes your hand, thumb running absentmindedly over your smooth skin. “I mean, I have for a while I just- well, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that—”

Your lips are on his before he can even recognize what’s happening. When he does, his brain stutters, his body locks up, breath hitching. His mind blanks—static where there should be panic. Idiot, what is he doing? You’re pulling away before he gets a chance to explore this new, exciting feeling. His free hand finds your hip, pulling you closer and kissing you again, allowing himself to melt into it this time. Time comes to a stop, as if it’s just you two. Your lips are soft, careful not to overwhelm him. His brain is quiet for once, the space filled the whisper of a quiet breeze. How could he have deprived himself of this for so long? 

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. His wings flutter eagerly, like a puppy’s tail after receiving a treat. He brings both arms around you, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt to make sure you’re real. His cheeks are impossibly pink, face burning as he hides it in the crook of your neck. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He mumbles. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head and pressing your cheek to his silky hair. 

“It’s okay, it made it more interesting.” You whisper. He breathes out an amused huff, his grip around you tightening imperceptibly—as if to claim you. 

Looks like you’ve won this round. The love fairy who feared love—who ran from it, who buried his own heart—has given his heart to you. Your fallen cupid wasn’t unlovable after all. He just needed the right person to believe in him.

a/n: okay so i was supposed to release this ON valentine’s day but im a lil late…um, anyways! i got this idea and thought it would be cute, i hope you all liked it!! and dw im still working on my other fic for those wondering, i just wanted to do smt special for valentine’s day (even if i stressed myself out trying to finish this 💀). comments, likes, and reblogs greatly appreciated!! xoxo

[sapphicapocrypha]

♡ (𝐎𝐡) 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞 ♡

💋 𝕷. 𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖚 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

💋 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 — 5.3 k

💋 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘 — EXTREME, nsfw, established relationship, cunnilingus, squirting, rough, anal, mommy kink, (enchanted) strap-on, top!reader

💋𝐀𝐨𝟑

— no beta we die like lilia, minors dni—

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

"Where have you been?" Lilia asked sharply when you came home in the middle of the night again. She tugged at the string that switched on the table lamp and crossed her arms, already in her nightie but with her hair still pinned up.

"Work?" You dropped your bag somewhere on the floor and shrugged off your coat. "The job I took on so we might one day get out of this hole?"

"Bullshit." The wrinkles around her lips deepened when she pursed them, lifting her hand that had a plastic bag dangling from it. You saw the logo. Fuck. "Who are they for?"

One by one, she fished the lacy G-strings from the bag and dropped them on the floor, quirking her eyebrow in expectation of an answer she already knew she wasn't going to accept.

"It's not what you think, Lilia." You picked the lingerie up as you approached her and put it on the table.

She shoved at you when you tried to collect her hands and turned away, sniffling. "Do I know her?"

"You silly old lady," you said and pulled out a chair for her, filling a glass of water under the sink.

"Is that it? You needed someone younger?" Lilia rested her forehead in her palm, hiding her eyes from you, shoulders slumped. "Someone less kookoo?"

Setting the glass in front of her, you sat down at the table, and this time succeeded in taking her hand, the one on her knee. "There is no one else."

"Then who are these for?" she huffed, flipping the panties up with her finger.

You blushed and leaned back, inhaling. "They're for you. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and—don't start, I know, I know."

Lilia scoffed. "For me? You want me to believe that?"

This really wasn't how you thought this would go. For months, you'd worked your ass off trying to save money for this special surprise, and then you were foolish enough to leave half of it lying around in a clairvoyant witch's home. You should've known better. Well, time to get yourself out of this mess—if that was even still an option.

Brushing your thumb over Lilia's knuckles, you waited until she met your gaze. It still made your heart flutter. "I didn't take the job to save up for an apartment. Not primarily, at least."

"What for, then?"

"To take you out for a weekend at a fancy hotel and—with some extras. This weekend."

Lilia's lips parted, and she blinked a couple of times. "Why—?"

You had to suppress a laugh when you thought about how to explain this to her. "Our bed is very small, don't you think?"

"Yes, it is," Lilia answered but was visibly still confused as to what that had to do with the hotel. You watched the cogs turn, and then her eyes snapped back to yours. "Oh!"

You nodded, amused, and left your chair to perch on Lilia's lap, lacing your arms around her neck. The mascara on her lower lashes had smudged a bit, and her eyes still had some redness to them. You wiped under them and cupped her cheek. "Feeling better, momma?"

Rubbing her hands up and down your waist, Lilia nodded, and you pressed your lips to her hairline. "Let's go to bed then."

୨♡୧

The most luxurious hotel you could afford was one with the architecture of a castle—high ceilings, stucco, four-poster beds made for royalty. It wasn't a panorama-view skyscraper, but it was, against everything you stood for, romantic.

Nosy as she was, Lilia had tried to peek into the gym bag you had packed on multiple occasions, but you knew your witch too well and took precautions. The garden was the size of a football field at least, if not two, and had a fountain in the middle—though, if everything went according to plan, the two of you wouldn't be leaving your room once this weekend.

Eat, sleep, fuck. That was the itinerary.

Arriving in your room, Lilia's eyes lit up at the sight of the grand bed. She sat on the end and bounced, testing its softness, and bit her lip. Her feet didn't reach the ground; it was adorable. You laughed, and she let herself fall into it, letting out a reverberating sigh of joy. Stashing the gym bag back beside the bed, you kicked off your shoes and climbed on, crawling up her body until your face hovered over hers, just a kiss away.

"This is perfect, sweetie," she said, pulling you down by your nape. The kiss started slow and soft, but the thought of seeing her in the lingerie you'd picked out ignited a fire in your core that had you push your tongue between her lips until she welcomed it into her mouth. A quiet moan slipped past, and, in an effort to get closer to her, you bumped your knee between her legs, making her shudder.

"Oh, baby..." she hummed, taking a breath and catching your lips anew. Your fingers twined into her curls, covering themselves in strands of silver, and you couldn't help but leave her mouth and nip at her jawline, following a wrinkle down to her throat. "Wait..."

You let off and looked at her with a questioning expression.

"We've got time," she said. "Let's not rush this."

You massaged your thumb into the side of her neck. "You're right. I haven't even shown you my gift."

"Those flimsy panties?"

"No." You laughed. "There's more. But... speaking of it—why don't you try them on?"

You expected Lilia to protest, but she simply smirked and took the little bag from you as well as her own and disappeared into the bathroom.

The wait was excruciating.

Playing with the fine, white bedsheet, you considered whether you should change yourself or get naked right away, but Lilia was right: there was no rush. One thing at a time. Lilia was still getting used to this, and she needed you to be stable and patient.

The bathroom door opened, and not only did Lilia wear the golden mesh bra and g-string that matched her magic in color, but she also wore a flowing, see-through dressing gown over it. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was the fabric she'd been working with for weeks now. Thin chiffon, if you had to guess. Dark mauve. Tied in a neat bow at the waist, like a true present.

"You're staring," Lilia teased, and you scrambled to the end of the bed where she came to stand between your legs. Your hands found the curve of her hips on their own accord, feeling the chiffon, and beneath, her soft, supple skin, handfuls of it. The golden bra, sprinkled with the tiniest diamond splitters, peeked through and offered just the right place to kiss.

"Can you blame me?" You glanced up at her with utter adoration. "Look at you. You're perfect. So," you stamped more kisses to the swell of her breast, "mesmerizing. God, you're making me drip."

Lilia ran her fingers through your locks, humming low. She responded so well to your praise, and you dared say her confidence in her own body had grown over recent weeks because of it. You kneaded her flesh, caressed over her ass, and squeezed it, traced the gentle rolls on her back, and took the ribbon between your teeth, untying the robe to reveal her stomach.

More to kiss.

As you pecked down the middle of her stomach, Lilia sat beside you and diverted your attention to her lips, indulging in a long, wet kiss, her hand on your thigh, fingers twisting into your trousers.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you murmured as you pulled away, and Lilia smiled.

Reaching into your gym bag, you took out a box wrapped in shiny, red paper and gave it to Lilia. She set it on her lap and opened it with nimble fingers, pausing when she saw the content. Her breath hitched, and her fingers were unsteady when they ghosted over the items.

"We don't have to use all of them," you backtracked, fearing to have overwhelmed her. "Consider it more of a... suggestion box."

"Honey, I..." Lilia trailed off and picked up a small purple vibrator, turning it between her fingers.

"Yes?"

She put it back between the strap and handcuffs and set it aside, her posture slumping a little as if not sure what to say. You gave her time.

"Since we started... this—and with everything we tried and you're... You're amazing, you know?"

You couldn't tell whether this was going to be bad news or a love confession. Bravely, you reached for Lilia's hand and entwined your fingers, squeezing them.

"I've been getting these dreams. Of us."

Now that was interesting.

