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fungal-rot · 5 months

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Pure Instinct - Surrender

okay so i've been seeing those tiktok ads about that Pure-Instinct perfume and I had A Thot- it was originally supposed to go a different route, but i kinda went everywhere with this LOL.

summary: no outbreak; you bought a new perfume, one that's supposed to entice the opposite sex. but just how well does it actually work?

warnings: MDNI- smut (unprotected p-in-v), joel being a bit of a horndog, semi-desperate sex, oral (f receiving), use of 'good girl' and pet names (darlin', baby, pretty girl, honey), a bit of bulge riding, slight dom!joel, established relationship, no age specification for reader- lemme know if i forgot anything! - also please note i’m getting back into writing. i’m a lil rusty and still getting back into the flow of things; apologies for any mistakes.

w.c.: 2.7k

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All over the internet you've come across different videos advertising some 'pheromone perfume-' a blend of essential oils that are meant to work with your own natural scent, enhancing your body's pheromones- or something of the sort. Seeing the men become infatuated with their girlfriends and wives, clinging to them with lust-blown pupils certainly had your interest piqued.

After an- albeit, quick- internal debate with yourself, you bit the bullet and looked up the seller's site, coming across different smells like 'Crave,' 'Lucky,' 'Fallen-'

And 'Surrender.'

Sounds sexy. With a smirk you click on it, reading the description,

'Surrender has a sophisticated and mature scent which designed for the woman who wants to feel confident, beautiful, and sensual. Own any room you enter in. You won't just be noticed — you'll make heads turn. Sexy, but not vulgar.'

Sounds dominant.

There were different layers of notes, like magnolia, mandarin, vanilla, sandalwood; the list went on. Seemed like a good choice. You were about to add it to your cart, finger hovering over the button, but then you hesitated. Did you really need this? Was it that important to find out if it was worth the hype? To see if Joel would be unable to tear himself away from you, kissing you hungrily while ripping your clothes off an-

Added to your cart!

It was for science.

You even opted to pay extra for express shipping, heart racing with a giddy bite of your lip.

The day it arrived, you were practically bouncing on your feet with glee. Joel was at work, wouldn't be home for another hour or so. That meant you had plenty of time to get things together and play around with it.

Taking a quick shower then pulling a low cut shirt over your head and shimmying a pair of leggings on, you grabbed your little container of liquid-luck, rolling it over your heat points; a little between your breasts, behind your ears, along the crook of your neck, wrists, and fold of your arms. It definitely smelled alluring upon first apply. Now to let it dry and wait.

Keys jingled outside the door, the knob twisting a few times before the entrance swung open followed by a rather exhausted looking Joel Miller who stumbled through. The man heaved a heavy sigh as he tossed his keys into the dish and toed of his shoes before padding to the couch where you sat, pushing your cuticles back as you watched a rerun of Buffy: the Vampire Slayer.

"Hi, sugar," you greet, flicking your eyes to him as he flopped down, making you bounce softly. His hair was damp with sweat from being out in the hot Texas sun all day, thick veins protruding from his work-callused hands, trailing up his arm.

"Hm," he grunted in reply and placed his palms over his eyes as he leaned against the back of the couch, chest expanding with a deep breath only to falter for a split second. Joel took in another breath, this one loud and deliberate. With hands lowering from his face, he turned his head to you, slowly, with knit brows.

"D'ya smell that?" He asked, sniffing again with a curious glance of the room.

Now, you had to play this right. You couldn't just outright tell him you bought perfume that would have him slobbering all over you, no. That would defeat the purpose of your little experiment.

So instead you played coy and sniffed at the air just as he did, nose turning up with a gentle shake of your head and small bob of your shoulders.

"I don't smell anything."

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing with a slight slack of his jaw, tongue poking through the side of his teeth while he studied you.

"You don't smell that?" Joel pressed further, almost exasperatedly.

"Smell what, Joel?" A quiet titter sounded with your words, brows arching as an amused grin toyed at your lips.

"Jus'..." Joel trailed off, wetting his lip with a quick swipe of his tongue. The scent wasn't too overbearing. It was sweet, musky, and a hint of something so conversant. Something that always managed to get him hot under the collar. A heat that not even the dry summers he endured on a frequent basis could compare to.

That's when you leaned over him- totally not at all planned- reaching an arm past to grab one of the magazines on the end table. Joel drew another quick breath and it hit him. Before you could retreat he snatched your wrist with a tight grip, pupils dilated widely with parted lips. " 'S' you..." He murmured, attention solely on you and you alone.

The corner of your mouth twitched up into a smug smirk, "Is it?" You hushed back, feeling goosebumps erupt across your skin as he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist, slowly trailing up your arm and to your shoulder. A curt chuckle sounded from his chest as his own lips turned up. "Mm, I think so, baby," Now his lips danced on the crook of your neck, taking another whiff.

'Oh, fuck, that's good.' He thought, emitting a low growl.

"Yeah..." He purred, teeth grazing over your pulse point and eliciting a quiet moan from you, "that's alllll you, darlin'."

Hell, if Joel was tired before, he was certainly up now- in more ways than one.

"C'mere, pretty girl," He muttered and sat back, legs spread as he motioned two fingers in your direction. He watched with hungry intent as you crawled into his lap, thighs straddling his. Joel pawed at your hips, rolling them forward against the bulge straining in the confinements of his jeans with a grunt.

"Got me so damn hard an' ya haven't even done anything," With another forced roll, he throws his head back with a sigh. "Ride." He ordered with a strained voice, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You didn't move just yet, however, and took in the sight of him; eyes shut and brows knitted softly, plush lips parted.

"Ride," Joel repeated with a firm smack to the meat of your ass, making you yelp and rut against him once more. You could feel the warm thickness of his cramped length through the thin cloth of your leggings, each continuous grind against your clit made you writhe in pleasure.

Good god, you were doing a number on him. He bucked his hips up in time with yours, panting faintly before sitting up and wrapping his thick, strong arms around your body.

Joel buried his nose into your neck again, allowing your enticing scent to flood his mind. His stomach tightened, and he had to pull you off his lap before he came in his underwear like a damn teen. You whine at the loss of friction, expression forming a soft pout as he laid you down, head against the armrest.

"I know, baby, I know," Joel cooed and tenderly cupped your jaw, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, " 'M gonna take care'a ya." He leaned down and planted a quick peck to the side of your nose.

"Always do, don't I?"

The man lowered himself down your body, hands stopping to caress and grab every now and then before slipping his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, swiftly tugging them down and watched as a string of arousal pulled, connecting the fabric to your lips. He smirked, relishing the fact you were just as turned on as he was, but what really caught his attention was-

"No panties?" He quirked a brow, a shit-eating grin apparent on his face as he continued shimmying you out of your pants. "Y'had this planned, didn't ya?"

You chuckled, biting your lip meekly and avert your gaze. Whoops! Caught.

"So, what is it?" He asked, curling a leg into the couch as the other planted on the floor, his head dipping to your center and placed an open-mouthed kiss to the inner crease of your hip.

"Surrender," You answered breathily, peering down at him as continued lavishing you with loving smooches and pecks, his wiry facial hair scratching at your body that only fanned the flames in your tummy.

His brows drew together with a vague frown as he lifted his head, "Whaddya think I'm tryin' ta do right now?"

Even though his words made you clench around nothing, you still couldn't help but laugh and bring a hand to your mouth to stop yourself. With a shake of your head you say, "No, dummy. I mean, that's the name of the perfume I bought."

Joel tilted his head back in a slight nod, uttering a soft 'Ohhh.'

"I dunno how I was s'posed ta know that," his head lowered once more, breath fanning over your wet heat and flicked his eyes to meet yours, "but it's fitting."

He didn't even give you a chance to process what he said before diving straight into your folds, tongue lapping over every crevice and drinking you down.

"O-oh, fu-fuck!" You breathed out, thighs instinctively closing around his head as your hand grasped at his sweat-matted brown hair.

He growled into your cunt, bracing his hands on either side of the soft, pillowy flesh of your legs and forcing you open again. Normally, Joel loved using them as his own personal pair of earmuffs, but now? He wanted you spread for him, needed it actually. He'd drown in you if he could, and by god he'd willingly die trying.

His mouth detached for a moment, just long enough for him to stick out his tongue and let a string of drool fall over your labia, watching with a satisfied smirk as it slid down to your entrance. Snaking a hand from under your thigh, he brought two fingers to your clit, brushing the pads of them over it with teasing glides. Your hips twitched and bucked with a soft mewl leaving your throat.

Joel dragged his bottom lip between his teeth before lowering his fingers. Down, down, then circling at your hole and slowly pushing in. A sharp gasp ripped from your chest, back arching as you finally got that stretch; so achingly sweet.

His cock twitched at the sound, begging to be let free and seek shelter deep inside your pussy. He had enough restraint (for now) to get you off first.

And they say chivalry is dead...

He latched his mouth back onto you, slurping obscenely as he licked his way up, fingers curling into the spongy spot of your canal.

"Jo- oh- el!" You cried his name brokenly, hand closing a tight fist into his hair with a tug. You could feel the fucker- no pun intended- smirk against you as he pumped his fingers in and out, picking up the pace as he suckled on the sensitive button. Your whines grew more relentless, hips rolling against the flat of his tongue and holding his head in place as the coil in your stomach began to tighten.

Joel felt you clench around his fingers and took that, along with the way you fervently bumped against the bridge of his nose, as a sign you were close. With a wince he reached his free hand to his jeans, fumbling with the button before sliding the fly down, reaching in and finally pulling out his hard cock.

Said hand went back to its rightful place against your thigh while he rutted against the cushions, pre-cum making a mess into the leather.

"C'mon, darlin'," He murmured, taking a quick glance at you and reveled in the sight of your flushed cheeks, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back against the arm rest. "Give it t'me, cum around my fingers." You didn't need to be told twice. In an instant, that coil snapped. Your legs trembled and shook as your climax ripped through your body, eyes snapping open and mouth agape, but no sound came out other than a few breathy whimpers.

"Good girl," Joel praised, still subtly grinding against the couch, desperate for his own release. "Good fuckin' girl." You had made a complete mess of his hand, your spend dripping down his fingers, into his palm and down his wrist, dribbling onto the sofa.

After your body relaxed, hand releasing the harsh grip from his hair, Joel pulled his fingers from you, making a shudder run up your spine. He sat back on his haunches, pushing his hand to your mouth and said, "Open."

Complying happily in your blissed-out state, your jaw slacked, allowing him to slide his soaked fingers into you warm mouth, palming himself with his other hand while he watched your lips close around the digits, feeling your tongue lick and clean your slick off them.

With a satisfied hum, he removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, greedily shoving his way past your teeth and licking the roof of your mouth.

Joel backed away, staring deep into your eyes. He huffed, pulling his pants down further, stepping out of one leg. He was so fucking horny and desperate right now he wasn't going to bother with the other one. This would do just fine.

"Need t'fuck you, baby," He spoke in a hushed tone, and without further warning he grabbed your leg and hooked it around his waist just before sliding right in with ease.

The two of you moan in unison. Either he was fucking huge- spoiler, he was- or you were really fucking tight.

Joel collapsed, a hand splayed next to your head to catch himself so he wouldn't fall directly on top of you as he bared his teeth with a hiss.

"Chris' onna damn bike," He slurred, gently lowering himself further and snaking an arm under you as he lazily thrusted into you.

He glanced down to where you two met, watching as he delved in further, "She's jus' swallowin' me in."

An aquiline nose sought out your neck, the sound of Joel consuming your scent filled your ears once more. He simply couldn't get enough. Hips snapped against yours incessantly, skin against skin bouncing off the walls and drowning out the sound of the tv in the background.

The man above reached a hand under your shirt, groping and squeezing your tit as he lowered his forehead to yours, half-lidded eyes boring into yours intently.

"Fuck," He muttered, eyes widening, hips stuttering, "Fuck, 'm close." Joel was a little ashamed of himself. He couldn't remember the last time he made it to the finish line so quickly.

He was quick to remove his hand from under your shirt, finger dipping to the spot where his cock pumped in and out, collecting your slick before sliding it up to your puffy clit yet again.

"Y'think you can gimme another'n, honey?"

"Y-yeah," You nod, feeling that familiar flame lick up your spine. "Wanna cum on your cock."

Joel's lip curled into a snarl at your admission, eyes rolling back before fluttering shut. His movements blundered, then he pulled out, leaving just the tip slotted in your entrance.

"Please," he whined. Whined.

That fucking did it. Your body tightened for the second time this evening, eager to let go and milk Joel of every last drop he had to offer.

"I'm c-" He interjected with a slam of his hips, making you see stars as he fucked you through your orgasm, the head of his dick tapping your cervix as he pushed himself as deep as he could, jerking into you almost feverishly. Your name fell off his tongue like a mantra while he held you flush against him, your back peeling off the leather with arms wrapped around his back as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the musky, sweaty scent of him- your personal favorite brand of 'pheromone perfume' he wears.

After his body lightened, he turned his head and placed a listless, yet tender kiss to your temple. You made a move to crawl away, but that made his grip on you tighten.

"Not yet," he spoke lowly and leaned back, pulling you with him. "Wanna stay like this. Jus' for a minute."

His hand smoothed back your hair, the two of you laid there in silence to catch your breath. After a good ten minutes or so, you lift your head to peek at him, "So, I take it you liked the perfume?"

Joel offered a lopsided smile, rolling his head to the side with a swallow, "Loved it, darlin'."

You'd have to remember to buy more in the future.

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hi, hello, thank you for reading. as stated above, i’m still basically re-learning to write. i’m trying to get in the hang of properly pacing out the story, not too rushed but not too wordy either. feedback is appreciated! pls feel free to interact with a reblog or comment <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #joel miller x you #tlou #the last of us #joel miller one shot #joel miller the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #pure instinct

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actual-changeling · 11 months

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i feel like all my meta posts just clicked and solved a puzzle in my brain. however i am also currently upping my sleep med dosage so if any of this sounds like the incoherent rambles of a mad man it's cause i am. incoherent and insane and rambling that is. (not a man)

but i have to write this post since i had a lightbulb realization moment.

because the thing is, besties, that aziraphale is a fucking horrible liar. he gets nervous and fidgety, he stutters, you can SEE him sweating anxiety. just look at him in the bookshop when the archangels inquire about their not-so-little 25 lazarii miracle.

his best "lies" are when he is actually telling the truth but twisted. he has never been a good liar (see job) and that has not changed in six thousand years. all smiles directed at archangels are visibly wrong, his discomfort is tangible.

whenever he panics it is written across his face clear as day, including, and this is the important bit, when he is talking to the metatron.

now, you are wondering why exactly that matters, and the point is something we have all talked and thought about for ages but my brain just. formed some new neural pathways.

because he is a terrible liar, he is horrible at hiding his emotions.

but you know who isn't?

crowley.

unless you know him, it is very hard to read his facial expressions with his glasses on. he can turn his emotions "off", he can put a wall in front of them and by extension around himself.

i talked about it more in this post, so for background info have a look at it (if you want to)

it's crowley's thing yet there is one moment, one, glorious moment in which aziraphale executes it perfectly. and that moment mirrors crowley putting on his glasses, it is aziraphale attempting to hide away all of his feelings and thoughts so no one can tell what he is really thinking.

the parallels besties. the fucking parallels.

what really sells it to me is that last comparison because it matches too well to not be intentional. honestly, after the sink story i think every little thing in this show is done on purpose and with attention to detail, so.

the empty look, the heartbreak, the pain - the realization. this is it. i am not walking away from this unharmed but i am walking away. or rather into the loneliness, the absence of the person i love.

for aziraphale also the realization that the world is about the get fucked and he is not.

after that we have the inhale of courage. taking a deep breath to calm yourself, to find your way back to your body. a kind of preparation we have all done at one point or another.

the mask slides into place. or at least you want it to slide into place, you are trying to fucking jam it into the spot you need it to be but sometimes it's like trying to push the square peg through the round hole.

it's a disconnect, it's putting up a physical and emotional wall. crowley does it to hide away from aziraphale.

aziraphale does it hide from heaven and the metatron, yes, but he does it to hide from himself. at his core, aziraphale compartmentalizes. he is so fucking good at cognitive dissonance it's scary, and that's what happens here.

he knows, he KNOWS, that he needs to lock up his feelings or he won't be able to get into that fucking lift and do what he thinks he needs to do.

and so he walks away from crowley just like crowley walked away from him, copying him and doing exactly what he has seen him do a thousand times: putting up wall after wall after wall. ripping out every sprout of vulnerability before it can bloom.

except that he stopped doing it after the no-pocalypse, and that is why it hurts so fucking badly when he puts his glasses back on.

he is not ripping out a sprout, he is uprooting an entire fucking tree

aziraphale cannot hide behind sunglasses by crowley so he hides underneath an angelic persona, the person he thinks he should be, needs to be, and the problem is that whenever he slips into that role, it becomes him.

getting crowley to take off his glasses again is going to be a herculean task and the same goes for getting aziraphale to drop his act. they're one and the same in shape and origin and purpose but they are not indestructible.

because listen. all of this is painful and it hurts. it really is.

the fun part, however, is the fact that we know exactly what it takes to destroy that barrier, we have seen it happen to crowley before.

my point is that we are missing the parallel for said destruction.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens meta #if there's any spelling or grammar errors pls know i typed half of this with my eyes closed bc my meds are kicking in

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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that-guy-sleepy-miles · 25 days

Text

Hello folks, it's Miles here! You may know me as the guy who deduced what Rayman is snorting in episode 5 of Captain Laserhawk! And today, I'll be going over how...

There Are 6 Types of Magic in LEGO Monkie Kid

You can honestly stop here if you don't want to get into the most convoluted stuff ever. If you're vaguely interested but don't have much time, click read more and scroll down to Red Son, because he's where shit gets interesting.

A disclaimer! I've literally never broken down or written a magic system before, I'm just like. writing down and making sense of what I've noticed while watching the show. If you disagree with my assessment of a character's magic, think there's a better term for something I've described, or think I'm just plain wrong, please let me know so I can update the post! I don't know what I'm doing, and I've never looked into magic systems before!

An important thing to note is that LEGO Monkie Kid adheres somewhat to the power systems in Chinese mythology, so I will be bringing up concepts from Chinese mythology that are not talked about in the show. Honestly, if you went 100% on the show and not on Chinese mythology at all, there wouldn't be a magic system in the first place.

Now, let's begin!

‎

First, vocabulary.

Magic Class: The root of a user's magic. Classes are not exclusive, but actually compounding. For example, Wukong has Intrinsic-based Actively Cultivated Magic. Magic Subtype: A modifier to a class; additional information to explain how a user's magic came to be or how it works. For example, Tang has Revitalized Bestow-Inherited Actively Cultivated³ Magic — the subtype goes before the class because it's a modifier. (Yes, I will explain why his Actively Cultivated Magic is cubed.)

(In the naming scheme of magic, everyone has a full classification and then a shorthand classification. The classifications above were all shorthand.)

Magical Energy: The basic form of magic; unfiltered energy that can be channeled, manipulated, and cultivated. This energy can be used to attack directly or utilized in a spell. MAGICAL ENERGY IS QI, "MAGIC" IS JUST BEING USED BECAUSE THIS IS WRITTEN FOR A WESTERN AUDIENCE. Power: A defined ability, such as a spell or a technique. Not all Powers are explicitly named, but powers have defined forms and details whereas Magical Energy is usually a geometric shape. Examples of Powers: 72 Transformations, Golden Sight, teleportation. Magical Expression: How Magical Energy and Powers form upon release. Examples of Magical Expression are glowing eyes, full body glowing, magical seals, anime-esque energy blasts, Red Son's* fire, Ne Zha's fire (two VERY different forms of Magical Expression), and Macaque's purple shadow outline. Ne Zha's Wind Fire Wheels are examples of Magical Expression with a conduit. Zero Magical Expression ≠ zero release, but can. Conduits: Anything that can hold, channel, or manipulate Magical Energy. All living beings and magical artifacts are examples of conduits.

Channeling: Collecting magical energy internally Releasing: The basis of Magical Expression; using collected magical energy for an attack

(Mei showcasing channeling and releasing in Rip and Tear) You can always tell when a character is channeling and releasing.

Knowing which class of magic a character is using can be hard — they all tend to utilize anime-esque energy blast graphics and glowing bodies for Magical Expression — so you have to pay close attention. I'll be going over how to identify the specific magic types as we go through them.

Each type of magic has a "poster child" — a character that fully embodies that type — and I'll be using them to explain how the magic works. Once we finish the easily categorized magics, we'll get into the Special Cases.

(MK showcasing Intrinsic Magic in Rip and Tear)

(Wukong showcasing Cultivated Magic in A Lifetime of Mistakes)

Now, onto the classes of magic!

Intrinsic Magic is a class of magic...

That's not inherently pedigree-related. Ne Zha's father Li Jing was a mortal man.

Most gods and local deities have, and some yaoguai have. (Older demons like DBK and Wukong have Intrinsic Magic, while younger demons like Pigsy and Sandy might technically have Inherited Magic. It all depends on how you want to look at it.)

That usually comes with unique powers, commonly the ability to walk and talk upon birth. (Wukong got laser eyes, and Red Son* got the Samadhi Fire).

And holders have unnatural births? Pangu's cosmic egg, Ne Zha being born a ball of flesh after being gestated for three years, Wukong's rock that's existed since the dawn of time, etc.

Ne Zha is the epitome of Intrinsic Magic! If you think Intrinsic Magic, you think Ne Zha. The unmistakable way to identify Intrinsic Magic is to look for themes. If a character has a theme to their magic, again and again, they likely have Intrinsic Magic! For example:

Ne Zha's Intrinsic Theme is (obviously) lotus flowers/petals.

Red Son's* Intrinsic Theme is flames.

Macaque would be a contender for intrinsic magic (we will be getting back to him, though).

Cultivated Magic is a class of magic that has two subclasses: ACTIVE and PASSIVE, and...

That's ENTIRELY self-created. A magical pedigree can help, but no pedigree is required in Cultivated Magic — Li Jing cultivated magic as a completely human man, for example.

That NEEDS a Conduit. The conduit for Cultivated Magic can be the magic user themselves, but often it's a magical artifact or a technique. Note: a conduit doesn't require Cultivated Magic to be used, but Cultivated Magic requires a conduit. (Known Conduits include: Wukong's Cloud Somersault, Nezha's Wind Fire Wheels, and Princess Iron Fan's Banana Leaf Fan.)

That's very backstory-heavy. There's always a way that a character learned or got their power, or a description of how old they are.

A magic that you see most with yaoguai and immortals. The older the yaoguai, the more cultivated they are.

Passive Cultivation: Every living being is a conduit for passive cultivation — by existing, you are passively cultivating. The best method of passive cultivation is age; the older something is, the more passively cultivated. A Huli jing is the best example of passively cultivated magic. According to literature, the older a fox is, the more power it accrues.

Active Cultivation: Active Cultivation is when a being seeks out magical power. The most common form of active cultivation is being taught Tao techniques (Wukong's Cloud Somersault, Li Jing's Burning Pagoda Art). In this situation, the technique is the conduit. Other forms of actively cultivating magic are yaoguai eating humans and magic-accruing technology (specifically DBK's Furnace armor, which converts rarity into magical energy.)

Cultivated Magic comes with the implication of being wise, at least in some form, and those with cultivated magic are able to teach others. Being a disciple immediately means you have Actively Cultivated Magic.

Cultivated Magic often doesn't have Magical Expression, because it's all about existing and learning. When it does have Magical Expression, it's usually depictions of strength and power or the conduit itself glowing.

(Wukong's hairs glow as they are used as conduits for his cloning technique in Macaque)

(Wukong and Macaque's strength is showcased through Magical Expression during a fight in Macaque)

Cultivated Magic can be seen through any technique that was stated to have learned, such as Wukong's astral projection and his speed/quick reflexes.

(Wukong focusing in order to astral project to MK in Dumpling Destruction)

(MK having to actively learn and practice astral projecting in Minor Scale)

MK: Monkey King! It worked! Monkey King: Hey, bud. So, you figured out astral projection, huh? MK: Yeah, and I only had five nose bleeds.

Cultivated Magic is best showcased in action, and characters cultivate over the course of the show.

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(Wukong showcasing his Cultivated Magic by pulling some fast ones on MK in Impossible Delivery)

(4 seasons later in Strings That Bind, Wukong and MK spar, showcasing MK's Cultivated Magic. Tumblr will NOT let me embed both videos, and the first one is more important, so this will just be a link.)

Inherited Magic is a class of magic that has two subclasses: ANCESTERAL and BESTOWED, and...

Comes from someone else and was given to or passed down to the magic user.

Is sourced from Intrinsic or Cultivated Magic, but the magic user is not intrinsically magical/did not cultivate that magic themselves. The Intrinsic/Cultivated Magic is specific to another (perhaps deceased) being.

Can have ZERO Magical Expression or release.

If a character has Ancestor-Inherited Magic, they'll have a family animal, a family artifact, and/or a known ancestor.

If a character has Bestow-Inherited Magic, they were given their power by another magic user (known as the Bestower) so that they would serve that magic user, defeat a foe, or as a reward. Bestow-Inherit Magic users are often previously mortal.

Bestow-Inherited Magic is most blatantly a character giving another character magical powers, but being granted godhood, being brought back to life under a deal, and everyone receiving heavenly ranks/Wukong and Tripitaka receiving Buddhahood and Buddha titles at the end of Journey To The West is also Bestow-Inherited Magic.

A quick note: Older yaoguai (DBK, Azure Lion, Wukong) are considered to have Intrinsic Magic, but Modern yaoguai (Pigsy, Sandy) are deemed to have Inherited Magic. This is because these younger demons are not yaoguai specifically unto themselves — their status as a yaoguai comes from their ancestors. They have no unique, intrinsic powers, nor were they specifically predestined to be yaoguai despite their heritage (such as in the case of Nezha, who was predestined to be a celestial being).

For example, Pigsy. His status as a Magic User exists because of his family history. While, yes, his family is important to his character and story, it's not something he did himself — he did not cultivate his grandma — and there is nothing unique about him biology-wise besides just being a pig demon. He is a reincarnation, but being a reincarnation didn't make him a yaoguai. (That was a whole fate, symbolism deal, though.) If Pigsy hadn't been born, his family would still have a pig demon kid.

Now, onto the subtypes. (As a reminder, a subtype modifies a class!)

Revitalized Magic is a subtype of magic. It means that the magic is from a pre-incarnation that a character unlocks and requires reincarnation.

Uuuuunless it doesn't, and it required Un-Death. Auto-Revitalization of Magic is definitely a thing, but it's not a real category. It's just a specification to explain things that have happened to a character.

For example: The reason Macaque's shadows turned into chaos magic at the end of season 5 is because he's dead. He's outside of the reincarnation cycle, he's Undead, his magic is Auto-Revitalized —so when the reincarnation cycle is broken, his magic is also changed. At least, that's my personal theory. I might be DEAD WRONG.

Okay, back to Revitalized Magic proper: Remember back when I said Tang's magic was cubed? Yeah, this is why. (Before we start, Táng Sānzàng will be referred to as Tripitaka from here on out.)

The full classification of Tang's magic is: Potential Revitalized Bestow-Inherited (Tripitaka), Revitalized Actively Cultivated (Golden Cicada), Revitalized Actively Cultivated (Tripitaka), Actively Cultivated Magic. (Maybe, we'll get into this.)

The entire reason demons tried to eat Tripitaka was because he was the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada, who was a disciple of Buddha, which made Tripitaka's flesh holy. Being a disciple immediately means Actively Cultivated Magic; Tripitaka had Revitalized Actively Cultivated Magic. Tripitaka was a Buddhist disciple as well, which means he also Actively Cultivated. If Tang is a reincarnation of Tripitaka, who is a reincarnation of the Golden Cicada, then Tang has Revitalized Actively Cultivated Magic twice (or, even, 10 times, if you look at the Sandalwood Buddha thing, but Tripitaka and Golden Cicada are the important disciples so we're only counting them).

If Tang has Revitalized Actively Cultivated Magic and Revitalized Actively Cultivated Magic, that means he has Revitalized Actively Cultivated Magic². However,

Tang is a SCHOLAR. BEING A SCHOLAR MEANS THAT TANG IS ALSO AN ACTIVE CULTIVATOR.

HENCE, TANG HAS ACTIVELY CULTIVATED MAGIC³.

Celestial Magic is a subclass of magic that includes any magic with a seal. It's not exclusive to Celestial beings, but it's most often used by beings with Heavenly connections.

Celestial Magic is also known as "Spells", I'm pretty sure. Wukong just dropped this terminology on us in Season 5, and spells usually require words, but like. Okay, buddy. Whatever. You're the magic guy.

Celestial Seals have a unique symbol for every "Artist", or a Hànzì that explains the spell's purpose. For example, Li Jing's seals have a little pagoda on them, and the containment spell's seal (the only thing that can truly be called a spell here) has the character "牢", which means "prison" (or "enclosure", which is hilarious because it's containing 3 monkeys).

Consequential Magic is any magical energy or power gained as a result of an action taken by someone who is NOT the magic user.

Consequential is not a subclass of Cultivated because the magic user had no say in acquiring/did not know they were acquiring Consequential Magic; Consequential is not a subclass of Inherited because the magic user was not intentionally given these powers and they did not come from ancestry.

(Red Son* is literally the reason this subtype exists.) Every example of Consequential Magic is different, so I'm just going to some of the ones I know of in canon:

Wukong's Golden Sight (Consequence of the Eight Trigrams Furnace; Torture-consequence)

Ao Lie having the Samadhi Fire inside him after they fucked up the seal (Samadhi Fire/Red Son*; Samadhi-consequence)

Mei Dragon's ability to harness the Samadhi Fire/the remnants left over inside her after (Samadhi Fire/Red Son*; Samadhi-consequence)

MK's human form (form as in the shape of something btw) (Xiangliu fucked his shit up; Birth Interference-Consequence)

Macaque's new Chaos Magic (Xiangliu fucked his shit up; Chaos-Consequence)

I have spent this entire post explaining the way magic seems to work in LEGO Monkie Kid, getting slightly more and more unhinged as we go on. But there might be two things on your mind: Why? and Why does Red Son's* name have an asterisk on it every time I've mentioned him in this post?

I can answer both of those questions with one statement: Red Son does not adhere to the magic rules other characters follow. I've tried to find examples to see if I was thinking of the magic wrong — and that's fully possible — but I didn't find anything. In fact, the more I look, the more sure of this I become. It's like he actively decides against following the rules of the magic system.

He can be used as EXAMPLES of the magic system, but when you dig into his magic specifically, it's completely wack-a-doo.

First and foremost:

Red Son has a completely unique form of Magic Expression. His emotions are directly linked to his Magical Expression and release.

Emotionally linked magic release is something no other character does, but here he is doing it over and over and over again. The only example close to it is MK's Mystic Monkey form flickering in and out when he's distraught, and that's LITERALLY CREATION-GIVEN NÜWA MAGIC, THAT'S FROM A CREATURE WHOSE CANONICALLY "OUTSIDE OF THE 10 SPECIES" AND CANNOT BE CATEGORIZED?? AND ALSO NOT QUITE THE SAME EITHER.

(This could also be attributed to the concentration part of the Samadhi Fire, but he doesn't... seem to have access to that anymore? At least, not like Mei does. We'll consider it a factor in his magic expression, though.)

About his fire,

Red Son and his mom are the only two characters with Wuxing/Elemental Magic — every other example comes from a magical artifact. It's actually a 50/50 chance on whether or not PIF has wind powers or if the Banana Leaf Fan gives her wind powers (I'm pretty sure it gives her wind powers, but just to be safe we'll count her as having wind powers.) Wuxing Magic is not uncommon in actual Chinese mythology, but it is in the show for some reason. And it ALWAYS has an artifact as a conduit. Wuxing Magic always seems to be just a visual effect or an added addition to attacks in the show.