"Ah?" You smirked and brushed her collarbone, making her shiver. "Tell me more."

"There's a thing that keeps coming up, and I think... I think I really want it. To try it, at least."

Licking your lips, you gently pushed Lilia to lie on her back and kissed her, talking in between.

"Start at the beginning, my love," you said and parted the dressing gown to cup Lilia's breast through the bra, making her gasp. Her nipple hardened after a few swipes of your thumb, poking through the shimmering mesh, whimpering for your attention. You kissed it, over the mesh, rubbed, and pulled the bra down to expose the rosy peak to the air. Goosebumps pebbled up all over her chest.

"You wear a," she sucked in a breath as you blew air over her nipple, "strap-on, and I—I enchant it. On my knees. In front of you."

"I like the sound of that." You flicked your tongue against her and watched her chest flutter with a scattered intake of breath. Then a suck, then some more, and you already pulled the first noises of pleasure from her. Her tits were so sensitive.

"I lick it while I cast the spell," Lilia continued, closing her eyes as she focused on the sensations, "and weave my magic around the shaft with my tongue."

With a plop, you released her nipple from your mouth and took your affections lower, tickling her sides and burying yourself in her tummy. It gave in beneath you, melted away, and crinkled. You couldn't help but moan into her while toying with the strings around her hips.

"Go on, tell me everything," you coaxed and followed the curve of her thigh down to the crease connecting it with her vulva. The skin was already scaldingly hot and the hairs sticking out from under the slim cover of the panties were dewy. You traced the edge, up and down, up and down, until Lilia whimpered with impatience. "I'll continue if you do."

Lilia's thigh trembled when you grabbed it, pushing it open to make room for yourself.

"You—you start to feel it—the strap," she stammered, training her heavy-lidded eyes on you, "as if it were real."

"We lay down, and you—" Enjoying the tease, you ran your thumb over the front of the panties, and when you reached the hem, pulled them taut over her, so that the thin string pressed between her soaked folds. "Mh! Oh, God!" You pulled harder, tugged it around. "You fuck me." She squirmed, grabbing for any part of you. "And you come—inside and all over me!"

Releasing her panties, you soothed her with kisses to her inner thighs and purred, "You want to be my cumslut?"

"Don't make fun of me," Lilia whined, embarrassment flickering through as she tried to regain control of her breathing.

And you hadn't even started.

"I'm not." Hooking your arms under her plush thighs, you brushed your kisses closer to her center and sucked here and there, electrifying her nerves. "You know I love to indulge your every whim."

"Then what are you doing right now?" she asked, throwing her head back into the pillows in defeat.

"Driving you mad?"

"Right," she growled, and, cruel as you were, you wiped your index finger over the drenched panties covering her slit. "C'mon, baby. Be good for momma."

The change in tone had its desired effect on you, especially when Lilia propped herself up and raked her fingers over your scalp, guiding you towards the source of heat that simmered under the ornamented gold. Lured by her scent, you moved the string aside and revealed her pink, glistening folds to you.

Lilia sucked in a breath as you skimmed over them and held it when you spread her between thumb and index finger. Her clit was swollen, throbbing with blood, and so hot when you first took it on the tip of your tongue.

"That's it, baby!" Lilia sighed and plummeted into the pillows, keeping her hand on the back of your head, nails ready to scrape.

With a swift motion, you tugged at her thighs and lifted her hips to get a better angle, fingers wound around them in a bruising grip. You toyed with her clit—grazed with your teeth, rolled it back and forth with your tongue, suctioned around it with your lips—and made a whining mess of her, writhing in your grip, arching, touching her pretty tits in desperate pursuit of pleasure.

She was too close, you decided, and loosened your hold on her thighs, proceeding to lay her down and caress her legs. Her pussy was a mess, her opening pulsing and threads of arousal sticking to her fine grey hairs. Even those quivered as she heaved in breaths.

"Must you always be so cruel?"

"You know why," you said and shifted up a bit so you could spare her neglected breasts some affection while your hand rested, warm and teasing, on her lower stomach.

"Do we really have to ruin the sheets this early on?" Lilia complained but held you to her cleavage as you kissed each individual freckle and wrinkle.

Unconcerned, you answered, "I saw fresh ones in the wardrobe."

"That's not what I was asking, smart ass." Lilia smacked your butt, and you withdrew, staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "Don't pretend you don't feel amazing when I make you squirt."

"True," Lilia admitted, "but you frustrate me. I'm not a patient woman. Too old for that."

"And yet you want to ride my strap," you said, and smugly aimed for her lips, already kissed raw. "Not too old for that, huh?"

"Don't tease." She patted your cheek and stole another kiss from you, groping your still-clothed body and tugging at your shirt until you sat up and pulled it over your head. The right choice—the sensation of her round breasts pressing against yours made your head spin. "Now finish what you started, little one. Or Momma will get angry."

You didn't leave without trailing your lips along the front of her throat, stimulating the delicate, sensitive skin. Sitting between her legs, you helped her out of the G-string since it was ruined anyway and only an obstacle for everything to come. This time, you shouldered her thighs and had them rest snugly around your neck.

"Let me hear you," was the last thing you said before you dipped your head down and flattened your tongue, placing a broad lick from the bottom to the top as if her pussy were a scoop of strawberry ice cream. You repeated it, slow and languid, tasting her, knowing you could play this game only for so long.

Lilia delivered. Her mouth opened with shy, low moans that grew louder with each lick, particularly when you swiped your tongue through the space between her small and large labia. You left her clit unattended and instead circled her vaginal opening with careful strokes before sinking into her, feeling along the velvet-smooth ripples.

One touch to the right spot and Lilia rewarded you with a rumbling moan. You kept pressing your tongue against it in a steady rhythm until she had no time to go quiet anymore. Once you had her where you wanted her, you shifted back to her clit and wrapped your lips around the small, pulsating bud while lathering your fingers with her arousal and teasing at her entrance.

"Just one thing," Lilia said breathlessly and broke off when you eased two fingers into her, flexing her feet and pushing her hips into your hand.

"What?" you mumbled against her clit.

"In my," she panted, her face and chest flushed, "dreams."

Pressing against her walls, you moved in and out of her, unhurried but also unrelenting. "Yes?"

Her cunt squeezed around you, again and again, as she arched with pleasure, a beautiful mess of curly hair and moans.

"You were—fuck—using my ass."

"Oh." You pulled away, and as you thrust back into Lilia, her thighs snapped shut around your hand and wrist as the orgasm wracked through her and cum gushed into your palm.

Against her body's instincts, you pried her knees apart to save your lower arm from going numb. A small, wet spot stained the sheets, minor in comparison to other nights you'd had, but the weekend had just begun. You pressed a sloppy kiss to the peak of her mound and crawled up to lie beside her, draping your arm across her stomach to hold her through the aftershocks. She tended to be quite spent after this kind of thing.

"Was that a no?" she asked, still gulping down air. Her cheeks were so red that you pressed the back of your hand against them and her forehead to check for a fever. "I shouldn't have—"

"It wasn't. I was just surprised, that's all." You gave Lilia a reassuring squeeze. "A couple of months ago I thought most of the time you were doing me a favor, and now you're asking me... this."

"I didn't know you felt this way." Lilia swallowed, casting her gaze downward. "For the record, that's nonsense. I always liked being close to you, feeling your body and your touch. But I think..."

She trailed off, but you sensed that this was important and tried to encourage her. "Hm?"

"I think I didn't trust my body then," she said on an exhale. "That changed after we..."

"After you did that thing with your fist?"

Lilia laughed, wide and resonating. "Exactly."

You couldn't help but kiss her, wildly, rummaging through her curls and smiling against her mouth. Your lips refused to part for a while as your hands were busy roaming each other's curves, satiating yourselves.

Resting her nose against yours, Lilia finally continued, whispered, "It snowballed, and now... Now I can't stop thinking about all the things I want us to do to each other."

"Then let's not waste any time," you said, pecking the tip of her nose. "Are you good to go again?"

"If I can have some fun with this nice pair of tits," she traced a lazy pattern on the top of your breast, "I don't see why not."

You untangled yourself from her and slipped off the bed, stepping out of your pants and into the harness. Lilia's eyes raked over you, draped on her side like a goddess in a Renaissance painting. It made you want to feed her grapes, fill her cup, and make her ache with pleasure.

The light hit her just right, danced on the arch from the dip of her waist to her thigh, and made her silhouette glow. It was such a sunny day outside—almost a shame to spend it behind closed cream curtains that filtered it out. The strap-on you had chosen matched the set of lingerie you had bought for Lilia: golden shimmering silicone and white straps. You fixed everything in place and climbed into the bed again, dipping into the soft dream of a mattress, and reclined on your side facing Lilia, who, fearlessly, reached for the strap and began to stroke it between you.