Another weird ass thing about Red Son's magic is its contrast with Nezha's. I'm pretty sure Red Son's fire is actual fire that he conjures magically, in contrast to Nezha's Wind Fire Wheels (conduits that Nezha fuels, and release Wuxing Magic as a visual effect) which make specifically magical fire.

Okay, so, I've been going through this assuming you're aware of the show's visuals concerning magic, but this is important for me to cover in detail. Everyone has two magic colors (white doesn't count for this). They can change in lighting, but you'll always recognize them as being the same general colors. Other colors may be used for emphasis, but they'll only be darker versions of the colors and they'll be used as a background for the main colors. (Quick note, MK and Wukong might have only one magic color? Fun stuff.)

The reason I think Red Son's magic is not... magic persay, is because it doesn't follow the color rule. Like, it's not actually the color of Red Son's magical energy half the time, it doesn't follow the magic color rule. Red Son's fire shifts like an actual fire, which is very cool visually, but is not how magic works.

(Quick note, magic seems to be lighter in the celestial realm. This is because the Celestial Realm is really well-lit. The environment is literally pure sunlight or some shit, so all the characters and their magic are in perfect lighting. So Red Son's magic getting inexplicably darker would make no sense unless Red Son's magic is doing that on its own and the lighting has nothing to do with it.)

His magic also isn't the color of the Samadhi Fire, nor is his fire. That time in season 5 when Mei helped him with the seal, the two of them together made a Samadhi Fire-colored seal. He didn't seem capable of doing that by himself, which leads me to my conclusion:

I think the suppression of the Samadhi Fire suppressed Red Son's Intrinsic Magic as a whole, and his magical core (as one user put it) is compensating by drawing directly from his element.

Characters having an element isn't a new thing. Wukong's element is metal, he's a metal guy, it's why he can't swim, and it's why MK can't swim. MK needs floaties because he'll sink like a rock because he shares the metal element with Wukong.

But this is a possible explanation for why Red Son's magic is so weird.

On the note of Mei having more access to the Samadhi Fire than him, Skellebonez (my rock through this journey of a post) brought up a good point: "[I] think it makes sense because whatever they did to remove it from him could have also added a barrier preventing its return to an extent[.] Like a filter[.]"

This Intrinsic Magic cap/Samadhi Filter might also explain why he keeps getting his shit rocked despite having such potential to be powerful (that's probably just because it's silly tho) and it could explain why his parents are so damn disappointed in him in season 1. It's because they took his magic from him (however unintentionally) and he's not as magical anymore. The only type of categorizable magic he uses is Celestial magic, which HUMANS can use and can be bestowed on ANYONE. You can just like... LEARN THAT, and I think he just did.

In canon, nobody ever seems to be hurt by Red Son's fire? It seems to just be... a thing that he does. Everyone is less and less scared of it as the show goes on, and the only thing it does major damage to is MK's apartment. He uses his fists to attack more than he uses his fire, it's generally left as a visual effect. Red Son uses his fire as an intimidation tactic, not as an actual weapon, and I think this could also be explained by an Intrinsic Magic cap. His intrinsic magic is suppressed, so he has to rely on things like physical strength/cultivation.

I also think nobody knows this in canon, they didn't know about it, or they don't understand it. I think Red Son has a magic limiter on him, which is why his parents were such raging fuckasses in season one. They thought their son was "useless", or in Wukong's words, "half-baked", after showing such promise in his childhood before an incident. They only got a healthier relationship after they stopped obsessing over power and spent some family time together, when they realized that their son being a powerful magical demon isn't the most important thing in the world. (AND WE WEREN'T SHOWN IT.)

Red Son is magic-disabled, in this essay I did.

ALL MAGIC COMES FROM THE PRIMORDIAL CHAOS, SO, IN ACTUALITY, ALL OF IT IS THE SAME! FUCK YOU!

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yandere-yearnings · 1 month

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Know Me Like the Devil Knows My Sins (Loser!Yandere x GN!Reader)

feat. genie's loser yan

♡ oneshot, approx 1.5k words

♡ post-specific warnings: yandere themes, implied kidnapping, violence, strangulation, implied death

♡ a/n: thank you to @moyazaika for letting me write abt his oc, loser yan!! genie, if you read this, pls ignore the fact that my characterisation sucks ass. this was over 3k but i went back and cut out the waffle bc there was a lot of it lmao, so ig it's technically edited, but not proofread.

♡♡♡

This basement was cold.

Heated blankets and warm meals, however many times a day they were brought to you, didn’t change much. No windows or light for even a semblance of passing time, all you had was the annoying draft that skimmed through the door at the top of the staircase — the one you weren’t allowed near. You wouldn’t have been able to escape even if you wanted to, not with the chain around your ankle. For as free as he tried to make you feel, the heavy metal was a constant reminder that there was no liberty in his love, if it could even be called that.

You were waiting for his return, less because you wanted to and more because it was the only thing you could do other than read the books he’d given you. They were all your favourites, from the stories your mother used to read you as a child to the ones you’d pick up on your way home when you’d grown up. At first, you’d found the thoughtfulness of it endearing, feeling seen and understood and catered to. Somewhere, kept within his walls, you didn’t blame yourself for becoming as delusional as he was.

How could you enjoy anything anymore, with no one to share it with?

Each new day that passed, every page you would read and read again, only accomplished you in realising the loneliness that coiled around you. Second by second, growing larger than your life had been before this. Soon, your loved ones would stop looking for you. Soon, you’d be considered dead — and in death you would be all his. You knew that was what he wanted.

You had made yourself comfortable on the vulnerabilities he presented to you, in the way he shook when your fingers stroked his skin, his shudders at your calling his name. That was all too good to be true. If you had actual control in this, he’d have surrendered to you long ago. You’d been testing it. Playing mind games, pushing limits — he’d shut you down quick, then cover the shrewdness in his eyes with a bashful smile. You were no fool, and clearly he wasn’t either.

Your bitterness surmounted with the echoing of locks clicking open. There wasn’t a need for as many as he had placed to keep you here, you weren’t sure you could even run anymore. You hadn’t used your legs in so long. He’d surely catch you. He’d rip your throat out like he did in your nightmares. You had no faith you wouldn’t become another layer of red on the white paint surrounding. Perhaps you should’ve been thankful, if fear were to be a knife, he’d certainly dulled it for you — slinking in, shoulders slumped and looking as meek as ever. Really, from the first glance, he didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“Darling…” there was that tone, demure, like you could do anything to hurt him from your place on this filthy mattress, your place on the floor as he stood above you. Towering. This entire thing felt like a sick joke. You’d once considered there being a chance for you. Hope crumbled just like he did, to his knees to look into your eyes. “I missed you so much today, my love.”

You blinked at him. You knew where this was going.

“I mean- I miss you every day, don’t get me wrong!” Sheepish laughter, twitching fingers — all signs of his wanting your validation. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you, not at all. Work has been so hard, and you’re the only thing I can look forward to truly and- and I really, really wanted to come back home quickly and ask if you’d...”

His sentence trailed off, and it took all you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. He wasn’t very creative, that much was obvious. You’d initially chalked it up to some cute sort of performance anxiety that he experienced because he wanted to come off as appealing to you. Now, it had begun to dawn on you that he was simply struggling to keep up the pathetics. As you curled your digits into his hair, as you tugged him closer and let him muffle his weak moan into your neck, you wondered why either of you were bothering anymore. No audience except for the earwigs that crawled about, no one who’d watch this stupid, repetitive show.

“I’ll hold you,” you whispered, tired enough that even your dishonesty could be mistaken as gentle. “I’ll hold your heart. Don’t worry. I know.”

You could feel his lips on your skin, chapped, scraping where he tried to formulate words. You were sure he too felt this warring between the both of you, this constant fight, teasing superiority, challenging who would take the reigns in this sombre dance. Bored out of your mind, anticipating when he’d get tired of you — but you were his infatuation so that could never happen.

“Not enough about me,” he breathed, “my sweetheart, my entire world, you wouldn’t know what I’ve done for you.” His hands dug into your waist where they rested, gripping flesh over fabric like it would give him warmth. It wouldn’t, because it was freezing in here.

“Won’t you tell me?”

Quiet laughter. “You’d be scared if I did.”

“I already am.” Your words made him pull away, made him peer at you with those eyes. You held his gaze. “I already am afraid of you. I already know who you are. Tell me anyway, since-”

“Since you love me.” He interrupted you, finished your sentence with words you had not been planning to utter. He didn’t say it tentatively enough; gave himself away with that and the severe expression on his face that his hair did not hide. It was a shame that now wasn’t one of your better days, lest you’d have heeded the silent warning.

“Since I can’t leave,” you corrected. No energy for even a single ounce of regret, none to even whimper at the violent pressure of his grip on your collarbones.

Sometimes, he’d come to you with blood caked under his fingernails. Sitting there like he was sinless, mouth running for hours about you in every way he could. All your likes and dislikes, all your habits, all your life — as if you didn’t know yourself. Again, those lips were moving, spitting at you like it could quell the anger you could see bubbling beneath the surface.

Your perfect person, he spilled descriptions like the ideals you once had were his intimate study, asking you why. Why wasn’t he enough even though he’s everything you’d ever wanted? When he’d made sure of it? Your chance to answer was taken by lithe fingers on your neck, but if you could, you’d have told him that at its core, it was just that every desire you had, looked like something disgusting on him.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t like you, c’mon,” his words came ringing, buzzing, an entire choir of metal scraping metal underwater, your world spinning and head pressed back into the mattress too fast to stop him from climbing on top of you, “don’t deny your feelings for me.”

Your eyes rolled back and his hold on you only loosened a fraction. Staring at the dark inside your own skull, gasping breaths through bruised tissue. You thought you heard knocking, and surely it’d be death at your door if you didn’t backtrack now, didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, like you had been until you’d lost yourself in your own lies.

Survival instinct should’ve kicked in, but then sight and sound returned to you, and you accepted that you wouldn’t be the hero in your story. You’d get yourself killed, yet, how could you love a man that loomed over you with eyes on fire? He’d burn you up to make it through the winter, and find another once your ashes were blown away.

Even if it made you a villain, drowning in the blood pooling from your ears, you owed yourself your last rasp to him. “I hate you,” broken and choked on tears cutting through the numbness. Your nails clawing everywhere you could reach, on this bed of springs that felt nothing like the one you so desperately wanted to return to, you mourned all you were losing.

Limbs going numb — salt — you’d never see home again.

When under constant observation, there’s only so much one can conceal about themselves. He knew that well. From the pictures of you in his gallery and the endless notes with your name repeated over and over and over — he’d chosen to obsess, and you were forced to, and you became his mirror the longer he kept you. Going mad, crazy, insane because his was the only face you could remember anymore.

You knew his moods from his scent and his needs from his touch, you knew him to the heart of the blank slate he’d always been, you knew him rooted carnally to you because it was the only thing grounding him. He hadn’t needed to tell you anything really, and you didn’t need to push. You knew him like the devil knew his sins.

And he’d take you to hell for it.

#lovelettersfromdar #yandere x reader #x reader #gn reader #yandere oc #reader insert #male yandere #yan x reader #yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #gender neutral reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere original character #yandere x y/n #yandere x you

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lunar-wandering · 3 months

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sugar starved

it's doneeeee like i said this is just 8k of me being absolutely nuts. dont expect plot here.

TWs: uh, biting, blood drinking (don't worry about it), kissing... (i think that's it??)

Word Count: 8.4k

Read on Ao3

“Shit!”

Well, that couldn’t be a good sign.

Wukong slammed another hypnotized demon’s head into the ground, knocking them unconscious, whirling around and kicking another demon in the gut as he directed half of his attention towards the pained swear that had come from behind him. A short distance away, MK and Mei were blocking any enemies from reaching Macaque, who had fallen down onto one knee, clutching his leg.

Even from this distance, Wukong could see the smattering of blood on the pavement.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, then ripped a handful of fur from his arm, blowing on it to summon some clones, mentally directing them in various directions to even out the fight. One specifically went and scooped Macaque out of the way of an axe wielding demon that had slipped past MK and Mei’s defense line, quickly carrying the other monkey to a nearby rooftop.

Wukong could feel the phantom sensation of Macaque smacking the clone’s back with his hand, as well as the faint whispers of complaints in his ear. He payed them no mind, jumping up to knee someone in the face, quickly bringing up his other leg in a follow up swing to shove them into another demon, sending them both into a wall hard enough to make it break. He spared a glance towards the rooftop for a moment, checking to make sure his clone was standing guard, before shooting his hand up to grab a wrist just before the fist attached to it could make contact with the side of his face. Wukong tightened his grip, twisted to the side, planted his foot, and flung them into the pavement with just barely non-lethal force.

He winced a bit as he heard a few bones crack.

…Maybe he should tone it down a little. Most of these demons weren’t doing this of their own free will after all.

Almost as though just thinking that had willed it, the buzzing sensation that Wukong had been pushing to the back of his mind suddenly came to an end. Wukong glanced up to see that MK had tackled some dressed up demon to the ground, and that Mei was currently stamping on some sort of- walkie talkie?

The demons that had been slowly approaching him crumbled to the ground. A few of them made noises of pain. Wukong almost wanted to do something similar. Despite having not actually been under the influence of whatever had been affecting the others, now that the buzzing was gone, he was suddenly being made aware of a killer headache. Headaches weren’t that out of the ordinary for him, but with the way this one felt, it was likely going to become a migraine sooner or later, and disrupt his well fought for peace.

Speaking of things that frequently disrupt his peace…

Wukong glanced back up towards the rooftop where his clone was waiting for him. He raised an eyebrow, and his clone responded by giving a gesture which clearly implied that he should ‘get up here, now.’

Wukong let out a sigh.

And then he jumped up, grabbing onto a signpost with his hand, swinging around it and using the momentum to fling himself up onto the rooftop. He dispelled his clone as he landed, dusting off his hands.

“So!” He said, “What’s the damage?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ooh, that’s not good.” Wukong crouched down beside where Macaque was partially curled up, the other glaring up at him. “Normally your insults are a lot more dignified than that.”

“Again, fuck you.” There was less heat behind it this time, shockingly. Wukong’s ear twitched as he assessed the way Macaque was clutching at his leg, before moving to grab his hands. Macaque’s tail puffed up in agitation. “Don’t touch me!”

“Hey, I can’t help you out if you won’t let me look!” Wukong grabbed hold of Macaque’s hands, overpowering him and finally getting a clear look at the injury. He hissed with sympathy. “Ah, that does look bad.”

Three long gashes ran down Macaque’s leg, from his knee to just above his ankle. His pant leg was practically shredded. Wukong didn’t think any level of thread and needle could fix the fabric… well, Macaque probably had plenty of extras anyways, hopefully.

The blood was dripping onto the roof underneath him and, well, Wukong didn’t really notice before but… man did it smell sweet.

Macaque’s magic always tended to lean on the sugary side- or, well, ‘lean’ was too small a word. Macaque’s magic was majorly sweet. It kinda smelled a bit like sugar cookies- if they were comprised of 90% sugar. It was the sweetest thing Wukong had ever tasted if he was being honest, immortal peaches being a close second.

…Not that he had had a taste of either in recent years. Macaque magic, specifically, well, Wukong hadn’t gotten a taste of his magic since- well. Before.

Macaque’s body runs on magic now, of course. His blood practically was magic.

Fuck, it smells really good.

Wukong was getting way too distracted by it.

“You got first aid stuff on ya?” He asked. He didn’t carry any on himself and, well, using his hair as a substitute for it never really turned out well. (Wukong didn’t even want to think about the number of infected wounds he’d accidentally given to himself over the years. No, those were incidents he’d prefer remain as distant memories). He really should figure out a way to store some first aid on himself- wait. He could shrink things, why had he never thought to- shit, he was getting distracted again.

Macaque didn’t give him a verbal response, instead rolling his eyes, a shadow pooling beside Wukong. Hesitatingly, (he wouldn’t doubt that Macaque would choose to play a prank even when injured), Wukong dipped his tail into the shadow, gripping onto a handle, pulling out a first aid kit. Setting it down, he clicked it open, looking over what he had. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty well stocked. Wukong had to wonder where Macaque had even gotten some of this stuff, he doubted the other had bought it.

Well, first things first was cleaning the wound.

Wukong brushed the shredded remains of Macaque’s pant leg out of the way, gripping Macaque’s ankle and pulling his leg towards him, ignoring Macaque’s hiss of pain as he started cleaning the cuts. They didn’t look too deep, Wukong would admit he’d been the slightest bit worried because of how Macaque was acting, but, then again, the shadow monkey always did have a shit pain tolerance. Wukong leaned down a little closer, eyes flickering gold to make sure he wasn’t missing anything-

Oh, the sweet scent of Macaque’s magic was so much stronger this close. He- he really craved- he wanted-

Mind completely lost, Wukong licked a line of blood off of Macaque’s leg, and then froze. Macaque, who had let out an outright squeak at the sensation, froze as well as the two of them suddenly locked eyes.

“Oh, ew!” They both jumped as MK’s voice interrupted their… moment, turning to see both him and Mei only just barely over the edge of the rooftop. “Did not want to see that! If you kids are going to do weird shit, do it behind closed doors, please!”

“I’m centuries older than you!” Wukong replied, instinctively, before the rest of MK’s sentence, along with the entirety of what just happened finally hit him, and he recoiled, letting go of Macaque’s leg and backing away, face igniting with gold. “And- and we weren’t doing anything weird!”

“Uh-huh, sure.” MK sounded entirely unconvinced, and beside him, Mei put her hands on her hips in an equally as doubtful pose. “Nothing happened, and Macaque definitely doesn’t look like he’s about to pass out.”

There was a small thump from beside him, and Wukong turned to find that Macaque had, in fact, passed out. Perfectly on queue too. Dramatic as always. MK let out a curse.

“Oh, shit, I was joking, I didn’t think he actually would-” Both him and Mei quickly ran forwards, restarting what Wukong had gotten distracted from. Mei started re-cleaning Macaque’s leg, while MK quickly checked Macaque’s head for any possible injuries. “Do you think it’s from blood loss or, uh-”

“Eh, hard to tell.” Wukong knelt down beside Macaque again, gently flicking the other’s cheek. He felt a steady returning echo of magic, so, “His magic seems to be stable. He was probably just overwhelmed, or something. …Can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely no reason behind it at all.” Mei said, reaching around Wukong to grab the bandages out of the first aid kit, tightly wrapping them around Macaque’s leg. Wukong avoided eye contact with both her and MK. The sweet scent was still lingering in both his nose and mouth- he subconsciously licked his lip. Suddenly, he felt a prickle indicating eyes were on him, and he looked up to find that MK was staring at him with something like concerned wariness.

“…Monkey King.” MK started, slowly, “I know you and Macaque are… complicated, but you’re not planning on… eating him, right? Cause you uh, you can’t do that.”

“Ea- I’m not going to eat him.” Wukong said, offended, “I don’t- I’ve never- where are you getting that idea from?”

“I don’t know, Mr. King.” Mei finished up bandaging Macaque’s leg, pulling a sticker out of her pocket and placing it on top of her work- for some reason. “You’ve been staring at him kinda hungrily.”

“…I don’t think that’s a way you can stare at someone.” Wukong rubbed the back of his neck, “Besides, even if I did like, do the whole, ‘eating people’ thing- which I don’t. I certainly wouldn’t eat him, he’d probably taste gross.”

Well. He’d probably taste really sweet actually. He found his eyes drifting down to where Macaque’s neck would be visible, if it weren’t for the other’s scarf. Now that the injury was bandaged, the scent wasn’t as strong anymore- but it was still there…

“You certainly didn’t seem to think he was gross when you were licking Macaque’s leg.” Mei said, snapping Wukong out of his staring and making his face burn.

“That was- I was just- um. My saliva helps things heal faster?”

“Y’know, I’d almost believe that if you hadn’t said it like that.” MK said, digging around in his pocket, before seemingly finding what he was looking for. “Open your mouth.”

“Wha-” Wukong was cut off as, faster than he could blink, MK unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it into Wukong’s mouth. “Hey-”

“Lick something that’s supposed to be licked.” MK said, standing up, summoning the staff into his hand and walking towards the edge of the roof, Mei silently following after him. “Me and Mei have a dance party to get to- if I don’t hear from Macaque by midnight, I will be accusing you of cooking him!”

Wukong’s offended cry that, again, he did not eat people, fell on seemingly deaf ears as both MK and Mei jumped down from the roof’s edge, vanishing, leaving Wukong crouching on the rooftop beside a still unconscious Macaque.

After a few minutes, he sighed, using his tongue to turn the lollipop over in his mouth.

It was peach flavoured.

…It still wasn’t as sweet as-

Wukong shook that thought out of his head- oh, huh. Somehow, in between earlier and now, his headache had vanished. That was… weird. He’d been sure it was going to become a migraine. Maybe the distraction was all he’d needed? …Whatever. He didn’t have the time to focus on that.

He glanced down at Macaque, and sighed, before placing his hands underneath him and lifting him up as gently as he could. As much as some mean-spirited part of him might wish to do so, he couldn’t just leave the other on top of a random rooftop. The least he could do was get Macaque back to his dojo- or, well their dojo, at the current moment. Flower Fruit Mountain was still unsuitable for living in, at the current moment. Reforming his past house required a lot of magic and focus, and, well, Wukong may or may not be lacking in one of those departments, so it was taking quite a while.

Not to mention he’d had a late start on it. …A month’s long late start to it. Procrastination could be such a bitch sometimes.

So, he’d been staying at Macaque’s dojo for the time being. (MK had offered his apartment, and Sandy had offered his boat, but… Macaque’s dojo was the only other building around with a built in pocket space that could fit all of Wukong’s stuff. Or, well, what remained of it. Wukong didn’t really want to think about all that had gotten destroyed during the fight against Azure, he’d salvaged what he could, and that was that. He definitely didn’t still think of the items that were either destroyed or missing).

Or, well, he was kind of staying there. Sure, his stuff was stored there, and he’d spent like, maybe one or two nights guarding said stuff, but he had yet to actually, like, sleep there. After he was certain Macaque wasn’t going to go through his stuff, he’d been spending most of his time either hanging out with the kid and the others at the Noodle Shop, or finding a random tree to rest in.

Which was why he paused when, upon kicking down random doors, he paused upon the discovery that, at some point, Macaque had seemingly prepared a room for him.

Or, well, it wasn’t really a new discovery. Wukong had heard him mumbling about how he’d “gone through the effort of putting a room together for nothing”, but he had assumed the other had just been joking- poking fun over how Wukong currently preferred a tree branch over an actual bed. Apparently, this was not the case.

Wukong took a quick glance down the hallway. There were still multiple doors to try if he wanted to find Macaque’s actual room, but, well, there was a bed right here, so.

He quickly stepped in and dropped the other unceremoniously onto the bed- and then winced as the other let out a slightly pained whimper in his sleep. Ah. Right. Injured leg. You’re meant to be careful with injured people.

…Sue him. It’s been centuries since he’d last had to deal with caring for an injured person that wasn’t himself, he was out of practice.

Slightly more gently, Wukong rearranged Macaque so that he wasn’t in a position that would aggravate the cuts on his leg. And then he… stared. Silently. Macaque was still asleep- which would’ve been concerning, Wukong was fairly sure if someone passes out, they’re not meant to stay unconscious for this long unless there’s a serious medical reason, but, well. That buzzing had been hard on Wukong’s ears, he could only imagine what it’d been like for Macaque. Maybe he just needed the rest?

The last bit of lollipop dissolved on his tongue, and Wukong took the remaining stick out of his mouth and tossed it into the trash as he contemplated. Was there anything else here he needed to-

Oh! Water! Water would probably be good- everyone likes a good glass of water when they wake up, yep. Wukong turned around, new mission in mind, heading towards Macaque’s kitchen. Man, now that there was nothing sweet in his mouth, he was craving sugar again- but he already knew that Macaque didn’t keep any treats in there. He’d tried to raid the kitchen on his first night staying here, out of spite, only to find it horrifically empty. Pigsy would’ve thrown a fit if he’d known. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, maybe he should tell the pig demon about that, the idea of what Macaque’s expression would be when confronted with a pissed-off Pigsy was endlessly entertaining.

…That might come back to bite him though. It was well known at this point that the Monkey King didn’t have the best eating habits either. Maybe he should save that idea for a time when he can easily get away…

Oh. He’d overfilled the cup.

Wukong quickly turned off the tap, setting the cup down on the counter as he shook water droplets off of his hand. Jeez, he seriously was having a hard time keeping himself in the moment today. More so than usual.

He poured the slightest bit of water out of the cup and down the drain, so that it wouldn’t easily spill, before heading back to the room and- there was no bedside table in here. How hadn’t he noticed that?

He couldn’t just leave the cup on the floor, it’d likely just end up spilled that way… wait-

Wukong ripped a piece of hair off his tail, snapping his fingers to turn it into a bedside table. There, problem solved. He set the cup down with a firm clink, scanned the room, and it’s occupant, one last time, before turning and leaving.

He could really use something sweet right now.

At exactly 11pm at night, Wukong’s phone went off with a message from the group chat that MK had partially forced him into. Nibbling on his ninth cookie of the night, Wukong swiped his phone open.

MK: are we all still up for game night tmrw?

A few affirmative messages flew by, Wukong simply sending a thumbs up emoji into the mix. A few seconds later, Macaque sent a thumbs down.

Mei: good 2 see that our resident phantom of the opera is still alive

Wukong snorted as he watched Macaque react to that message with a middle finger emoji- only to edit it into an angry face emoji immediately after out of fear of Pigsy’s wrath. At the very least this meant that MK wouldn’t be pestering him about Macaque’s whereabouts in an hour. Wukong had not been looking forward to that possible conversation. He set his phone down on the table even as messages continued to flow across the screen.

“Y’know.” He said, “You can’t keep avoiding game night forever.”

There was a crash, and a split second later, a shadow portal opened in the doorway, Macaque stepping out of it, looking some combination of pissed off and frazzled.

“What are you doing in my kitche- what the fuck?!” Macaque cut himself off as he fully registered the scene in front of him. “Wukong. What is this-”

“Uh, I’m in your kitchen cause I’m staying here, remember?” Not really, again, Wukong had barely spent much time here at all other than those two nights guarding his stuff. “And this is all uh, a late night snack. You know you’ve got no food in here? Do you even eat?”

“…I just portal it in here when I’m hungry.” Macaque mumbled, the cleared his throat. “This. Is not a midnight snack- this is- did you even pay for half of this stuff?”

“Yes I did, in fact, pay for it, so if you want some you’re gonna have to pay me back for it.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how much this cost you- nevermind. I’m rephrasing my question. Why do you have what’s practically a sweets banquet set up in my kitchen?” Macaque asked, “You’ve got like, three cakes here-”

“I was craving sugar.” Wukong shrugged, picking up another cookie, avoiding eye contact as he shoved it into his mouth. Although… Macaque had a point. Wukong had returned with the results of his sweets haul over two hours ago, and he’d barely made a dent in it since then. But, well, he wasn’t lying. He was craving sugar.

…Still is. Not a single one of these treats seemed to be able to get rid of his want for-

Macaque reached over Wukong’s shoulder to grab a cookie from the package sitting in front of the Monkey King, and Wukong nearly choked as he was suddenly hit with the sweet scent of the other’s magic yet again.

Yeah. Okay then. Nothing else really could ever truly compare. The cookie still in his mouth suddenly tasted practically flavourless in comparison.

He still shoved another one into his mouth anyways, if only to get the thoughts of biting Macaque’s arm out of his mind.

“I’m not paying you back for this by the way.” Macaque said, taking a small mouselike bite out of his cookie, as though testing if it was actually good, before taking a slightly larger bite. “…Albeit, I guess I could like, take these as rent? Since you’re storing all your shit here.”

“I won’t throw you through a wall for taking my cookie on one condition.”

“…Which is?”

“Join us for game night.”

“I’d rather get thrown through the wall.”

“Alright.”

“Wait- wait!” Macaque’s voice pitched up with slight fear as Wukong stood up and grabbed hold of his arm. Wukong paused and waited, but didn’t let go. Macaque stared at him, as though analyzing whether or not he was actually serious.

He was. Injury or not, a little throw through a wall wouldn’t hurt him that much. And would also let Wukong take out a little bit of frustrated energy- that headache that had gone away earlier was slowly starting to make it’s way back.

After a few seconds of nothing but silent staring, Wukong raised an eyebrow, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

“Shit- fine!” Macaque hissed, tugging at his arm, trying to free it. “I’ll go to game night! Now let go of me!”

“That’s more like it.” Wukong obediently let go of Macaque’s arm, turning and sitting back down, scooping his phone off the table.

MonkeyKing: convinced mac to come to game night

MK: HOW?!

MK: actually based on what happend earlier. i dont wanna know

“…Are you going to be sitting out here all night?” Macaque asked, bringing Wukong back to where he currently was before he could type out a frantic message about how nothing had happened earlier. Macaque was leaning against the back of Wukong’s chair, though, he was seemingly more focused on the second cookie he’d snatched than the phone, which Wukong quickly turned off before Macaque could see the messages- purposefully or accidentally. Briefly, he glanced down at the bandages wrapped around Macaque’s leg- there was no sign of bleed through, which was good, but-

“Do you have to stand so close?” The proximity was making the sugar cravings so much worse, and with the treats in front of him no longer working as a substitute…

Wukong forced his gaze away from where it had strayed to Macaque’s scarf, or, well, his neck. He seriously didn’t need a repeat of whatever had come over him before.

“Why?” Macaque did the opposite of what Wukong wanted him to do, leaning closer, “Does it bother you?”

“Psh, no.” Wukong reached up to shove Macaque away, touching nothing but thin air as Macaque side-stepped out of reach with a smirk- which was soon replaced by- a yawn? Wukong stared at him incredulously. “There’s no way you’re still tired. You just spent the past like, 6 hours unconscious.”

“I could probably go for another 32.”

“…Minutes?”

“Hours.”

“Sounds festive.”

“Glad to know you find the idea of me falling into a coma fun.”

“Look, if you’re that tired, just go back to bed.” Wukong rolled his eyes, “I’m not gonna like, start watching a movie on full blast or anything.”

“You will likely make a mess of my kitchen though.” Macaque said, “I mean, you practically already have. Are you at least going to bring some of this stuff to the game night- I don’t think either of us could finish even half of this on our own.”

That… was an excellent idea actually.

“It was always the intent for most of it to be for game night.” Wukong lied, “I’m done here now anyways- the kid just wanted me to make sure you didn’t like, bleed out or something.”

He grabbed a new package of cookies, shoving them into the folds of his clothes as he stood up, brushing past Macaque on the way to the door. Wukong paused with one foot out of the dojo.

“I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon to help carry everything over to the Noodle Shop.” He said, “You better be ready by then, or I will be dragging you out of bed. Forcibly.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Macaque huffed, waving him off, “Have fun getting backpain in your random tree branch.”

Wukong already dealt with backpain, a few weeks of nights spent sleeping on a tree branch weren’t going to help or hurt him more. But, well, that wasn’t important.

He slammed the door of the dojo closed behind himself, and summoned his cloud to go hang out on the roof of MK’s apartment until tomorrow.

“Uno!”

“Go fish.”

“I think I’m gonna fold.”

“Does anyone have an eight?”

“Pick up two.”

“Wait, what are we playing?” Wukong asked, suddenly very aware of the lack of cards in his hands. At his question, Mei let out a snort, and the others set their handfuls of various cards down on the table.

“We’re playing Never Have I Ever.” MK patted Wukong on the back comfortingly, “You started spacing out twenty minutes ago- Red Son thought it’d be funny to see how long it’d take you to notice we’d started spouting random game instructions.”