Her eyes were an outpouring of love and lust, locked and dark on yours, as she whispered the spell under her breath, wrapping it around the strap. At first, you felt nothing but the sizzling tension between you two, but as she went on, chanting and caressing, the arousal that usually tickled your clit shifted, crept further down the strap, until it encompassed it from the root to the tip. It wasn't silicone Lilia curled her hand around, but a projection of you, a live one.

You caught your lip between your teeth. "Fuck, Lilia..."

"Told you it works." She kept rubbing the shaft while freeing your breasts from the bra; her hair tickled the tops as she pressed tender kisses to the valley between them. "I'll get you ready in no time."

"Same goes for you," you murmured in her ear, nibbling the shell while you reached behind her to the bottle of lube and poured some into your palm. Under your guidance, Lila bent one leg to give you access, and, to take the edge off, you ran your fingers through the dark nest of curls first and kissed under her jaw. She hummed as she worked you up, spreading a warm, tingling sensation in your groin. "Want me to start?"

"Hm-mh," she nodded, drawing in her bottom lip and looking up at you with those big puppy eyes. Nervousness reflected in them, but trust too as you rubbed the lube between your fingertips to warm it up a little and then brushed them along her dam down to her butt hole.

"Is that okay? Too cold?" you asked, beginning to circle the tight ring of muscles and lathering it up.

Lilia's hand had slowed, but you didn't mind. You wanted her to take the time she needed.

"You're always so gentle with me, baby," she purred, nosing at your clavicle. "So concerned."

"Because you're my precious..." you replied, pushing your chest out when Lilia drummed her fingertips against your nipple. "And I want to make you feel so good."

"You already are."

Her sphincter relaxed as you talked to her, allowing you to work the lube a bit further into it. You'd intended to give her your full attention, but her teeth grazing the underside of your breast made you pause. "I thought..." You hummed when she bit your nipple gently. "I thought this was about you?"

"Oh, it is, honey," she said, blowing air on the pebbled peak. "Just taking what I want."

Tentatively, you probed her narrow hole, giving small pulses to push past the loosening ring. Lilia stopped, her mouth opened, and she gasped out a puff of air that cooled the sweat on your cleavage. Her lubed-up anus relaxed as you worked her open with careful strokes, holding her safely in your arm and drawing circles on her lower back.

"Mind go blank?" you asked with a light, mocking undertone.

Lilia, anchoring herself, dug her nails into your hip, taking forced, deep breaths as you explored her with your finger. "It's... different."

"We don't have to go further if it's too much," you assured her. "We can just play a little and try again tomorrow?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Lilia said with fake annoyance and toyed with the strap of the harness around your hip, hooking her finger under it. With resolve, she kissed you and insisted, "I can take it."

Arousal washed over you, thick and boiling, and you pushed your finger all the way in up to the knuckle. A moan rumbled in Lilia's throat, and, to your surprise, you felt it in the very tip of the strap. "Damn it, Lilia. You and your ideas."

"It's good, isn't it?" She grinned. "I worked on the spell all month."

"Wait." You stilled your finger. "How did you test it?"

Tugging on a loose strand of hair, Lilia sent you a seductive look and said, "Use your imagination, darling."

You choked on your own saliva, and Lilia chuckled while your aforementioned imagination ran wild with images of Lilia wearing a strap and jerking off into her own hand, entertaining herself while you were working your ass off to pay for this.

Slipping your finger out, you gathered more lube up and this time pressed two fingers against her entrance. Lilia let go of you and put her hand on her knee, shifting around to find a comfortable angle. Your strap rested on her bush; her hairs prickled on it, and you felt the twitch of her pussy when you buried your two fingers in her ass.

Lilia hissed and grabbed for your shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, but after a few slow pumps, the lines on her forehead eased, and her brows knitted together in a pleasurable expression as she let out a long breath. "Wow."

"I think we're almost there." You kissed the last remaining wrinkle on her forehead. "You're doing well."

The praise made her snuggle against your chest, though she did ask with some suspicion, "Have you done this before?"

"Maybe..."

"Well fuck me," she said. "Little minx."

Having her in a light mood gave you confidence, and while you prepared her ass for the strap, you took the strap in your hand and lazily brushed it through her slit, finding copious amounts of fresh wetness there. Sensitive, Lilia jerked and covered your hand with her own, slowing you down and taking over.

"It's quite a size," she commented as she fondled the tip, letting it sit between her folds without touching her clit.

"Yeah, I mean, I hadn't planned—it was meant to go in front."

"Because I'm all loose there, is that it?" Lilia challenged, eyes flashing at you with playful fire.

"Experienced is the word I'd choose," you teased back, pinching her ass cheek.

"Pfft," she pouted and lifted her nose. God, why was she so kissable? So ravageable? "C'mon then. If I'm so loose, then put your cock in me. We'll see if it fits."

"Your wish is my command," you said and helped Lilia turn in your arms, pressing her back to your chest, so that you could wrap your arm around her waist, just below her bust, and hold her snug. "Comfy?"

"You bet." She gripped the back of her knee and pulled her leg up, sinking into the pillow and closing her eyes. "Make Momma happy," she said with a breathy voice.

"Gladly." You kissed the spot below her ear and fisted the strap, gathering up lube and arousal from her pussy before guiding it backward. Positioning the head, you palmed her breast and rolled her nipple under your thumb, trailing kisses down the side of her neck. "Be good for me. Don't fight it. Yes?"

"Yeah," she whispered, relaxing into your arms as you pressed forth. Quiet groans rose in her throat, noises of mild discomfort you soothed with a gentle, massaging hand on her tit.

"Your ass is so tight," you purred in her ear, progressing inch by inch and feeling each one. "But I'll stretch you open with my cock."

"God-fuck!" Lilia buried her face in the pillow and hit the mattress with her fist. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Shhh," you hushed, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear and retreating. "Let me fill you. You like being full, don't you?"

"Yes, oh, my—"

You helped her keep her leg up and open, pressing your hips flush to her supple butt as you slid back into her with more ease this time. "Like that," you rasped.

Lilia groaned, muffled in the pillow, and you drove the strap deeper into her until your thighs met her ass, and it didn't go any further—and then you wiggled it around, driving her crazy. Her moans came out broken and staggered. "Hng-oh-mh!"

She eased visibly as you drew out, and you gave a few small pulses with just the tip to get her used to the size. The sparkling gold reflected the soft light, shining even brighter with all this slick covering it. Watching it all go in—deeper, firmer, stretching her tiny, previously unused hole—you nearly blacked out with want. "You're a fucking goddess, Lilia. Fuck."

"Uh-huh? You think?" she panted, worked up by the repeated intrusion. "Fuck me like a goddess then."

Your hand traveled down her body, and you rubbed the heel of your hand over her pussy—so wet. Lilia whined as you curled your fingers against her entrance, fucked into her ass, and brushed her clit in the process—she absolutely twisted in the sheets. "Baby, fuck!" she screamed. "Harder—take me—"

Pushing Lilia onto her stomach, you laid down atop her, fitting your form perfectly to the curves of her back and nuzzled against the nape of her neck, nosing into the messy, sweaty curls. "I'll dump it all inside your ass. Like you wanted, my darling witch. Does that sound good?"

Lilia's thighs vibrated with need. She turned her head to the side to breathe, needing more air, more oxygen, more anything. You kneaded her round buttocks, salivating at the feeling of your fingers digging into your flesh. "God, yes, pound Momma raw! Please!"

Your thrusts were easy now, meeting no resistance. Spreading her cheeks, you spat between them, watching it trickle down around the cock bouncing in and out of the reddened hole. Your stomach was in a coil, you cunt, watering behind the strap that made you feel close to bursting. And you would.

"You sound so good begging like that," you panted, adjusting the straps on your hips to make them tight. "I want to hear more of it."

Snuggling up to Lilia, you kept your pumps hard and deep, knocking the air out of her lungs each time.

"Please, please, baby, my sweet baby," Lilia sob-moaned. "I need you, I need you."

"Yes!" You rutted into her, squishing out slick each time, setting a fast, reckless pace. "I can feel you squeezing me—so needy—fuck—gonna—"

"Oh-oh-oh-yes!" Her voice cracked, and her pitch leapt with your plows. "Give me your cum, sweetie! Give it to me!"

Using your whole body weight, draped over her back, you pounded her like a bull his cow, and the string inside you pulled taut, thinned, and ripped. It happened. It actually happened. Viscous fluid spurted out of the strap, and thanks to the enchantment, you felt it release into her, felt it coat the inside of her ass.

"Ohhhhhhhhh!" Lilia fell into a seemingly never-ending cry as you snapped your hips to her ass one last time. Then you pulled out, flipped her over, and the last wave of your orgasm shot one last string of cum out of the strap that rained down white all over her tits and stomach.

She trembled like a fawn; even her teeth chattered and her breaths came quick, but the expression on her face was gold as she glanced down on her body and brought her shaking fingers to the squirts of your ejaculate. The rest of it trickled out of her red-rimmed, gaping anus.