“Noodle Boy, you cannot just oust me like that-”

“No wonder it’s taking you so long to remake Flower Fruit Mountain.” Macaque interrupted as he set down his own hand- two queens and two plus four Uno cards. “If you can barely focus enough on a kids game, then it’s a miracle you can get any complex magic spell done at all.”

“Hey- I’m not normally this bad.” Wukong said, rubbing gently at his forehead. “…I just have a little headache, that’s all.”

“I’ve got an aspirin if you need one.” Mei popped a pill out of a package and held it out. Wukong stared at it a little hesitantly for a few seconds- mortal medicine had a fairly low chance of helping him out nowadays. But, well, low chance was still better than no chance… Wukong took the pill and swallowed it dry, ignoring how some of the others winced at that action. It probably wouldn’t help him much in the long run, but, well, he could pretend it did for their sakes.

“Now that Monkey King is back in the land of the living-” MK said, pouring a refill of juice into everyone’s cups, “I can say this; Never Have I Ever licked someone’s leg-”

“Oh, you’re still on that?” Wukong would’ve rathered they’d left that whole thing behind. He grabbed his cup-

And proceeded to almost spill it when Macaque violently slammed his hands down on the table.

“Wait.” He hissed, eyes flickering from MK to Wukong and back again. “That was real? That actually happened?! I thought I hallucinated it-”

“It was, unfortunately, real.” MK said with a solemn tone that did not at all fit the topic they were talking about. Quietly, Red Son asked Mei what was going on, and Mei leaned over to whisper about what had happened yesterday into his ear. Wukong could only thank whoever in Heaven that may or may not be listening in that Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy were busy getting pizza from the store, and were thus not being brought in on this whole little fiasco.

“Whatever- it, it was nothing, okay?” Wukong downed his juice in one go, grabbing the bottle with his tail to pour more into his now empty cup. “Let’s just move on- Never Have I Ever… uh-”

He paused for a moment, trying to think of something that he hadn’t done. As someone who had lived for over a millenia, well…

“…Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of game to play with a bunch of immortals.” Red Son said-

“No, no, I- actually no, yeah, I’ve got nothing.” Wukong had been going to say he’d never eaten people- considering MK had seemed to decide they were bringing up yesterday’s events, but, well. He was pretty sure Red Son’s family had had a little… phase, and he wasn’t entirely sure if Mei and MK knew, and, well, a party game was arguably the worst way to find out about things like that, in Wukong’s opinion.

…Or maybe they wouldn’t care, who knows, MK and Mei were weird like that. He’s pretty sure he heard the kid specifically chanting something along the lines of “Be Gay, Do Crimes” the other day, or something like that. Was cannibalism included in that? Wukong has no idea, and he certainly is not going to be the one to ask.

He was spared from further thinking about it as the Noodle Shop’s door chimed- Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy finally returning, Sandy carrying pizza boxes in his hands.

(Wukong had brought over some of the junk food he’d impulse bought the previous night. Macaque had complained about how he was still leaving so much of it in his kitchen, but, well, Wukong kinda wanted a stockpile of it. Just in case. Either way, it didn’t really matter, quite a lot of what he had brought over would probably be coming back to the Dojo with them anyways, considering Pigsy had nearly passed out over the idea of only having sweets for super. He’d insisted they at least get something more dinner-like, even if it was takeout from another place. MK had demanded pizza faster than anyone else could think).

“Scoot over, monkey.” Pigsy said, pulling a chair over to the table, making Wukong have to move over-

Closer to Macaque.

Shit.

Wukong took a chocolate bar he’d hidden in his shirt pocket earlier (it was his favourite brand, he only had one left and he wasn’t risking any of the others taking it), and took a bite out of it, forcing his eyes to remain on the table and not stray over to the monkey demon sitting beside him. There was no sweet scent surrounding the other anymore- thank heaven, but just the memory alone was messing with him. The urge to just bite the other was all too strong.

“Right!!” Mei clapped her hands together, drawing Wukong’s attention back to the group. “Now that we’re all here, lets get the real games going. Up first, I think we should play Werewolf-”

“Night one. Night. One. All of you- voted for me first thing.” Macaque hissed as Wukong slammed the door of the dojo closed behind them. “I hadn’t even done anything yet! There wasn’t even a discussion- just immediate voting!”

“Macaque, that was hours ago, why are you still complai-”

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you were the one who voted for me first, Wukong!” Macaque poked Wukong in the chest as emphasis- “You clearly set that whole thing up on purpose- hey!”

Wukong grabbed hold of Macaque’s wrist, pushing him backwards as the Monkey King stepped forwards, pinning Macaque up against the wall.

“Enough.” Wukong hissed, and then paused, taking in the look on Macaque’s face, the way shadows were slowly darkening against the wall, as though ready to portal the other away. After a second, he relaxed his grip on Macaque’s wrist a little, using his free hand to gently run a thumb over Macaque’s cheek. “You’ve been complaining for hours. It’s making my headache worse, so- it’s high time you shut up a little.”

When the shadows faded to their usual colour, and Macaque didn’t voice any form of protest, Wukong leaned in.

…This wasn’t the first time they had kissed. Far from it.

A few days after the fight against Azure, Macaque had shown up in the remains of Flower Fruit Mountain. The resulting fist fight had ended with Macaque pinned to the ground, panting, and smirking, before he’d grabbed the front of Wukong’s clothes and pulled himself up to place a kiss on Wukong’s cheek.

Wukong had grabbed him before he could fade into the shadows and pressed their lips together with a surprising gentleness for someone who hadn’t kissed another for over two hundred years.

They hadn’t really… stopped since then. Neither of them ever really planned to initiate it, it just seemed to happen- suddenly gently or passionately kissing each other.

This kiss… was neither of those things.

It was desperate, and needy, and Wukong’s fangs nipped Macaque’s lip hard enough to draw blood and make him gasp. Wukong pulled back at the sound of it, before zeroing in on the blood. He ran his thumb over Macaque’s lip, smearing the blood, then brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it.

“…Sweet.” He said, ignoring the way Macaque’s eyes narrowed at him as he leaned back in for a better taste. Macaque made a choked sort of noise as Wukong licked his lip mid-kiss. Wukong slowly let go of Macaque’s wrist in order to cup the other’s face with both hands, pulling him slightly away from the wall and impossibly closer to him, nipping at Macaque’s lip again to draw more blood forth.

“Ow!” Macaque pushed Wukong back- Wukong forcing himself to comply and move away as Macaque shook his head, seemingly trying to snap himself out of the daze that had come over him. “Okay- wait- what’s with the biting?”

Wukong silently stared at the small trails of blood slowly dripping from Macaque’s bottom lip and down his chin.

“Wukong? Sun Wukong. Hey.” Macaque snapped his fingers in front of Wukong’s face. “I know you’re bad at it, but I’d like you to focus now-”

Wukong blinked, trying to think clearly over the delicious sweetness that was steadily fading from his tongue.

“Uh-” He hesitated, trying to make eye contact, and failing, eyes being drawn back to the quickly drying blood. How to- explain? His mind was buzzing over finally getting a small taste of what he’d been craving all day, and despite his headache having somehow vanished, it was nearly impossible to think. He wanted more, so much more. “…Sweet?”

“Not an answer.” Macaque said, wiping the dry blood off his chin, “If you want something sweet, have one of the hundreds of treats you’ve tossed into my kitchen- wait, does this has something to do with you licking my leg yesterday?”

Macaque’s face, which had already been tinged slightly purple from the kiss, flushed to a much deeper shade at the memory, and Wukong knew for a fact that, confronted with it now, his own face was probably burning with an equal amount of gold. He’d been kinda hoping that, despite MK bringing it up again for some reason, Macaque had forgotten that whole thing had even happened.

It seemed like his hopes had been in vain.

“Maybe.” He’d muttered it, but it might as well have been a yes with how Macaque’s face suddenly lit up with a smirk despite the blush still covering it- speaking of, said blush was quickly starting to show through the glamours on Macaque’s ears as well, the faint outlines of his extra ears lightly glowing.

“Ah-” There was a tone of realization in Macaque’s voice that Wukong decided right then and there that he didn’t really like- “It’s the magic that you want, isn’t it?”

Oh, Wukong suddenly regretted constantly begging Macaque for a taste of the other’s magic because it was “sweeter than peaches!” way back in the past. Macaque had been quite proud of it back then, seeming to view being ranked as above peaches as something special. Of course the bastard would put the pieces together so damn quick, even over a millenia later.

Wukong let out a defeated groan, taking another step back so that Macaque was no longer trapped against the wall. Macaque adjusted his clothes, blush and smirk still present on his face as he turned and started walking towards the main living area, Wukong slowly trailing along behind him with his arms crossed. Macaque’s tail was swishing back and forth with something that was definitely not agitation, and Wukong couldn’t help but feel that maybe Macaque was getting just a little bit too much enjoyment out of this realization.

Macaque hopped over the back of his couch to sit down on the cushions, and after a moment of hesitation, Wukong followed.

“…It’s not your magic specifically.” He said, grumpily, “It’s just… sugar? But, uh. Nothing else is, um.”

“Fulfilling the craving? Checks out.” Macaque nodded sagely, as though he expected this, and Wukong had to, for the second time in under 24 hours, fight the urge to pick him up and throw him. Macaque seemed to realize he was treading on thin ice, as he quickly broke eye contact. “I mean, it takes an ungodly amount of, well, anything to affect you, it only makes sense you’d need something super sweet as well.”

…Huh. He was right, that did make sense.

It also would maybe explain why the headaches went away after tasting some of Macaque’s insanely sweet magic blood too. It wasn’t some coincidence, it was just Wukong finally getting something akin to the right amount of sugar in himself. The sugar craving wasn’t just his sweet tooth, he actually needs a lot of sugar.

…Probably not a good thing he keeps going extended periods without eating anything, then. Of course, he could probably live without it, obviously, but, well. It felt awful to do so.

(He’d slept away fifty years once, and had felt genuinely and truly horrible once he had woken up. It’d taken three days of eating immortal peaches before he’d started to feel well enough to branch into eating and drinking anything else).

“Well, there’s no real reason to postpone it.” Macaque’s voice drew Wukong back to the present, and he did a double take in shock as he realized that, at some point while he’d been spacing out, Macaque had taken his scarf off. Wukong’s eyes immediately were drawn to Macaque’s collarbone. Macaque smirked at his reaction, and moved forwards, wrapping his scarf around the back of Wukong’s neck, and pulling the Monkey King closer to him, practically on top of him, in fact. Macaque tilted his head slightly to the side to give better access. “Go ahead.”

Wukong blinked for a second in shock, a golden flush on his face, before he smirked.

“Good boy.”

“Wha- no, we’re not doing th-ah!” Macaque cut himself off with a yelp, glamours falling down as Wukong gently sunk his teeth into his shoulder. Wukong let out a slightly muffled laugh at Macaque’s reaction, before biting slightly harder, blood pooling up as Macaque swore from the sting of it. One of Macaque’s hands gripped onto the back of Wukong’s clothes- his other hand gripping the back of Wukong’s head with enough strength to pull on his hair enough for it to slightly hurt, but Wukong didn’t care. He was finally getting the sweetness he’d been craving, and he wasn’t going to let anything distract him from that.

A minute passed, and Macaque slowly started relaxing from how he’d initially tensed, leaning back to be laying down, shivering and yelping whenever Wukong sunk his teeth in deeper again to draw up more magic blood. Wukong leaned closer in to him, letting their tails wrap together. Macaque didn’t even try to say anything of his usually sassy or dramatic nature, for once leaving them both in relatively peaceful near-silence.

The sweet flavour filling the Monkey King’s mouth tasted almost like bliss.

Slowly, Wukong pulled back a small bit. The craving had been satiated, fading to the back of his mind as he licked his lips, clarity starting to come back to him.

Macaque’s shoulder looked like a bloody mess.

He gave it a tiny, gentle lick, savouring the taste on his tongue for a few more seconds, before pulling back entirely.

“…I think we might’ve stained your couch.” Wukong said, wiping his mouth, though he was sure he’d only succeeded in smearing the purple blood across his face instead of successfully cleaning it. “And your shirt.”

Macaque didn’t answer, staring at the ceiling while panting, a dazed look in his eyes. Wukong slowly tilted his head in confusion, carefully shifting so that he was no longer on top of him.

“Macaque?” Wukong tried again, “C’mon, we should get you cleaned up. We can go to the Flower Fruit Mountain hot springs- I finished fixing them up a few days ago.”

“…Yeah. Right. Hot springs… sounds nice.” Macaque sounded breathless as he forced himself up and into a sitting position, swinging his legs over and making to stand up and take a step forwards.

He crumpled over, starting to collapse to the ground.

“Woah!” Wukong shot up and grabbed hold of him, Macaque gripping onto him for balance. Wukong was suddenly very aware of the way Macaque was starting to get a little wispy at the edges. “Fuck, did I take too much?”

“Maybe jus’ a bit…” Macaque’s words slurred a little as Wukong helped him sit back down onto the couch. “I’ll be fine, I just, need a sec…”

Wukong gently brushed Macaque’s hair out of his face, before gently tapping the other’s lips.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“…Mm.” Macaque made a sound of consent, so Wukong gently pressed their lips together, a golden glow enveloping the both of them as he closed his eyes and drew back on how they used to share magic.

(Passing it through a kiss was a lot easier than getting it from blood, but, well, Macaque’s magic was too closely tied to him now for him to do such a thing anymore.

…Plus you couldn’t really taste it this way).

When Wukong next opened his eyes, Macaque still looked a bit dazed, but he at least wasn’t wispy at the edges anymore. Pulling back, he held back as much of his strength as possible and lightly flicked Macaque directly in the middle of his forehead.

“Next time, tell me when I start taking too much.” Wukong said, ignoring Macaque’s pained grumbling. “Now, lets get you fixed up- you still okay with the hot springs?”

“I could use a bit of a soak- wait. How are we going to-” Macaque shrieked as a golden flash surrounded them, falling backwards onto the ground with a small sound of pain as they were suddenly teleported to Flower Fruit Mountain.

“Oops. Forgot to warn you.” He absolutely hadn’t- this was his way of paying Macaque back for not telling him important things like the fact that he was taking too much blood. Wait, speaking of blood- “Ah- I forgot the supplies- hold on for a second, alright? Don’t go, like, passing out on me again.”

“I’m not gonna pass out.” Macaque said, even as he put a hand to his head, trying to get the spinning from the sudden teleportation to stop. Wukong raised an eyebrow in doubt at him, but still proceeded to vanish in another flash of golden light, leaving Macaque on the ground staring at the starry sky.

His eyes were just starting to adjust to the natural darkness- when another bright flash of light made him hiss, covering his face.

“I’m back!” Wukong did a little pose as he announced his presence. Macaque just slowly sat up and stared at him with an incredibly unimpressed look. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Wukong coughed, setting the basket of items on the ground down beside the other. “So, um. I realized between there and here that uh- well, I was gonna bandage your shoulder, but, you’re not meant to get bandages wet, and we’re gonna go in the hot springs, so um-”

“Just put some spell on them to keep them dry or whatever.” Macaque rolled his eyes, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world, as he shrugged off his sleeve to give Wukong better access to his shoulder. Wukong knelt down beside him, bandages in his hands, and then hesitated.

“…Wukong-” Macaque started, and then sighed as Wukong leaned down and licked some more blood off of Macaque’s shoulder. “Seriously? I thought you were done with that.”

“I just wanted one more little taste.” Wukong pulled back, grabbing a small hand towel and dipping it into the hot spring, using it to gently wipe the rest of the blood away. The bite marks were already starting to heal, the skin already starting to scab over. Wukong wrapped some bandages on top of it anyways. There would probably be more steps he’d have to do for this if Macaque was human, but, well, he wasn’t, so this should suffice.

“Hurry it up, I wanna get in the water, it’s cold out here.” Macaque said, his tail swishing a little in agitation. Wukong huffed out a small laugh at his impatience, summoning a golden magic circle to his fingertips, which he then pressed against the bandages to imbue them with the spell. He repeated the process for the bandages on Macaque’s leg, and then turned away to put the bandage roll back in the basket he’d brought.

A splash had him turning around to find that where Macaque had been, there was now only his clothes on the ground, the other monkey demon having already made his way into the hot springs. He’d done that so fast, how-

“Ough, headrush…” One of Macaque’s hands shot out to grip a nearby rock, seemingly for support, while the other went up to his forehead, his ears flicking. He looked a little bit wispy again.

Oh. He must’ve used his magic to shadowshift out of his clothes and portal into the water. He knew full well he was low on magic power right now, why on Earth would he-

(It suddenly occurred to Wukong, that, y’know what, maybe putting someone who was recently experiencing something akin to blood loss into hot water was possibly… not a good decision).

“I can hear you thinking.” Macaque mumbled, shifting a little to glare at him. “Just hurry up and get in here.”

A few seconds later had Macaque loudly swearing as Wukong jumped into the hot spring, splashing the other with warm water.

“Seriously?!” Macaque spluttered, coughing as a bit of water made it’s way into his mouth. “Can’t you just enter the water like a normal perso-mM!”

Water splashed over the edge of the hot spring as Wukong cut him off by grabbing the sides of Macaque’s head, climbing onto the other’s lap in one swift motion and pressing their lips together. Macaque made a muffled noise of protest, before his eyes slowly slid closed, his hands finding their way to rest on Wukong’s shoulders as the Monkey King shared more of his endless magic with him. Wukong tilted his head, pulling back before pressing a kiss to the corner of Macaque’s mouth, then his cheek- and then his ear.

Macaque did a full body shiver as Wukong kept his lips pressed against one of the other’s glowing six ears. When Macaque didn’t have any further reaction, Wukong opened his mouth slightly, and softly bit down.

Unlike the previous bites, it wasn’t enough to draw up blood, but it was enough to make Macaque let out a quite frankly pitiful sounding noise, tail thrashing, causing more water to spill out onto the rocks. Wukong chuckled, the sensation of his breath against his ear making all of Macaque’s ears twitch. Wukong seemed to take that as a sign to purposefully blow a breath of air onto Macaque’s ear, making Macaque yelp and shove him back.

“Stop that! And, must- must you keep interrupting me mid-sentence?” He said, “Seriously, you’ve done it like three times.”

“But what if I like the sound you make when I catch you off guard, Sugarplum?” If Macaque hadn’t already been flushed to the tips of his ears, purple blush glowing brightly, Wukong dropping that nickname of all things would’ve been enough to make him blush violently.

“Wuko- …P-Peaches, you can’t just-”

“Can’t just what?” Wukong pressed their foreheads together, smirking as he stared directly into Macaque’s eyes. “C’mon, I’m on a bit of sugar high right now, you gotta let me have some fun- hey!”

Macaque roughly shoved Wukong back, making him slip and fall underwater for a few seconds. When he came back up, he made a frustrated noise as he tried to push his wet hair out of his face so he could see again.

“Did you have to do tha- woah!” Wukong stumbled backwards, his back hitting the side of the hot spring as his hands grabbed Macaque to stabilize him as the other suddenly surged forwards, wrapping his arms around Wukong’s neck as he kissed him. Wukong’s hands slipped down to Macaque’s hips, quickly adjusting their position into something more comfortable as Macaque tried to press himself as close to him as possible. After a few seconds, Wukong hummed, turning his head to the side to break the kiss. Macaque quickly moved to press his lips to Wukong’s neck instead. Wukong let out a breathy giggle- “Is this your idea of revenge?”

Macaque’s response was to wrap his tail around Wukong’s own under the water, kissing up the side of Wukong’s neck, to his cheek, and then back to his lips. Wukong let him, smirking into it-

And then he let go of Macaque’s hips, one of his hands going to rest in the middle of Macaque’s back, the other going to the back of the other’s head, as he shifted his weight and dipped him, Macaque letting out a muffled squeak against Wukong’s lips as he almost went under the water. Wukong pulled back a bit to stare down at Macaque’s shocked face, his black hair flowing in the water, the glow from his ears reflecting in the water in a way that was-

“Beautiful.”

“Oh shut up.” Macaque reached up and grabbed the sides of Wukong’s face, pulling him down to press their lips together again-

Wukong’s feet slipped on the underwater rocks, sending them both under the water. They both resurfaced a few seconds later, coughing on accidentally inhaled water.

“Right.” Wukong said, taking in a wheezing breath, “I think maybe- maybe that’s a sign we should cut it out for now, ha.”

Macaque didn’t verbally respond, instead just silently nodding, leaning against the side of the hot spring and staring up at the stars.

They were silent for a few minutes.

And then Wukong reached over the edge of the hot spring to rummage in the basket he had brought, and pulled out-

“How did you even fit that in there.” Macaque deadpanned, “What are you, some kind of Mary Poppins? There’s no way you fit that in that basket.”

“…Sounds like somebody doesn’t want cake.”

“Now hold on, I didn’t say that-”

#Monkie Kid #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach #fanfic #my writing #i like to call the concept ive put in here. a vampire x anemic person dynamic #you will see what i mean #this is my 100th fic on ao3!! woohoo!!

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cdragons · 4 months

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh…he’s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.”

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @ma1dita, @jeondeluxe111, @itszzmoon, @wolfeginny, @mioshasworld, @bre99

Let me know in the comments your thoughts and if you want to be tagged when I update!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #felix catton x oliver quick #felix x oliver #oliver quick x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

the girl next door 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You gnaw on your cheek as you read over the letter. Final warning. You really didn't think much of the first five but that word catches your worry; litigation.

Your mother grunts and clicks her pen, dropping it as she curses under her breath. She tosses the crossword book away from the chair. For all your life, you remember her working on her puzzles. Now, she can hardly hold pen steady enough to put in a single clue.

"Mom, you want another coke before I head out?" You ask.

"Where are you 'headed out' to?" She scowls.

"Just outside. Try to figure out the mower."

"Piece of shit," she sneers and for a moment, you're not sure if she means the machine or you.

"So..."

"Just go," she snips.

You purse your lips around the cut of her tone. You leave her in her recliner and you go down the hallway to the back door. You shove your feet into your stained vans and let yourself gently outside.

You come down the steps and cross the overgrown grass to the garage. You prop the door open with an old paint can and drag put the mower. You haul it over to the little patch of pavement by the house as the sunlight raises beads of sweat across your forehead.

You shade your eyes and squint. You don't get the thing. It's not even motorized, it just started catching. You can't push it hard enough to make it go. It only bounces uselessly across the ground.

You squat and put it on its side. You examine the blades, nervous to dig between the mulching teeth. You grab a stick and poke around. It breaks and you rip it out.

"Dang it," you whisper.

You stand up. It's too hot to think. As much as you miss the sunshine in the grim winters, the heat is less than welcome.

"Hey, excuse me," a voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking maybe it's just the neighbours on the other side of the fence. "Um, miss?"

You turn towards the voice and find a man peeking through the loose slat in the fence. You sigh. Yeah,

that needs to be fixed too.

You stare dumbly. You recognise the man. It takes a few seconds to remember where you saw him. He was with the realtor. You hadn't see much yet, not that you ventured outside often. The sign changed to sold and that was that.

"Hi, uh, so this," he touches the plank, swiveling it on the hanging nail.

You nod and go to the edge of the patch of pavement but no further. You nibble your lip and search for something to say. Talking to mom is easy, you know what to expect, but strangers are different.

"Gonna fix it," you assure him flatly.

"Yeah, well, I was actually thinking, I'm just doing a few touch ups right now and I could spare a couple nails or two."

You tilt your head and bring your hands together, mashing your palms anxiously, "it's rotted."

He wiggles the wood and little slivers fall away. He hums disappointed, "sure is." He smiles as his blue eyes shine in the sunlight, "no problem then. I'm sure I can find something at the hardware store."

You hesitate. You should mention you can afford even half a plank. Grandma left you the house and enough to cover property taxes, but mom's monthly cheques are already stretched thin. If he doesn't ask, you won't offer.

"Steve," he stretches his arm through the opening.

You look at his hand. Your stomach flip flops. You don't want to be rude as much as you don't want to touch this strange man. Well, no use in making another enemy around here.

You lift your feet as you trudge through the high grass. As you near, the sweat slakes down your back. You gently shake his hand, just for a second, and pull back.

"And your name? Neighbour?"

You stare at the collar of his grey tee shirt and eke your name out.

“Is it just you over here?” He asks.

You shake your head. You bend your arm to pick at your sleeve. You don’t mind introductions but you’re not much for conversation. You don’t need him prying into things. If anyone really saw inside those walls, they’d only feel bad for you. You’d rather their apathy.

“Oh, you got kids? A husband?”

You wince. It’s almost a flattering assumption yet a reminder of everything you don’t have. You’re not old enough to really think about all that anyway.

You glance back at the side of the house. You should hose that down and get rid of the mildew. Another tick on the endless list.

“Mom,” you say.

“Ah, makes sense. You in school?”

You shake your head again. He’s quiet. You sway listlessly.

“Anyway...” he says.

You put your head down and back away. You go back to the mower, bending down to fiddle with it again. You could see if anyone would lend you one but that means asking and as much as the neighbourhood paints itself in friendly smiles, they aren’t genuine. The letter on the kitchen table is proof of that.

“Not working?” The man, Steve asks. You cringe and stand up. He’s still there.

You shrug as you look at him. You turn back to the mower and lift it by the handles. You try to ignore the nosy neighbour and line it up with the grass. You push and it doesn’t move easy. You grunt and it rolls over the grass. You think maybe it’s working but as you turn, you notice the grass stands back up, only slightly bent.

“You know, I got a nice electric one. Isn’t here yet but I can bring it tomorrow on the truck,” he offers, “I wouldn’t mind doing a once over, if you need.”

You huff and push the mower over.

“Can’t pay you,” you stomp back towards the house.

“I didn’t say anything about money,” he chimes.

You stop by the steps and cross your arms. You look at him, “too much.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you can just come knock on my door,” he says.

You nod and spin around again. You climb the steps, fighting to keep your steps even. You want to run inside and hide but you don’t want him to see how desperate you are to get away.

The screen door snaps shut behind you. You kick off your shoes and go down the hall. Your mother huffs from her recliner.

“You figure it out?” She asks.

“No,” you flop onto the couch.

“Knew ya wouldn’t,” she snorts as she stares out the window. “Man’s back. Musta bought the place.”

“Uh, yeah,” you lean back, pulling the collar of your shirt over your face to sop up the sweat. “It’s hot.”

“Nah, you’re just whiny,” she snickers.

You don’t respond. You know better than that. You let her have her truth. Whatever she thinks of you, you can’t disprove. The world is she says it is.

🏠

Your bedroom window shines yellow with the noon sun. The heat beams down on the folding table, warming your hands as you scratch charcoal onto thick paper. You still have grass stains on your fingers from another fruitless attempt at fixing the mower. Another day and you expect another letter isn’t far behind.

As you focus on the lines and curves left by the pencil, your anxiety subsides. Drawing is the only thing that helps you forget. Really forget. You don’t think about the house or the lawn or the HOA or your mom. It’s just you and the pencil.

You lean your forehead in your hand as you cross hatch the shadows. The chirping birds and the soft breeze deepen your trance. The world around you is distant and dim. You’re only awoken but the sudden and unfamiliar ‘ding dong’.

You sit up. It takes a moment before you realise what it was. The doorbell? No one ever rings it. No, even Marge from the HOA waits until you come out to get the mail to accost you.

You put the pencil down and get up. You go out and peek down the hallway. You creep along and stop at the doorway to the front room. You mom sniffs and wipes her eyes. She must have fallen asleep in her chair.

“Who is it?” She snarls with grogginess in her throat.

“I don’t know,” you go to the door and pull the curtain away from the long window beside it. You peek out at the figure on the porch and quickly hide behind the fabric. Too late. “It’s... the neighbour. I think he saw me.”

“Ergh, don’t be stupid, girlie,” your mother barks, “help me up.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You go to her and offer your hand. You get her to her feet. She slightly hunched and slow but she makes her way to the door. She pauses and turns to the mirror above the little bench against the wall. She tidies her hair and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

She leans on the door as she grips the handle. She opens it and the man from next door, Steve, greets her with a grin.

“Hello?” She sweetens her tone.

“Hello, miss, sorry to bother you,” he says, “I just moved in next door and I’m getting settled in. I was just about to do some lawn work and I thought maybe I might offer to do yours? It’s no trouble, I just thought I’d offer.”

“Oh, what a honey you are,” she preens, “of course, that would be lovely of you. My daughter,” she sighs and shakes her head, “I’ve been nagging her for weeks to get it done.”

“Really, it’s not a bother,” he assures her, “I’m Steve by the way.”

His smile is just as charming as his introduction.

“Holly,” your mother returns, “I’ll make you some lemonade for your trouble. It’s a hot one, isn’t it?”

“Sounds good,” he agrees, “I’ll try not to make too much noise.”

You peek out from behind your mother. Steve’s eyes meet yours for an instant before she blocks her out, no doubt eager to hide the state of the house from him. You back up as she turns to you.

“What’re you doing hanging on like a rodent?” She hisses, “go make some lemonade.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #captain america #au #silverfox au

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yandere-kokeshi · 5 months

Note

Please give us your Gaz headcanons I need that man carnally

— Yandere Headcanons of Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Warnings: Yandere behavior, fanon ideas by me, civilian(ish) reader, unhealthy relationship, detailed talks of kidnapping, manipulation, and (slight) smothering affection.

A/N: I went a bit overboard, so please excuse me, LOL 🫶😘

Kyle is an obsessive man, committing his whole energy and mind to memorizing everything; including the sweet images of you. As sweet as he can be, he’s just as manipulative and gaslighting in a sense of keeping you safe. Supervising over your items, mostly your phone and friends, while securing the many facts you’re only safe with him.

As much as he hates it, many haven’t stayed with him. He’s loyal– maybe a bit too much. He’s had many heartbreaks because of the strong hearts on his sleeves, forcing him to realize many of his “lovers” were just with him because they needed love, not showing affection to the actual pieces of him.

It disappoints him. He needs love like everyone else. A certain somebody to help, to shield, to love. Someone he could count on after a hard day of work, and relax in their loving, warm embrace.

But, you weren’t any of those lying skanks.

No, you weren’t cruel, or tried to take advantage of him — even if you two were still best friends. You’re something ripped straight from a fairy-tale. The rare ones that he’d read late at night during high-school.

In all, meeting you was the best decision he’d ever make.

Walking into that coffee shop he regularly visited too, patiently waiting in line and finding his eyes swiftly landing on your form from behind, was the prettiest sight he’s ever seen. Feeling his heart batter so fast for you, equally told him that he’d love you forever.

He wasn’t sure what was so hypnotizing of you. Maybe the fact you didn’t care what you were wearing, going out in public and wearing your nightwear without a care. Or how your voice was so addicting, like he could listen to it forever; another form of an audiobook, is what he’d say. Or maybe, just maybe, how cute your tongue was when it blepped out like a cat, focusing on whatever you were watching on your phone, waiting to be seen by the barista.

You were too pretty to be ignored. Forgotten. To be used by another person- and immediately, he knew you were the one for him.

He bit his lip, ignoring the “what ifs” and went for it. His crush on you was far too much more than something simple. It was love at first sight on his part.

Kyle will start at slow, a hand grasping your shoulder and catching your attention; asking about your order and ending up with your phone number. Gentle flirting is what it is, and it makes you feel a bit lighted. A nice man, a hot one at that, coming at you at this lame coffee shop? What a score.

In all: Kyle goes down the “original” hole of getting to know you. Shows up to your apartment, holding a vase of your favorite flowers and asking you out brightly. But, of course, ignoring the fact that a few nights ago, he was scrolling through his laptop, and was clicking through your network profiles, finding himself adoring what he sees. Eagerly writing down your likes, preferences, dislikes, and best-friends. Even your enemies in thick red writing.