You were so drained—literally and figuratively—that all you could do was flop down beside her and grasp for Lilia's hand. She took it in hers and held it until both of you had processed what you'd done. The spell wore off, and you removed the harness. When you settled back into the pillows, you noticed Lilia was still staring ahead with her mouth open.

"Was it too much?" you asked, squeezing her hand a couple of times.

"It was everything I wanted," she said with a sense of helplessness. "My mind is just..."

"Empty? Quiet?"

Lilia nodded. You'd experienced something similar after she'd fisted you and understood the fragile but peaceful state it had put her in. With a mind like Lilia's, it might do her good. Pulling the down duvet up, you shifted her upper body into your arms, having her rest on your chest, and covered her.

Even a goddess needs aftercare.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

A/N: first time writing f/f anal I think and it's not my favourite thing but the request was essentially "Lilia getting fucked hard in the ass" so I hope I delivered. Cheers friends, I've been busy with work no time to be horny :)

will I start using this app? should I post the other chapters here too?

[reccyls]

The Robin Who Grazed the Reaper’s Secret Eagerly Awaits His Words (Part 2)

My translation of Victor's 2025 birthday story

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue (Victor's POV)

---

In the sitting room of an orphanage, we sat opposite of the young man who was in charge of the facility.

Victor: If you have any difficulties, feel free to share them with us.

According to William’s mission report, the previous orphanage director and his associates had been dealt with.

(The former director had abused the children here, and even taken part in human trafficking.)

Orphanage Director: I know I’ve only just become the director recently. Orphanage Director: But there are still some children who are wary of me…

The troubled director had no clue about what his predecessor had done.

(William’s fake mission was to verify whether or not the new director had any connection to the previous one.)

But Victor had already determined the man’s innocence.

Victor: If it’s all right, could we meet with the children?

…

The director showed us to the orphanage’s garden, where I could hear excited voices chattering.

Kate: They look like they’re doing well.

Victor: The most important thing for children is that they’re happy.

Victor’s profile as he watched over the children was overflowing with affection.

Victor: When these children grow up, they will be the foundation that supports this country. Victor: Just like you.

His hand was still holding mine. Aside from his warmth, there was something else that made my heart race. And right then, a boy pointed at us.

Energetic Boy: Those grownups are being lovey-dovey!

Kate: L-Lovey dovey!?

At the boy’s shout, the other children began ooh-ing and aah-ing as they gathered around. However…

(Ah.)

At the periphery of my vision, I could see a girl with a guarded look in her eyes. Victor noticed her too, and he smiled.

Victor: Everyone, look closely! On the count of three, flowers are going to fly out of our hands!

Raising our joined hands high in the air, Victor encouraged the children to count along.

Victor: Three! Two! One! Abracadabra!

Children: Wow!!

I was as surprised as the children were when flowers began raining from our hands.

Victor: Oh? I think today’s a good day for me. Victor: That’s not all I’ve got!

Flowers sprouted from Victor’s sleeves, and doves flew out of his coat.

(That girl looks a little more relaxed now.)

I looked over the girl, who was now looking directly our way.

Victor: Kate.

I realized that Victor had slipped something into my hand, and then I slowly approached the girl. When I reached the nervous girl, I crouched down and opened my hand.

Wary Girl: Wow…

A flower unfurled in my palm.

Kate: That mister over there is really good at magic tricks. Kate: Do you want to watch some more with me?

It took some time, but the girl eventually nodded and put her hand in mine. Making sure she was okay, I stood up.

Kate: Let’s go!

…

In no time at all, we’d gotten close to the children and played with them in the garden. However…

(I’m… at my limit… Victor’s amazing…)

He was the exact opposite of my exhausted self, still overflowing with energy as he played with the children. Even the children who were initially wary were now happily running about hand-in-hand with Victor.

(The mission may have been fake, but I’m glad we came here today.)

Even if Crown punishes the wicked, the wounds of those affected by their evil don’t disappear. But life goes on.

(So that no one will ever hurt anyone like these children have been hurt…)

Kate: I need to work harder.

Victor: I think you already work hard enough.

Kate: Victor! I thought you were still playing with the kids?

I didn’t notice when Victor had sat down beside me. He gave me a self-pitying smile.

Victor: I’d forgotten that children have infinite energy.

He let out an enormous sigh, and as I laughed, I placed my hand over his.

Kate: You shouldn’t work too hard either, all right?

Victor: Hm?

Kate: Both Crown and I care about you a lot. We don’t want you to push yourself too much. Kate: When you find yourself overwhelmed, it’s fine to reach out to someone else for help.

Victor normally works so hard that we’ve had to resort to creating a fake mission to get him to take a break.

(It really does worry me…)

Victor: You’re the same as ever.

A gentle, yet somehow melancholy, smile found its way onto Victor’s face as he brushed my cheek. When I realized he was touching me, I felt my face heat up. But then–

Kate: Oh!

I suddenly remembered something important, and stood up abruptly.

Victor: Kate? What’s the ma-

Kate: I- I, um. I have to, uhh, wash my hands!

Throwing out the first excuse to cross my mind, I raced away, ignoring Victor’s calls behind me.

…

(William helped make the reservation, but I’m still amazed at how well it turned out. I’m glad.)

Carefully packed in the box I was holding to my chest was Victor’s birthday cake. The important errand I had to run was to pick up the cake William and I had ordered.

(Victor must be pretty worried right now after I ran off…)

The cake shop was only a few minutes away from the orphanage. However, the sun was now beginning to set, so I quickened my pace.

Kate: I hope Victor likes it.

Absorbed by my thoughts, I didn’t notice the hand reaching out to me from behind.

Kate: Wha-

The moment I realized that something was being pressed against my mouth, I felt myself growing weak. The box slipped from my grasp.

Kate: Vic… tor…

The world went dark.

[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Warnings: Smut (18+), fingering (f receiving), slightly rough foreplay, hand job (m receiving), nudity, intercourse (p in v), swearing.

For the first time all week you were alone.

The library manager had seen an article about your win in Detroit and asked if you could do a chess presentation for the local children. She had left you the keys to lock up and drop in the returns slot when you were done but unfortunately none of the attendees had stayed to help pack up.

It hadn't paid anything and most of the kids had just enjoyed pushing the pieces around the board but it'd gotten you out of your suffocating house for a while.

Mrs Cunningham had decided not to press charges in light of your black eye and the psychiatrist had passed Dad but it had been a long week of bated breath.

Waiting for all that to resolve plus school and tutoring had nearly driven you to breaking point. Robin and Max had done their best to distract you but there was no real way to escape the terrifying potential outcomes that played out in your head all day and kept you awake at night.

"How much longer are you going to ignore me?"

The voice was too deep for a child and too loud for a library goer.

Eddie stood behind you scowling and you swore silently. His posture was rigid and his hands balled into fists like he was ready for a fight.

His eyes scanned you as you stood frozen and lingered on your shocked face. The bruising around your eye had lightened to yellow which you hid with cosmetics but Eddie could still see the mark.

His expression softened a little at the injury but you couldn't accept his pity. You'd hurt him too badly to deserve it.

"Go away Eddie," you ordered.

"Oh good you do know my name," he said sarcastically. "I thought you might have forgotten it after a week of dodging me at school."

"I blew you. Big deal. Get over it."

You sounded as cruel as possible to make him go. You wanted him to believe you didn't care, that what happened in your room was a dumb mistake to be forgotten and he didn't matter to you.

"Look me in the eye and say that."

You couldn't. You adored those warm emotive eyes and couldn't endure the pain that would show in them after your vehement words.

"Get lost already," you told him and turned around to end the conversation.

You tried packing away the chess pieces but your shaking fingers fumbled and some fell out their bag. A wayward pawn rolled across the table and you reached for it when Eddie covered your hand and slammed it down on the piece.

You gasped at the harsh contact and stared at the large hand holding yours in place. The trapped pawn was imprinting on your palm and Eddie's rings were hot against your skin. Your fingers felt so brittle and small under the masculine hold that you kept them still.

Eddie wrapped his free arm around your middle and pressed himself against your back. A few strands of his mane fell on your face tickling your cheek as he inhaled the scent of your hair.

Your free hand grabbed his jacket sleeve and you breathed through your mouth so you wouldn't smell the intoxicating aroma of him.

"Let go."

You meant to sound commanding but the words came out feeble.

"I can't. You're tearing me in two when you wont see me."

His emotional words were muffled as he spoke into your neck and you quivered under his hot breath on your skin.

You'd been wanting this so badly since you'd run out your room that day. For him to hold you tight and protect you from all the mayhem flying around you.

To just forget everything for a while and feel whole with someone who made you feel wonderful.

"I'm a mess Eddie," you confessed weakly and tried to wiggle your trapped hand free.

"We all are baby," Eddie replied and with his free hand turned your neck so he could kiss you.

Your lips touched and you grabbed his wrist, not to stop him but to make sure he didn't leave. Your resolve to be alone had evaporated in his warm kiss and you no longer had the ability to feign coldness.

You craned your neck to deepen the kiss and parted your lips to let your tongue search for his. Eddie released your hand to use both of his to cup your face and you turned into his hold.

No more hiding.

Your hands wandered down his flat belly and you slipped your fingertips between the denim and tucked death metal singlet.

Suddenly Eddie wrapped his arms under your backside and lifted you onto the table. You gave a squeal of surprise and blinked with wide eyes at his hungry smile.

"You're not getting the upper hand this time darling," he declared and pulled your head back with a sharp yank on your braid.

A heat flared in you at his roughness and when he pulled away from the next kiss you held his bottom lip between your teeth for an extra second.

You made a playful snapping noise and he answered with a low growl before diving in for more.

Eddie Munson wanted to rip your clothes off right there in the public library and that was fine by you.

His unoccupied hand stroked the stretch of skin between your knee high sock and skirt then slid upwards. You felt the fingers journeying towards your middle and you parted your legs to ease their way.

His mouth was busy working along your neck, nipping the erogenous flesh making you pant with anticipation. You felt Eddie's thumb push on your clitoris and you let out a mewling sound as a jolt went through your body.

"Are you going to purr kitten?" Eddie teased in your ear and slipped one of his long fingers under your thin underwear.

"Kitten wants to come," was your sultry reply.

Eddie's finger stroked the outer lining of your entrance until it was moist and practically quaking for more.

You gasped as the first finger entered your tight opening and Eddie bit your neck at the same time, tearing you between two passionate acts.

"Fucker," you puffed and loosened his belt.

"You love it," he accused and sighed a little when the pressure on his groin eased by the opened pants.

You lifted one knee to rest your heel on the table edge and Eddie slipped another finger in. You groaned appreciatively and started to pump his liberated cock in time with his ministrations.

Eddie made a familiar noise of elation as his member grew in your hand and for a moment your stomach swirled with regret about your bedroom encounter.

It only took a second of looking in Eddie's eyes to know this wasn't a repeat.

The way he was watching you with adoration made you bashful, you'd never been physical with someone who liked you before.

Sex had always been functional for you - a way to exchange intimate energy or release pent up frustration.

Eddie didn't want to use you as a disposable outlet. He was expressing genuine affection for the first person he'd found interesting in a long time.

Your sexy rebel routine and intelligence had hooked him at first but it was the compassion you showed for your loved ones that made him fall.

No one could give so much of themselves to others if they weren't sincere.

"Ah! Ah! Stop!"

Your sudden cry of pain ceased his attentions and he looked at your wince perplexed.

"What's wrong?" he asked alarmed.

"Rings!"

The tiny points on the carved jewellery had scratched your sensitive wall making you recoil.

Eddie's throat dried slightly with embarrassment and there was a damp noise as he carefully pulled his fingers from your hot centre. Their sudden withdraw left you dismal, mourning the potential for more.

The elastic in your underwear made a small pop noise as it fell back into place as if sealing you from further pleasures.

"Sorry! I'll take them off just a sec baby."

Eddie started twisting the demented dragons and demons off his fingers then nearly dropped them when they slipped on his lubricated tips.

"Eddie," you said quickly looking around. "I'm not sure the kid's section is the best place for this."

In the momentary lapse of passion you could suddenly smell the stale books and unvacuumed carpet of the public library. The exaggerated smiles and wide eyes of illustrated animals on the children's story books unnerved you as you held Eddie's cock tight.

"Do they still have those beanbags in General Fiction?"

"Eddie!"

"You're right let's get out of here."

Reluctantly you relinquished your hold on his manhood and pulled his underwear back up. The appendage looked farcical now, far too large for the garment with precum making a puddle on the fabric.

It took two seconds for Eddie to buckle up and pull you away from the scattered chess sets. The librarian would give you hell but you would make up some family emergency excuse.

Eddie barely let you lock the door he was in such haste to get you in his van. The return slot hadn't even closed before he dragged you down the stairs and around the corner where he'd parked.

It had been a lovely day when you'd dressed this morning and decided to walk into town but now the grey clouds were seconds away from opening.

Eddie went to unlock the back door of his van when you gave him a playful shove.

"I don't think so Munson!" you cried indignantly but smiled.

"Oh?" Eddie threw his hands up in mock offence. "I'm sorry madame, do you think you're better than that?"

"Yes I am!" there was laughter on your voice as you pulled Eddie by his vest and kissed him hard. "You shit."

"You adore me babe," he boasted when you finished and the first few drops of rain landed on his wild hair.

Needing no further encouragement you climbed into the passenger seat and Eddie turned the engine over. The stereo came alive blasting your eardrums with death metal and you recoiled violently as Eddie quickly turned the volume dial.

"Sorry babe," he apologised sheepishly, "not used to passengers."

"I felt that in my fillings," you whined rubbing your jaw.

"Soon you'll be feeling me everywhere," Eddie said slyly and received a smack on the arm.

By the time the van pulled up at Eddie's trailer the rain was hammering down.

"Wayne's at a buddy's today watching the game," Eddie assured you as he pulled the handbrake up. "We've got the place to ourselves for a few hours."

The two of you made a mad dash for the door through the pouring rain and stumbled inside laughing. The downpour and cold wind had exhilarated you both into a giddy state.

Your hands had gone icy from the rain but Eddie's were warm from driving and you obeyed his tug towards his room.

You'd never been in Eddie's bedroom but it was about what you'd imagined. Messy as yours but instead of books he had cassette tapes and Rolling Stone magazines scattered over every surface.

You spied the guitar hanging on the wall and stepped closer to inspect it.

"That's my other girl but she's no threat to you," Eddie told you as he threw some clutter off his bed.

"This is no girl. She is a queen!" you exclaimed and marveled at the amazing shape and colour of the instrument.

Eddie wrestled his tangled bedcovers into a more a more presentable state then tried to pull you down to join him.

"Slow down, slow down."

Instead of crashing on the mattress you pulled him to up to stand in front of you. Taking a moment to stay still in the tiny room as rain thundered on the roof.

"What's the matter baby?"

Eddie watched you carefully as you slipped his wet jacket off gently and hung it over the desk chair.

"Nothing," you assured him and slowly wrapped your arms under his. "I just want us to take our time. Enjoy ourselves."

The truth was you couldn't survive another fuck up.

If things didn't go exactly right this time there wouldn't be another chance. You were too scared your teenage sexual blunders would tarnish the enjoyment and leave you both regretting the whole experience.

Eddie joined his arms around you and the two of you rocked gently to the steady beat of precipitation. You rested your cheek against his singlet enjoying the softness of the dark cotton and the thudding of his heart against your ear.

Eddie fell in step with your slower stride and rested his chin on your head.

You stayed that way for a little while like a couple of middle schoolers at the Snow Ball. It dawned on Eddie you'd never done anything as sweet as hug, before the oral in your bedroom you'd only performed petting for the school population.

The two of you had jumped from illusion to reality without pausing in the middle to talk and take time with each other.

"You know babe," Eddie said brushing some loose hair away from your face. "We don't have to this if you want to wait. We can watch a movie or just hang out and listen to some tunes. You could use a lesson in metal."

You pulled your face away from his chest so you could look up at his handsome face.

"I want to," you confirmed softly with an easy smile. "Just not the way we have been."

"Me too," Eddie spoke quickly to assure you he was still on board. "It's just that I want you to know, this isn't something I usually do. I don't fool around I mean, not sex I have sex, just not with someone I really like and I really like you."

"That's good," his words were both a relief and a joy to hear. "Because I really like you Eddie Munson."

You kissed each other nice and slow taking time to learn the contours and texture of each other's mouths. No frenzied rush to get to the next stage or urgent groping.

You gently worked your fingertips under his waistline and pushed his singlet up keeping your palms against his smooth skin as he raised his arms to assist.

Eddie had a complexion a model would envy. His impartiality to outdoor activities kept him out of the sun and covered in heavy clothes. The black ink of his tattoos stood out boldly on his flat chest and you took your time examining them before you kissed each one.

"Like 'em sweetheart?" Eddie asked as he ran a finger down the back of your neck lightly.

"You're a canvas," you giggled and traced your fingers over your favourite ones.

The texture of your shirt on Eddie's middle was mildly irritating and he started to pull the hem upwards. You allowed it and he mirrored the gentle pace you'd undressed him.

He'd of course seen you topless before but his admiration was different this time. Then he had devoured your uncovered skin voraciously but this time he was controlled, brushing his fingers along your arms and collarbones like a jeweller studying a gem.

Your skin responded by breaking into goosebumps and you moved closer to steal his heat. You were used to intimacy being sloppy and rushed because you'd never had the privilege of time, liaisons for you were typically opportunistic.