He goes all out on gaining your attention. Loves taking you out on all types of cliché dates, such as the arcade and late evening dates to a charming restaurant. Or his favorites, an inside-date with popcorn and M&M’s whilst watching a horror movie. Secretly hoping you’d get scared and, just maybe, roll into him for comfort.

It’s the small things that are first, his eyes following your form everywhere. He’s hoping you feel the same. Hopes that you feel your own heart beat just as fast as his. Hands sweating and all shaking whenever you imagine him. Or the fact you’ll crave him as much as he does.

And the second you agree to be his – the rightful love of his – is when he really starts to show how much he gives everything his all. The very suggestion of letting you even breathe near anyone or anything that might be of competition.

Within the relationship, it’s completely normal. It all started on a normal pretense, and made you two fall in love so lovingly. He’s so kind and sweet. An ultimate gentleman. Never pressures you to do anything, and loves forehead kisses more than anything.

Kyle’s type of affection is so loving. He loves any type of excuse to spoil you, especially with his home-cooked food, and loves to be held and be holding you at any time. A hand in your back-pocket is expected, and tries so hard not to pinch or squeeze your globes.

Showers you in compliments galore, even if it’s the smallest things. “So pretty with your hair like that today” “My shirt looks so good on ya’”, often rubbing his face deeper into your neck with his kind words. “So glad you’re mine, love.”

Oh, and, let’s not forget, he’s extremely clingy; emotionally and physically. Sending good morning and good night texts, just loves the idea of you thinking of him as you lay your pretty head on that pillow, as he does the same.

But, he’s a harasser who sticks by your side. Always wanting to be the one to drive you to work, hands touching yours as the two of you eat breakfast and dinner, even kissing you sloppy when he’s just brushed his teeth for that morning. But can you blame him?

To you, he was an amazing man — your norm boyfriend, turned into fiancé then husband. He loves you dearly. But, there’s a deeper, darker side of him that even you do not know.

Despite his laid and cool back approach, Kyle is constantly thinking of bloody and brutal thoughts. He’s aware he shouldn’t have them– but he can’t stop having them.

He snickers when a man barely brushes against you. Growls when someone unexpectedly touches you. Or how anyone else compliments you, he lets out a sigh and notices your smile is too bright. A tad jealous, but rarely shows it towards you, but rather in his mind where he’s satisfied with his type of savage ending.

Though, he’s not prone to aggressiveness. He’d never kill for you, never. His heart clenches even at the thought of you missing someone he murdered with his irony knife. And with that, he only uses his murderous tactics if needed.

And instead, he prefers using manipulation. Dropping subtle hints of the people around you, making you double-think of their actions and ensuring you’re aware of their dangers. You shouldn’t trust them, only him, okay?

However– if you began to see the red flags. The ultimate words of leave, and to break off with him, he won’t be so happy. He tried everything to keep you happy, and you do this? Betray his trust and say to you, “we aren’t compatible with each other”?

But, the both of you are, right darling?

Eventually, you will see that, and since you want to leave him, it’s necessary to keep you in the house. You can’t live without him. And nor can he without you. Both of you are puzzled for each other, and with time and dedication, Kyle will have you submitting to his ways. Even if it breaks his heart.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, it helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

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t1red-twilight · 5 months

Text

go ahead and cry

summary: reader and spencer bond over daddy issues.

content/warnings: gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, slight fluff, cursing, trauma, daddy issues on both ends (spence and reader), no use of y/n, mention of self harm, ptsd, dissociation, lmk if i missed anything

notes: i have daddy issues (rip), and i wrote this as a way to cope with that (rip). so, this could be seen as being trauma dumping (do not read if you’re not comfortable with that). i wanted to acknowledge this in a separate section other than just the warnings. otherwise, this fic is very personal to me. i hope you enjoy it! ily!<3

word count: 2k

masterlist

you were driving spencer home from work. the air between the two of you felt tense; it had been this way since the second half of the work day at the office.

he couldn’t remember when you had started acting differently, just that at some point after lunch you started acting more melancholic. you had gotten so good at hiding this aspect of yourself that nobody noticed, or at least nobody that knew you as well as spencer noticed.

the soft hum of the music from the radio filled the silence, but the sadness emanating from you wafted throughout the car. he didn’t know how to address the situation at first, so he just sat and puzzled his mind for any sort of way to talk to you.

you, however, noticed that spencer was stuck in his head. “hey, are you alright?” you glanced over to him quickly then back to the road. you clicked the signal down and changed lanes. the clicking could be heard over the radio.

“uh, yeah? are you okay?” he fiddled with his hands in his lap and looked over at you. the sounds of his rigid breaths thrummed in your ears. you squinted at the lines on the road.

you paused before responding to his question, “yeah! why wouldn’t i be?” your voice was filled with false happiness, and was followed by an even more awkward laugh. this did not go unnoticed by spencer.

you don’t know why you thought you could hide anything from him, but knowing this didn’t stop you from trying to.

“you just seem…off.” he hesitated before continuing. “you’ve felt off for a little while today, actually.”

you hesitated again. “it's not a huge deal, you don’t need to worry about it.” looking over at him, you moved your hand from the wheel to place it in his lap on top of his. you smiled over at him again. he knew it was fake.

the remainder of the car ride went without any speaking. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but the silence felt unwanted on your end at least. spencer’s voice was the only thing keeping you from floating away from the moment.

you were mindlessly driving for the rest of the way home. the world was fuzzy and hazy. muscle memory kicked in and you got home safely despite not being aware of your surroundings or that anything had even occurred.

you were supposed to be going to spencer’s for the night, but you had ended up at your own apartment. “oh shit. sorry, i can drive us back to your place. force of habit, i guess.” you tried to blink off the haze that was cocooning you.

spencer watched you rub your eyes with the tips of your fingers and his brow furrowed. “no, it’s fine, we can stay here tonight. i love your apartment.” he moved his head so that he was looking into your downtrodden stare. he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. the scent emanating off of him was the same clean, linen scent that you had grown to love and gain comfort from.

your hand squeezed his back before you opened your door and grabbed both of your things. you lightly jogged over to his side of the car to open his door, holding out your hand to guide him out of it. once out, you locked the car and you both walked up to the entrance to the lobby.

when you were both in front of the elevator, he turned to you and sighed. “are you sure you’re okay? i don’t want to push you or anything, but you don’t have to feel bad about talking to me. that’s what i’m here for, you know?” the door opened, you copied his sigh.

pushing the button for your floor, you adjusted your hold on your’s and spencer’s things. he kept his head turned looking at you. his big doe eyes were pleading. he just wanted to help you. you had done so much for him, he just wanted an opportunity to return the favor.

he inched his pinky on his right hand over to your left hand. he laced your two pinkies together. your breathing halted before you unlaced your fingers to wipe a solitary tear from your cheek. you took your hand and reunited it with spencer’s, this time you interlocking your hands completely. his pleading seemed to get even more desperate, if possible.

“i just-” you cut yourself off and inhaled deeply. you felt the thin lines of scar tissue underneath your clothes burn. you desperately wanted to itch at them. “my dad called me on my lunch break today.” you stared off into the distance and clicked your fingernails against each other.

it seemed as if both of you stopped breathing for a moment. spencer was about to say something, then the elevator dinged. the walk to your apartment door made room for the silence to temporarily return. the floor creaked as you both approached your apartment.

the click of the your front door shutting prompted spencer to pull you in to a emphatically tight hug. it was the type of hug that filled your soul with warmth and quenched your thirst for closeness. you attempted to choke back your sobs, but when he held you tighter you broke.

you didn’t hug him back from the start, but quickly you dropped the jacket and bags that you had been holding and held him back with an equally powerful squeeze. your emotions took hold and coursed through you wholly.

“go ahead. you can cry, i don’t mind.” you pressed your cheek against his chest and sobbed. the wetness of your tears dampened his shirt. he placed one hand on the back of your head and held it close to the side of his neck. it was a precise movement, but it was not forceful in any way.

“do you want to talk about it?”

“what he said isn’t important. it just made me feel shitty. I can’t think about him without remembering everything- without feeling everything that he did.” you picked at the folds of fabric on the back of spencer’s shirt. the way that he was rubbing circles into your back provided grounding so that you didn’ float away again like you did in the car.

he made his breathing more pronounced and you understood what he was communicating. it wasn’t overly dramatic or mocking at all. your breathing began to match his. he pulled away and looked at you. “do you want me to distract you?”

“if it’s okay, i think i want to talk it out a little bit.” he offered a soft smile, one that you did not have the energy to return. he removed one arm from you back to reach behind him and take off his shoes. you pulled away from him completely and took off your shoes and your sweater you were wearing over your button down.

he motioned towards the couch. you sat next to him on it, and he grabbed your legs and swung them over his lap. you scooted closer to him so that you could lean on him but still look at his face. to an onlooker, this position might have looked awkward and maybe even a little strained and strange. you and spencer often found yourselves sitting like this. it provided everything necessary: a closeness that wasn’t smothering but gave the comfort that you two loved.

he took his left arm rested it around your waist while his right hand sat on your knee. “i know that he’s just trying to be a dad, but he isn’t my dad. he never was; he lost that privilege. he always finds a way to make me feel bad about something, or say something fucked up.” you paused.

“i know you don’t want me to say that i’m sorry, but i am. i’m sorry that you aren’t able to have that relationship with him that i know you once craved.” he took a breath, thinking about what to say. “i do think, however, that it is fantastic that you’re dating me. one, because i love knowing you and knowing that you feel the same way; seeing as you’re beautiful, smart, and incredibly well spoken. two, because i have felt similar things in the past. i don’t know many people that come from broken families and have inoperable paternal relationships.” he tapped his nose on yours. when you looked at him, he gave you a small, wistful smile.

“how do you do it?” you asked him. he hummed in response. “how do you not let him control your life? i mean, how does he not affect you?” he rubbed your knee. you could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“he does,” he said matter-of-factly. “well, i mean, the things that he did and said are instilled into who i am and have permanently impacted how i react and perceive things.” he took a deep breath, he was staring at the footrest at his feet. he looked back up at you. “i’m not perfect. some days are better than others. but, in the end we’re just children longing for the affection we were never given.”

the silence that surrounded you both as you thought of a way to respond was different than the one that held you both in the car. it was a silence that you were familiar with, it was saturated with the trust that you felt for him.

you laid your head down on his shoulder. the fabric of his button-down was stiff, but it was soft (once you had complained that spencer needed to invest in a better clothing softener. he abided).

spencer and his aura imbued your senses. he smelled and felt of comfort. you were acutely aware of how he gently and faintly rubbed his cheek against the top of your head.

“even though i can’t get back the childhood he took from me, i don’t ever stop wanting it.” your voice shook minutely. “i don’t have any faith that my father is a good person, or that he will ever change to become one. i don’t think i’ve ever looked at him and not seen the horrible ways he changed me. but i don’t ever stop wanting him to be better. he won’t be, and i know that to be a fact. but i know that he once had the potential to be something great, and i guess that gives me the faint underlying of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll do something to make up for what he did to me.”

spencer kissed the top of your head. you swore that you felt him crying but did nothing to question him on it. there was no need for him to respond that time; you just listened to his heartbeat. you payed attention to your breathing and tried to steady it.

after a few minutes, he said something. “i love you, and i’m sorry.” the simplicity filled the void in you, even though you knew that it was nonpermanent. you would eventually long for his comfort and repeat this dance again and again.

your voice was almost reduced to a whisper. “i’m sorry that sometimes i’m a mess-” he tried to cut you off but you spoke over him. “i’m sorry that i can’t ask for help when i need it- but i won’t stop needing you. i love you. please don’t leave me. i have no clue what i would do or who i would be if you weren’t with me.”

“i was trying to say that you aren’t a mess,” you could hear the watery smile in his tone, “you aren’t a mess. and i’m not going to leave. i could never do that to you. i am going to stay as long as you’ll have me stay. okay? as long as you’ll have me, i’ll be here. with you.”

and so, you sat like that. and for a moment, while spencer held you, you existed as one. the line blurred between you. you were two broken children finding solace in each other.

#spencer reid has daddy issues and so do i #lee’s writing <3 #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #hurt/comfort #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #x reader

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absurdthirst · 1 year

Text

The Cinderella Effect {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Warnings: Stranger sex, fingering, angst, slightly cum kink, semi-public sex, handjob, oral sex (female receiving)

Comments: Meeting up with your boss at a masked ball at the Embassy, you indulge in a night you never dreamed would happen. For his womanizing, Javier Peña never looked at you. So you never figured that he would go looking for you the day after.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Javi is bored, sick of these functions for the DEA. If only these department heads actually went out in the field, they wouldn’t be enjoying these swanky parties while their men and women risked their lives, he knows it firsthand how dangerous it is and if he knew how these assholes were partying it up while he was chasing down Escobar, he would’ve lost his shit. Still, he’s one of them now. Lost in the fucking bureaucracy since he’s “too old” for the field.

He leans against the bar, face itching from the stupid mask he has to use that his assistant bought for him last minute for this masquerade ball. Bunch of bullshit if you ask him. Until he sees her. This woman walks into the ballroom and he is swallowing harshly. Her dress is form fitting but not tight enough to be inappropriate. He can’t help the way his feet move towards her.

****

You are nervous as hell, walking into the ballroom, and suddenly your dress feels too tight and the mask is too itchy. You want to rip it off but you can’t, knowing he will recognize you. Your boss, Javier Peña, has for the better part, been the reason you have remained at the DEA. You shouldn’t want him but you do. As his assistant, you help him every day but he doesn’t notice you, too busy with his work and those hookups you know he has with the women from the FBI. He won’t fuck within his department. He’s made that very clear. So tonight is all you have to enjoy yourself, deciding that you’d attend since it’s a masquerade and you can hide behind the mask and hopefully avoid seeing Javier. You want to enjoy yourself tonight, be someone other than yourself.

Javi moves between the couples, touching shoulders and parting the way to where she is standing. She’s aloof, looking around like everyone in the room is beneath her. Maybe they are, although Javi never likes pretentious assholes, she seems regal - like a princess. He snorts to himself, scoffing internally at the idea that a princess would ever attend a DEA function, but still he has to talk to her. She is the one person who has captured his attention and he wants to see if her allure was just skin deep. Making his way to her side, she doesn’t see him at first, allowing him to lean in close and catch a whiff of her seductive perfume. “Looking for someone?” He asks quietly.

You manage to swallow your gasp as you turn to look at Javier, certain that he will recognize you. “Uh, no - no one in particular.” You answer, wondering if he will recognize your voice.

There is something familiar about this woman, but he can’t put his finger on it. Carefully examining the eyes doesn’t bring any recognition, so he leans a little closer, confidence building now that he knows you're alone. He’s got charm and knows how to use it when he wants to. “Then it’s a good thing that I found you first.” He flirts, keeping his dark eyes on yours beneath the masks.

You exhale shakily, the words on the tip of your tongue to tell your boss it’s you but you don’t. Maybe tonight, you can be on the receiving end of his flirtations instead of having to manage them for him once he gets bored. You are here tonight to be someone else and that’s what you are doing to do. “Definitely a good thing. Except I need a drink. Would you mind escorting me to the bar?” You ask, a smirk playing on your lips.

The invitation came easy and it makes Javi send you a smirk of his own. Nodding his head to the side, he offers you his arm to take. “What else can I do but escort a beautiful woman?” He asks, pleased when your fingers wrap around the juncture of his elbow. “Although, I would like to know your name.” He turns and steers you towards the open bar in the far corner of the room.

You let him guide you and you know you can’t give him your name, it would give you up. You’re a little disappointed he doesn’t recognize you, honestly telling you that you don’t matter to him other than in a work capacity, but you’d already known that and tonight is about being someone else. You click your tongue, “ah ah ah. You have to earn my name. I know who you are…the infamous Javier Peña. Maybe I’ll tell you my name once you’ve earned it.” You tease as you approach the bar.

He’s disappointed you won’t tell him your name and slightly uneasy that you know his. His reputation is one that has followed him like a cloud, and he hadn’t done much to change it. Instead of letting it get to him, he grins. “Then I will just have to make sure I earn it, hmm?” He raises a hand when the bartender comes over.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

He turns to you, wanting you to order whatever you want first. “Lady’s first.”