"Ok baby?" Eddie asked and you nodded. Even now you couldn't admit you felt vulnerable.

"Maybe we should warm up?" you suggested and motioned towards the bed.

The thin walls of the trailer did little to insulate but it wasn't warmth you craved right now. You wanted touch uninhibited by clothing.

Eddie sat on his bed and held his arms open for you to fill. Your bra was feeling restrictive so you quickly unclipped it and tossed it across the room.

Eddie's brown eyes latched onto your breasts following them as you sat next to him and swung your legs onto the bed.

He looped an arm under your back to support you as you held onto his shoulder with one hand and buried your other in his unruly hair.

Eddie took to this new arrangement with enthusiasm and ran a hand under your panties making the elastic flick against your arse playfully.

"Tease," you said against his mouth as you broke apart for a moment.

"That's your name," he countered and dove back in for more.

You knew Eddie liked your arse since he was always smacking it playfully when he passed you in the hall.

He squeezed your hip making fingerprints on your muscular backside then ran his thumb across your pelvis until it rested on your clitoris.

Your mouth opened and you made a little 'oh' noise as he began making circular motions on the sensitive spot.

"Tell me what you like."

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Come on tell me. Fast or slow?"

Eddie was getting anxious now because he'd stepped into new territory. He'd only had sex with older women at the community college a few towns over when he'd gone to sell merch at parties.

Those women always latched onto him and did what they wanted without verbalising but Eddie never complained because he'd always achieved release. In a way it was more business than pleasure.

He didn't want to be that way with you because he wanted you to feel as good as you could make him feel. He needed your guidance to do that though.

"A little faster," you said with a small lump in your throat, "and a bit more force."

Eddie complied and your hips bucked involuntary at the surge that shot through you.

"Good?" he asked needlessly.

You nodded and he pulled you upwards again to continue kissing.

The pleasure building in your core was sending tremors down your legs and your feet slid back and forth on the bedspread. It had been a long time since you'd last indulged and you'd forgotten how intense it could be.

Eddie had musician's touch so his thumb played you until high whimpers escaped your lips.

"Wait a sec," you said suddenly halting his hand.

"What's the matter baby?" he asked as he kissed your cheeks and neck. "Don't you want to come?"

"I do," you replied positively. "With you."

You gently pushed him on his back so you were lying side by side on the single bed. The space was tight but you would have kept close even if you'd had the room to stretch.

"Have you got something?" you asked and kissed his ear.

Eddie reached for the nightstand and ran his hands through the draw without taking his lips off you. His blind groping produced a handful of guitar picks and other useless assortments until you lost your patience and rolled on top of him to see for yourself.

You found the condoms and ripped one off the strip before passing it to Eddie.

"Know what to do?" you asked seriously.

This was one thing you couldn't afford to fuck up.

"That was the one Health class I showed up for," Eddie answered and opened the wrapper.

You helped pull his pants off then tickled his feet when you took off his socks. You got a playful kick for your mischief and when his cock was sheathed you crawled up the bed and squeezed it hard.

"How do you want me?" you asked.

"Can I," there was a beat of hesitation, "get on top?"

Eddie's experience with college girls had all been with him seated while they went wild on top of him. It had been great but he'd never been in charge.

"Sure," you said sensing his trepidation and gently encouraged him to roll you over.

You sank into the weary mattress as Eddie climbed on top and you could feel some of the fire dying down. The engagement had gone from passionate to perfunctory because of nerves.

Eddie rocked a little bit as he figured where to put his hands while you grabbed his cock and rubbed the covered tip on your entrance before lining it up.

Eddie looked at you silently until you nodded then pushed into you hard.

He didn't hurt you but the lack of style and dryness of the condom caused you to pull a face that made Eddie panic.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked in a tight voice.

"No just go slower," you advised.

"Are you sure? I can stop?" Eddie was beginning to spiral into doubt.

This was not how things went in the videos he'd watched, those people never fumbled. They slipped straight in and had the girls screaming after a few thrusts.

You shifted your hips a fraction and wrapped your legs around his waist so your ankles crossed. Eddie let out a little noise as he sank deeper into you and you caught his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Take your time," you told him firmly but kindly.

Eddie didn't reply but started to rock his hips against yours until you settled into a matching speed. His hair had fallen like a curtain over your faces so you bunched it together and rested a hand against his cheek, thumb dragging along his bottom lip.

"You feel good darling," he puffed and you hummed appreciatively.

He felt good too and you were getting slicker with every thrust. Eddie was gaining confidence and you wanted to take things up a notch.

You took a breath to tighten your core then pulled your pelvic muscles to clench around his cock.

"Jesus Christ!" Eddie yelled and nearly lost his rhythm. "What the hell was that?"

"Did you like that?" asked biting your lip naughtily.

"Do it again!"

You laughed at him and tightened yourself causing Eddie to pull a face of sheer ecstasy as his thrusts got faster and rougher. Your feet were bouncing against his small backside and the poor bedframe sounded ready to split.

"Baby I'm not gonna last," he puffed and looked at you with desperation. He knew you hadn't come. "You're so fucking tight."

"Move with me," you said quickly and you awkwardly rolled together until you were reversed.

"I came out," Eddie puffed as he looked down to see his cock now slickened with your moisture pointing at the roof.

That didn't happen in those videos either -those people stayed together like industrial glue.

"I got ya," you said and took a firm grip before lowering yourself down on him.

During foreplay you'd forgotten to take your skirt off and it bunched around your hips as Eddie filled you from underneath.

It was your turn to pull amusing faces as this new position allowed his cock to reach you in a spot that itched for attention.

"Mmm, mmm," you managed as you felt the tip tickle your center.

"What's that sweetheart?" Eddie asked teasingly and you swatted his decorated chest.

Fuck his smart mouth you wanted to come. You had forgotten how good this could be and in that moment you were oblivious to the burdens that weighed you down.

You were alone with someone who made you feel alive and happy every second you were with him.

Eddie felt more confident in this familiar position and squeezed your hips as you ground into him.

"Come on, get it," he growled and dug his thumbnails into your skin.

Your high socks chaffed your knees as you rocked back and forth viciously greedy for satisfaction. The two of you had found your perfect synch and you rode him furiously for the pleasure to consume you.

Eddie's nails were clawing up your back leaving red marks and he was swearing with every roll of your wet centre. He wouldn't last much longer but you weren't ready to release him yet.

You still needed him.

"Here! Here!" you yelled and pushed his fingers into your clitoris as you rocked him mercilessly.

Eddie rubbed your bud vigourously and yelled with you as he tried to contain his own orgasm.

"Eddie! Fuck! Yes!" You felt an unmistakable sensation rising as all the stimulations clashed together then you screamed as the first burst rippled through you.

You slammed into Eddie with each wave of your orgasm and screamed so loud you didn't hear him curse out his ejaculation.

For that minute you weren't a student, a chess champion or a dutiful daughter. You were a girl getting fucked hard and you embraced it with every iota of your being.

You rode him until you were sure the sublime sensations had passed and your pelvis came to rest. Beneath you Eddie puffed as he rubbed the red marks he had made on your back and you stroked the sweat from his handsome face.

Every so gently you separated yourself and wedged yourself between him and the wall. Your head made a cushion of Eddie's shoulder and the dry sheets absorbed the sweat from your skin sending a sudden chill through you.

You snuggled closer and laid a soft hand on Eddie's flat stomach, watching it rise and fall with his laboured breaths.

"It's official sweetheart," he puffed after a little while, "you have fucked The Freak of Hawkins High."

You didn't answer and Eddie figured you were ignoring his dumb joke. He was too lost in orgasmic high to keep playing and instead tried to get everything straight in his head.

One day you meet the boss of an underground book cartel, give her ten bucks to play chess, swap some witty banter then she winds up in your bed giving you the time of your young life.

It made perfect sense right?

A tiny whimper floated to his ears and he looked over to see you crying silently on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, what's this?" he said reaching over. "I was just being stupid."

He wiped your tears away with his big thumbs and made you look at him.

"No it's alright," you said as you moved into an embrace. "I'm just really happy."

[taurasiluv]

DIM AND DARK. — breanna stewart x reader — 982 words

summary: high sex w/ stewie

content warnings: intoxicated sex, drug usage, choking, strap, smut in general

msg from sen: hope you enjoy<3

it was almost dark.

the only figure you could make out in the dim room was breanna. she was searching through the drawers for the strap on.

it was one of those nights during the off season where you two would get high out of your minds and fuck. you were already a joint deep, your head was heavy and fuzzy in the most delightful way possible. you almost felt out of body, your body feeling like it was floating and barely against the mattress.

she made her way back to you, grabbing your ankles and pulling you forward to the end of the bed. you looked her up and down, taking in the sight of her towering over you. her hair was pulled up into a bun, a ribbed white tank top clinging onto her body, and the long phalic object hanging from her hips.

“you ready, baby?” she asked softly, her hand coming up to your face to stroke it gently. her other hand was placed on your thigh, rubbing it softly. you nodded weakly, your hand coming up to cover hers. her skin was cold, a stark contrast to the heat flooding out of your skin. she tsk’d, shaking her head and moving her hand down to your throat. she didn’t grip it, not hurt at least, just holding her hand there, rubbing her thumb up and down. “i need words.”

you whined softly, scratching up and down her forearm. “i am, daddy, please,” you frowned, pushing your hips forward in an attempt to seduce her further. with the name you called her and the way you pushed yourself towards her, she couldn’t resist lining up the strap and pushing it inside of you. the sudden intrusion was shocking and pleasurable all at the same time. the way she filled you up so well, stretching your walls. her hand also gripped your throat tighter, not enough to ever hurt you, but just enough to spend a euphoric feeling down your spine.

her hips began to move slow, allowing you to slowly adjust to the size and girth and wet up the silicone a bit more. her hand that was once on your thigh came down to rub your clit, soft circles sending surges of pleasure through you.

you moaned softly, your manicured nails digging into her pale skin. her hips continued to move, a feverishly slow pace which only made your head spin more. you opened your eyes to see her standing straight up, still thrusting her hips but now reaching behind her ear to grab the blunt that was so nicely placed there. “hand me the lighter, ma,” she grumbled, her voice deep and raspy. you complied, mustering whatever strength you had in you to reach over and grab the light blue lighter and hand it to her.

“good girl,” she praised as she grabbed it. she straightened back up, slipping the blunt between her lips and lighting the lighter. the sight was almost sickening, the way her hips never rested and kept pounding into you. the way she was so focused on lighting the blunt, large hand coming up to cover the flame so it didn’t blow out. the soft hum of an r&b song playing in the background fills your senses.

eventually, it lit. she stopped the lighter and threw it back onto the bed to be found tangled in blankets in the morning. she took a deep inhale, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs. as she slowly exhaled, you could smell the smoke in the air, thick and grim. she passed the rolled paper to you, allowing you to take a hit and let the smoke fill your lungs, identical to the movements she did previously. you held the smoke as long as you could before exhaling, already feeling the rush through your body.

her hands found their way to the backs of your knees, pushing your legs forward so she could get the leverage to thrust into you harder. her speed picked up, the sound of skin slapping against skin now filling the room. you let out a guttural moan, your head falling back and hands finding the sheets to hold. “taking it so well, baby,” she muttered, heavy breathing clouding her words. she slammed in and out of you, sending you over the edge.

“fuck baby, ‘m close,” you cried, feeling the pleasure overtake you.

you came fast and hard, but she never stopped. her hips, if anything, went faster. her hand tightened around your throat, causing you to whine. “give me another one babygirl, i know you can,” she mumbled in your ear, biting the lobe.

the overwhelming pleasure was almost painful. she kissed up and down your jaw, breathing heavily into your ear. you could feel your next orgasm approaching fast, you were barely over the last one. “bre, please, cant take it anymore,” you whined, scratching at your back.

“one more baby, cmon,” she encouraged you, slowing down her thrusts just enough to make it comfortable for you, but enough to keep you on edge.

your moans and whines got a lot more desperate, a telltale sign you were close. breanna snaked her hand down between the two of you, setting her fingers on your clit and beginning to make tight circles across it.

this was all it took, sending you over the edge rapidly and hard. you let out a silent scream and rode out your high, whining desperately and holding onto the woman above you for dear life. she whispered soft praises and encouragement into your ear while she slowed down her strokes.

after what felt like minutes, she slowly slid the strap out, unbuckling the harness from her hips and throwing it off to the side to be cleaned later.

“i love you, baby,” she whispered in your ear, holding you close.

“i love you more.”

[lesmiix]

Can I ask for hyun-ju with a rich girlfriend like her girlfriend is slightly outta touch due to the insane amount of money she has

One Shot: Dirty Cash

Hyun-ju x Fem!reader.

Summary: You work at a very famous modeling agency around the world, which pays you a huge amount of money and you have a very high status. Hyun-ju still doesn't understand how you two are girlfriends.

Warnings: None

a/n: Sorry for taking so long to make this!!!😭 I've been quite busy, but hope you guys like it!!! English's not my first language so there may be some grammatical or spelling errors.

💗HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN💗

You've been sleeping terribly these past few nights, waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep. You'd spend all night awake, reading a book, waiting for sleep to come over you.

Today, you had a terrible day, you were at work and your co-worker asked you to go out for dinner; ofc, you didn't want to, besides,, you already planned with Hyun Ju that you would go to dinner together, so you told him that you were busy. He started insisting, trying to convince you to go with him.

"Damn, come on, I can take you to dinner at places a thousand times more expensive than that girlfriend of yours can!"

You started to get on your nerves, you really hated the way some people looked down on your girlfriend because of her financial status.

"Hey David, listen, my girl does everything she can for me, alright? And she treats me way better than you could ever treat a woman, so fuck off." You replied as you walked towards your office desk, picking up some folders and your laptop.

"And I'm more than happy with paying for whatever my girlfriend wants." You said while taking your bag and leaving your office.

So now you were in bed, with your girlfriend beside you, sleeping peacefully after an amazing date. You got up, trying not to wake her up. You walked towards the kitchen, mind too blurry to think about what happended at work.

You came across the mirror in the hallway and you looked at yourself for a few seconds, noticing some hickeys on your neck. A giggle left your lips, remembering what happened just a couple of hours ago. Oh, that woman drove you crazy.

When you got to the kitchen, you grabbed a glass of water and took a sip, feeling the liquid go down your throat. You noticed a bill of about 50$ on the counter, you forgot you had to give them to David, as he bought you a luminous crystal ball for Vaneltine's day. A soft sigh left your lips, remembering that you had to see your co-woerker again tomorrow.

"What was that sigh for?" You slightly choked from fright. Damn military habits. Your girlfriend chuckled a bit while wrapping her strong arms around you. She was wearing some light grey sweatpants and a black bra, which made you slighly blush.

"It's nothing, don't worry." You muttered while leaving a peak on her lips. "Go back to sleep, my love, you have to go to work tomorrow."

"Is it about David again?" She asked, knowing all the times he asked you out.

You sighed again, frustrated at remembering David's attitudes towards you.

"Yeah, he's just... annoying, I don't know what else to do to make him give up." You groaned, hoping that your answer from before has put him in his place.

"Sweetheart, don't you think you'd be better with him?" She asked, burying her face in your neck.

"What do you mean?" You asked, slowly caressing her hair.

"Is just, I think you'd be happier with him. He could give you anything you wanted, he could give you really expensive gifts and take you out for dinner to fancy restaurants. I can't give you any of that and it's not fair that you're always the one paying for all my bills and surgeries." She answered, softly pulling away from you. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you".

You looked at her in a slight shock. You? Be better with anyone but her? Please.

"Are you kidding? Do you really think I'd rather be with that idiot than be with you? I pay you for the surgeries because I want to, I want to see you happy, to be yourself. I don't care if you can't give me expensive gifts, I'm delighted to have you by my side, and that's enough for me, okay? I want you."

"But-"

"Haven't I already shown you a few hours ago how much I want you? Or do you need me to remind you again?" You teased, playing with the hem of her sweatpants. "Let's show David how much my girl cares about me." You said, folding the 50$ that were on the counter and putting it between her breasts.

"Idiot"

[blitziwitchwrites]

content warnings: stalking, assassin/assasination, mentions of real life events (society being fed up with greedy insurance ceos) breaking and entering, smut, dubcon/noncon, stalking, masturbation, toji hides in reader's closet and masturbates while watching her and she's unaware

– – – – – – – –

imagining stalker!toji becoming obsessed with you: the young, cute little lady he was hired to assassinate as retaliation against your ceo father.

stalker!toji doesn’t normally give two flying fucks about what kind of bounties he takes on, so long as the price is high enough for the troubles. elderly men, middle-aged women, mothers, fathers, sisters, hell he’s killed teenagers and children and never even batted an eye at the lack of morality of taking on jobs like that. so, when shiu came to him with a new job to kill some jackass insurance company ceo’s young daughter as retaliation from one of his clients who lost a loved one, toji didn’t even think about rejecting the job because of the target.

that was until stalker!toji saw you with his own eyes for the first time. your father certainly had quite the security team, and it would’ve been impossible for just any assassin to break in, but toji isn’t just any assassin. he’s toji fushiguro. yet, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to quickly and quietly take out his target and leave when he saw you heading into your bedroom after a shower for the first time, watching you shut your door and drop your towel to reveal your fit young body and plushy ass and thighs as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

stalker!toji who didn’t even care about how conceited you may have came off, examining your own naked form in your large full-size mirror on your bedroom wall. he was too busy remembering how to breathe, but not breathe too loudly, as he stood in your closet and watched you turn around and glance back at yourself towards the mirror, your nipples small and dark and perky and your breasts still lightly dripping with light droplets of water from your wet, pinned up locks of hair.

stalker!toji was too busy worrying about accidentally opening the door when he realized the growing tent in his pants, the first time this had ever happened in his whole life. he’d been married before, had two kids, but when his wife tied, toji kind of lost his marbles and had his kids taken from him and put into the foster system. he started his life on the run after that, sleeping with older women who had places of their own or big wallets that would pay for a motel room so that he didn’t have to, but toji had never cared about them much. and he certainly had never had the opportunity or half the mind to get this worked up over a sweet and young little thing like yourself, yet here he was, out on the job and palming himself through his pants, oblivious to the fact you would have to go to your closet sooner or later, where he was hiding, to get your clothing after your shower.

stalker!toji who finally remembered how to breathe, although a little too loudly, when he let out a breath of relief when he watched you turn to your bed and begin to dress yourself in the clothing you had already laid out on your bed before your shower, meaning you likely would not have to enter your closet and stumble upon this large assassin with his own lethal weapon now firmly grasped in his hand and a gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

stalker!toji who watched you take your time getting dressed, watching you take selfies of yourself in your flimsy white bra and thong, stroking himself as his cock shook violently in his hand, careful not to touch your closet door and knock it open with his pumping fist. your closet has sliding doors and all it takes is one rough pump and his fist accidentally knocking on the door to cause his dignity to fall in shambles, along with his life that truthfully went down the toilet years ago.

stalker!toji who is holding his breath when you finally finished getting dressed and begin to walk over to your closet, his heart pumping so loud he can hear it in his soul. stalker!toji who steps away from the door, his throbbing cock pulsing in his hands, his cum bubbling up and begging to spurt out of his burning tip, as you push open your closet door just enough to each inside and grab your heels from the little shelf right at the door. thank god you’re busy looking over your shoulder, talking to some woman outside of the door, maybe your mother or a housekeeper or other house staff of some sort, not noticing the way there is a large man hidden in the shadows of your closet, his cock twitching and pointed right at your arm, threatening to splatter his seed all over your skin when he notices how soft your skin is and how gentle your face is.

stalker!toji who isn’t even pumping his cock anymore, just holding it, his finger pressed over his tip and attempting to smother out the cum oozing from his tip as he hears you speak and watches how delicate and small your hands are, grabbing your heels and taking them out, sliding your closet door shut when your done. he’s grateful you’ve shut him into the darkness so that he does not have to look at his hand that is covered in his cum, your closet floor and his shoes also slathered in his pathetic, impulsive sticky seed.

stalker!toji who tucks himself back in his pants and exits your closet in a haste when he hears you finally leave your room with the woman and shut your door behind you, making sure to snatch your latest pair of used panties from your laundry basket before he sneaks his way out of your bedroom window again, shoving the used undergarments in his pocket as he racks his brain on how to drag this job out as long as possible before he can fake its completion, take the bounty, and find a way to take you for himself and hide you away for the rest of his newly obsessive days.

– – – – – – – –

hiii! this is my first imagine that i randomly got a heavy splash of inspo for, haha. hopefully will make this into my first little series, if it does well! 

masterlist coming soon! 

not proofread. please do not steal, copy, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.

[withahappyrefrain]

51) They’re professors who teach the same course but disagree over teaching methods with Jake and Venus…. It’s a match made in heaven

Jake Seresin prided himself on being the best. Not only was the first person in his immediate family to receive a master’s degree, but the first person in his entire family to get their doctorates. He didn’t just work at some local mom and pop doctor’s office, he had been an athletic trainer for a professional football team. He became one of the youngest professors to teach a graduate course at the University of Texas. Now, at the age of thirty six, he was one of the top professors at the University of San Diego for their athletic training program.

And of course, he wouldn't be Jake Seresin if he hadn't developed a name for himself. Dr. Seresin’s courses were known for being rigorous. Jake could count on one hand the number of students who received A’s from him. Though his tenure at USD hadn’t been long, he was well known among the students.

Comparisons between him and other professors would pop up, it was only natural. But one name kept coming up more and more.

Professor Morales.

Though she was part of the College of Medicine, Doctor Morales and Jake both taught Emergency Management of Injuries and Illnesses. The course overlapped with both the athletic training and the nursing program at USD. Truthfully, Jake thought teaching an undergraduate course was beneath him, but he knew he had managed a sweet deal with USD.

It seemed with every passing semester, Professor Morales’ name came up more and more amongst his students.

“I was hoping to get into Morales’ section.”

“I heard Morales is the one to take for that course.”

“I wish I was in Morales’ class.”

Jake tried not to let it get to him. Clearly, his students weren’t accustomed to being held to high expectations. He would put them to work and they would be better off as a result. In Jake’s mind, he was simply preparing his students for the real world, which was fast paced and intensive.

And for a while, he was satisfied with that. But then something unusual began happening.

Not only were more and more of his students passing, but more were getting higher marks. Last semester, Jake had to give three students an A. He was now nearing the double digits in the number of students who had aced his course. What the fuck was going on?

And then he heard it, as students were leaving after receiving their first graded test back.

“My friend has notes from Professor Morales’ class. She said if we use them, we'll pass the class.”

No, that wouldn't do. Not only was Jake having students pass, but the fact they were using another professor’s notes to do so? Worse of all, Morales was a doctoral student.

This had to end immediately.

Jake sent a strongly worded email, letting her know he was going to be in her office at one-thirty to discuss a pertinent matter.

Much to Jake’s dismay, when he arrived he found that Morales had not cleared their schedule and was in the middle of holding office hours. Pathetic. Jake’s office hours were his time to catch up on grading. He had given his students the tools to pass, they knew not to come to him.

By the time it was two, Jake’s anger was barely concealed.

As the last student walked out of the office, a soft voice called out from the officer, “You can come in now Doctor Seresin.” She even had the audacity to sound so nonchalant, like she hadn’t just made him wait for forty-five minutes.

Jake stormed in, already ranting, “Y’know, there’s this thing called courtesy. I made it explicitly clear when I was arriving and you kept me waiting-

He stopped dead in his tracks. Jake wasn't familiar with mythology, but he was pretty certain he was looking at Venus reincarnated. The emerald green pants hugged her hips and thighs. God, her curves. He could imagine what the fabric did for her ass, if she just turned around and-

Fuck, he should not be thinking about a graduate assistant like this. Had it been that long since he last got laid?

“Um, is Professor Morales here?” Jake cleared his throat.

The goddess scoffed, “You’re looking at her. So please, continue Doctor Seresin. I believe you were questioning my audacity to continue holding office hours at my scheduled time rather than drop everything for a man who emailed me no less than four hours ago?”

Right, that's why he was here. To discuss an important matter. Not to gawk over this woman. Yes, she was the living embodiment of Venus. But she was also ruining his perfect record.

“Yes. Well you see, I need to talk to you. About your uh, class.” Why were words becoming difficult for him? Jake never had any trouble laying on the charm to get what he wanted. Till now.

“I teach three different classes, Doctor Seresin. Gonna need you to be a bit more specific,” she smirked before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uh, emergency management of injuries and illnesses? Anyways, my students are using notes from your class.”

She raised a brow, “Really?” Stepping closer, Jake could smell her perfume. Jasmine. Iris. Her scent was as intoxicating as her quick wit.

“And this is a problem that warranted a meeting because….” Her voice trailed off, waiting for an answer.

“Because of your notes, they're passing. It's a problem,” He fought for his eyes to remain anywhere but her face. His skin felt hot, clammy.

“Is that so?” There was…glee? In her voice? She waltzed back to her desk, giving Jake a view of her ass and how the fabric left nothing to the imagination.

“Well Doctor Seresin, that is important. Thank you for telling me,” she opened her laptop, well manicured fingers beginning to type away.

“T-thank you, Venus-I mean Professor Morales. I trust you're going to deal with it in your next class?”

Her fingers stilled and she looked up at Jake with a gleam in her eyes, accentuated by the black frames that adorned her face, “Next class? I'm dealing with it right now.”

“Oh thank you, I appreciate-”

“I've been telling the Dean for two semesters how awful of a teacher you are for that course. Your students being so desperate to learn the material that they use my teaching materials, is exactly that evidence I need to convince Doctor Krazansky that I should teach all sections of that course.”

“Wait, what?”

She simply smiled, “That's all I'll need from you today, Doctor Seresin. Have a good day.”

Venus paused, her eyes moving from his face to down his body, “Oh, also. You should um, take care of your problem. Bathroom’s on the left.”

It was then Jake became painfully aware of how tight his pants were in the crotch area.

He needed to take care of it. He also needed to buy a ring for his Venus, but that was a whole different story.