You smile at him before you order a whiskey, neat. You want something you can sip and not drink too fast. The last thing you want to do is get drunk and end up telling Javi who you are. He'd be halfway across the room before you can finish your name. He seems impressed with your drink order and you lean against the bar, admiring his profile as he orders the same.

"So...do you work for the DEA?" He asks, trying to figure out who you are. Maybe you're just party crashing. Which honestly, he would think is hilarious considering the 'security' the DEA tries to uphold.

"I work for the DEA." You confirm and he tilts his head, "which department?"

You shake your head, "now that would ruin the mystery. Come on, let's just enjoy tonight." You plead softly, not wanting him to continue his interrogation.

There is a slight pout on his face, but he doesn’t press the issue. “The fact that you don’t want me to know who you are makes you even more impressive in this crowd.” He tells you, glancing around. “All of these fuckers can’t wait to tell you who they are and how much power they wield.” It’s refreshing, although frustrating. He wonders if you are someone he’s slept with in Colombia, narrowing his eyes at the thought. “You were never in Colombia, were you?”

You shake your head, “no. No. I’ve been in D.C for years. As for these men…most of them are insecure and have small pricks that they inflict on their poor mistresses while their wives go around D.C hobnobbing with their counterparts comparing their latest purse their husband bought after his latest affair got discovered.” You snort, having first hand experience.

You’ve ordered enough “I’m sorry” bouquets for half the men in this room. You have never done that for Javi. As much as his reputation precedes him, he has always been upfront about his intentions, never bs-ing about how he wants a relationship before he turns around and fucks someone else.

Javi chuckles and has to agree. “Sounds like you know all of that firsthand.” He wonders if you are a secretary for one of them, trying to remember what a few of them look like. He’s quit trying to sweet talk any of them, and he doesn’t sleep with anyone around the office anymore after it back fired on him.

He should have already said a polite “goodnight” to you and walked away, but he finds you irresistible and you don’t seem tired of his company. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Men are assholes. I say that as one myself.”

You chuckle, “the women are no better. Most of them try to prove themselves by stepping on each other to impress their male bosses which is bullshit to me. People should get their jobs based on their merits, not if they have a cock or not.” Your eyes widen when you realize how brash you’re being. “I, uh, sorry. Office hierarchy isn’t exactly a party conversation.” You fluster, taking a sip of your drink.

Javi smirks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “that’s what’s making this fun.” He leans back and takes a sip of his drink. “I admire someone who cuts through the bullshit.” He tells you. “I fucking hate politics.” It’s laughable, considering he had come back to this, unable to settle down and help his pop run the ranch in Texas.

He knew he hadn't; he couldn't do field work again, but he had taken up the DEAs offer of a position in D.C. wondering how long it would be before his ass landed in hot water again for running his mouth.

You know how much he hates bureaucracy, giving you all of his files to type up because he hates reports. “Me too. All the lies and deception and for what? The bad guys to just have more time to do bad things while we have to cut through the red tape.” You shake your head, “to hating politics.” You toast and he clinks his glass against yours. Your heart thumps at the soft look in his eyes, knowing he has never looked at you like that when you are working with him as his assistant. You swallow another gulp of the amber liquid, ignoring the burn in the back of your throat.

“You wanna dance?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“Me?” You ask and he chuckles.

“No, the gorgeous woman behind you.” You see him roll his eyes and you chuckle nervously, setting down your glass.

“Sure.” You tell him, taking his outstretched hand.

The song ends and the next one is slower, sensual. Perfect for pulling the mysterious woman into his arms and using it as an excuse to press close to you. Feeling the lines of your body mold against his and leaning in close enough that he could taste the whiskey on your breath. His hand is splayed low on your back, not enough to get him slapped, but enough to feel the curve of your ass.

“So you hate office politics, like whiskey and keeping a man guessing.” He hums playfully. “What else should I know about the woman in my arms?”

You smile wryly, loving how you have him on edge for a change. “Well, I love having a man on his toes.” You tease and grip his shoulders a little tighter, deciding to be ballsy. “And I - I have always wanted you to touch me.”

He chuckles, sliding his hands a little lower, “I am touching you.”

You shake your head and chuckle, “no. No. I want you to touch me.”

Javi’s nostrils flare, picking up on your meaning. “You’ve wanted me?” He asks, thrilled when you nod, his hands tightening on your ass. Blowing out a harsh breath, he looks around for the nearest exit. He knows that he would fuck you right now, his cock is already half hard. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

You whimper at the way he grabs you, unable to believe he wants you like that. Well, he doesn’t want you. He wants this mysterious woman. For a moment, you panic because you know if you go back to his place, he will want your mask to come off and then he would turn back on fucking you. “Follow me.” You order, grabbing his hand to guide him through the crowd until you are on the balcony that overlooks the Mall. No one is out here, it’s slightly chilly and dimly lit, almost dark.

“Here?” Javi smirks as he looks around, noticing that it deserted beyond the two of you.

“Here.” You sound almost breathless. He reaches for the bottom of his mask, ready to pull it up and kiss you. “Keep your mask on.” You demand suddenly, making him frown but he doesn’t pull it up.

“You want to keep the mystery, chica?” He coos, enjoying the playfulness of the situation. It’s been a long time since he has been carefree. This might be exactly what he needs,

“Come here, baby.” You order, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close and you tilt your head just so you can press your lips to his. It’s thrilling, knowing he wants you. Well, this version of you. He doesn’t want his mousy assistant. You sigh into the kiss when he responds, grabbing your ass again.

Javi presses you up against the stonewall of the building, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a groan. Grinding against you and pressing his hard cock against your hip. “Fuck.” He pants into your mouth after he pulls back slightly.

You cling to him, sliding your hands along his jacket until you can get beneath it, desperate to untuck his shirt so you can touch his skin. His lips are kissing down your neck and you are lost in the sensation of his mustache tickling you. “Oh God, Javi.” You whimper, sliding your hand lower to squeeze his cock, gasping at how big he is.

He groans, wishing he knew your name so he could give you that same feeling, the way he shivered when you moan his name as he pulls your dress up. “Gonna fuck you right here.” He promises, forgetting everything but the way that you are letting him touch you however he wants.

When his fingers slide under your panties, you bite your lip to conceal your moan but he tuts, reaching up with his free hand to release your lip with his thumb. “I want to hear you. No one else can hear you but me.” He assures you and you moan when his fingers slide through your soaked folds until he is rubbing your clit. Your hands shake as you work on unbuckling his belt, anxious to touch him, feel him in any way you can.

Javi bites his lip, loving how wet your cunt is and he can’t wait to slide inside you. It’s been a long time since he had been this eager. Keeping his thumb pressed against your clit while two fingers slide deep inside after circling your entrance to gather up your wetness. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He hisses, pumping his finger into you to stretch you out as he kisses along your neck.

“Oh shit.” You moan at how thick his fingers feel inside of you. It’s incredible and you buck down onto his hand. “I- oh God. It’s been a while.” You admit, having spent far too much time lusting after your boss. You manage to pull his zipper down, reaching in to squeeze his cock. “God you’re big.” You hiss when he curls his fingers just right.

He grunts, not unhappy that you think that he’s impressive. He’s just never really worried about that, but he twitches in your hand. “It’s okay.” He promises. “You’ll cum on my fingers before I fuck you.”

You struggle to pump him with the way his fingers are curling deep inside of you, and you hiss in response, unable to believe how good it feels. “Yes. God, gonna make me cum.” You whine, worked up from the fact that your boss is fingering you.

“Good.” He groans, kissing your pulse before he scrapes his teeth over it. His fingers continue to pump into you frantically, wanting to make you cum. “Want to feel how tight you get.”

You squeeze his cock before your grip slackens as you cum, clamping down on his fingers. “Oh fuck. Jav- oh.” You gasp into his chest as you lean forward to smother your moan. He works you through it until your legs are shaking and he pushes you further into the wall to keep you upright. “Please fuck me.” You plead breathlessly, wanting him inside of you. “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

It’s music to his ears, pulling his fingers out of you and wrapping them around his cock. Using your juices to slick himself up and shuffles closer to you. His other hand cups your chin and he makes your eyes meet his. “I want to look in your eyes when I slide inside you.” He tells you as he lines himself up and starts to push inside you.

You lift your leg to hitch it on his hip to allow him more access to your pussy as he pushes into you. It takes your breath away and you are speechless as he stretches you out. Your eyes are on his brown - nearly black - ones and you can’t look away as he groans softly. “Javi.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering with the effort to keep your eyes open.

He knows that voice. He’s heard it, but right now all he can focus on is the way that your cunt grips him. Your whimper when he is firmly buried inside you is beautiful and he pauses for just a second, enjoying the way you flutter around him before he starts to move. Hard, deep thrusts, designed to get both of you off before anyone comes outside.

You pant as he starts to move, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out too loudly, and you cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he moves his hip. “Oh God. It’s so good.” You whine, already close because of the way he’s grinding deep.

He groans, loving how vocal you are being. The solid slap of his hips muffled by the rucked up material of your dress and his suit pants. “Tight.” He hisses, turning his head and kissing along your jaw before he bites down on it gently. “So fucking tight.”

The way he bites your jaw and the unhinged sound of his growl has you cumming. Clamping down on his cock as you surge forward to bury your face in his neck, muffling the cry of his name as you soak his cock, your leg shaking as you try to remain standing.

Eyes closing, Javi pushes his hips harder, sloppily chasing his own end while you cling to him. It’s wet and tight, making him grit his teeth while he pushes into you despite the tight grip of your walls around him. “Fuck.” He hisses quietly, feeling his own body start to cum. He pushes deep, grinding up into you as he remembers that you said you are on birth control. Gasping in your ear while his cock twitches, sending ropes of his hot seed deep into your womb.

You sigh in bliss when his cum paints your walls, loving the grunts and groans that escape him. You’ve always wondered how he sounds when he cums. “So good.” You coo, rubbing his shoulders as he stills inside of you, riding his high.

Javi loves kissing when he cums, loves having his lips on his partner in some way. Moving from your ear along your jaw, he kisses his way to your lips and gives you a surprisingly tender kiss for someone who just fucked a stranger against the wall of the building during a work party. “I’ll never look at Cinderella the same way.” He teases, his cock starting to soften inside you before he gives you one last kiss and starts to slowly pull out of you.

You chuckle, lost in the aftermath of your orgasm until you realize what you’ve just done. You just had sex with your boss at a party. “Oh shit.” You close your eyes and he lowers your leg, adjusting your panties to keep his cum inside of you. “I, uh, I have to go.” You rush out, pushing on his chest to get away from the wall, and you manage to get under his arm as he steps back. “I had such a good time but I’ve got to go, Javi.” You tell him, not looking back as you enter the ballroom, pushing through the crowd to get away from your boss. He can’t find out who you are now, it’s impossible. He would never want the mousy version of you, he has never shown interest. You got one night with him and that will have to suffice.

****

Javi groans in relief as he hears his secretary arrive outside the door to his office where her desk is located. It’s been a long night. After being left by the mystery woman at the party, he hadn’t been able to go home. Instead he had gone to his office, a spare suit hanging in the closet for later, although he’s still wearing the dress shirt and pants from the suit he wore to the masquerade party. The shirt sleeves rolled up and another fucking cigarette between his lips as he tries to search the computer records for every woman who is assigned to the DEA here. He wants to find her again, to ask her why she fled and it’s eating at him.

You are nervous when you enter Javier’s office, then shocked when you see him still wearing the clothes from last night. He never went home. You frown and step closer to his desk. “Good - good morning sir. Would you like a coffee?” You ask. He nods, not even looking up from the screen of his computer. You exit the office without a word so you can get his coffee, coming back to softly set it down on his desk.

Coffee is a godsend. He can’t figure out how to use that new fucking machine in the break room. Too many knobs and buttons. When had coffee machines become so fucking difficult? You put coffee grounds in a filter and add water to a pot, turn it on. So right now, the hot, steaming cup of joe is a lifesaver. He moans happily after the first tentative sip, the scalding liquid providing an instant jolt of alertness. Setting it back down, he calls your name to summon you back into his office. Barely looking up when he sees the flash of movement where you come into the doorway. “I need the files on all the women in this building.” He tells you. “The computer doesn’t provide a picture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his order, grateful he doesn’t see your reaction. “All - all the women? Why?” You ask, knowing the answer but you want to hear it. You can’t believe he doesn’t feel any recognition towards you but you suppose that justifies your reason for running out.

“I need to find someone.” He tells you, still not looking up.

“Yes sir. I’ll work on that now.” You say and walk out of his office, turning to look at him as he scrolls. You sigh, knowing he’d never want that woman if he knew she was you.

Javi sighs, leaning back and reaching up to toss off the drugstore reading glasses you had left on his desk one day. He uses them, even though he hates admitting it. He rubs his eyes, wondering why he is going through this, the woman ran away from him. Maybe it was the fact that she had left, that he had been the one to be left looking at where someone had been. Or maybe it was how unburdened he had felt in those minutes he was buried inside her. He just knows he wants to talk to her again.

You return a while later with his lunch and the files. Javi has the same thing for lunch every day: a couple of cigarettes and a cup of coffee. Sometimes he will stretch to a candy bar from the machine if he’s feeling particularly frustrated. Today is one of those days. You set the files down - conveniently missing yours - along with his lunch and you wonder why he’s trying so hard to find the woman - find you.

“Thanks.” Javi barely looks up, but he flashes you a grateful smile. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else, but you can knock off early.” He has no need for you to hang around when he’s planning on going through these files. Slight waste of government resources but he doesn’t care right now.

You frown slightly, unsure of if you feel relieved or peeved that he is completely dismissing you. Deciding to wallow at home, you accept his dismissal and quickly grab your things, leaving with a soft 'goodbye' to your boss. Once you're home, you sit and stare at the dress, hanging up on the back of your bedroom door and you are reluctant to put it away for surely then you know that last night was a dream, something that will never happen again.

She’s not there. Javi tosses the last file on the desk and huffs in anger. He’s gone through every single one of them, never finding the woman that he had met at the party. Unless she lied about working for the DEA, she wasn’t there. Standing up, he groans as joints pop, twisting his back and groaning in relief when it pops and there is some relief. He’s getting too fucking old for sitting all day.

Walking out of his office to find the security badge of his secretary sitting on the desk, left behind by accident when you had left for the day. He picks it up, meaning to take it to your house since you will have a hell of a time getting in the building tomorrow without it. Looking down, his eyes narrow. “Son of a bitch.”

****

You are startled by the banging on your front door, grabbing your bat from under your bed, you slowly approach the door, looking through the peephole. When you see it's Javi, you lower the bat and place it in the hall, but you can't deny that you are terrified about why he's here. He knows, he has to know. You clear your throat, gathering your strength as you open the door to your boss. "Javi." You say politely as you keep your hand on the door frame.

His jaw is clenched, brows knitted together and he is pissed that you are greeting him so casually. The badge, the clear picture of you displayed on the front - without the glasses or the timid look on your face - is thrusted towards you. “You forgot this.” He spits it, wondering if you are going to tell the truth or keep playing him for a fucking fool.

“Oh. Th- thank you.” You take it, confused about why he’s so furious. He hasn’t said anything yet and you wonder why he’s so mad. Perhaps he’s disappointed that it’s you.

“Can I come in?” He asks, jaw clenched and you nod, stepping aside to let him into your home.

Striding in, Javi looks around the small apartment, taking it in, and is surprised that it’s not as mousy as the facade you put on at work. It confuses him, how you seem so timid and unassuming while you have worked for him, only to trick him into fucking you against a wall at work. It was you, it had to be and he was furious that he had broken the one rule he had promised himself he wouldn’t. “Nice place.” He tells you shortly, turning around and looking at you after you close the door behind him.

You sigh, coming to the conclusion that he knows. "What gave it away?" You ask softly, leaning against your front door for support as you feel his dark eyes burn into you. "I figured - I thought it would take you longer to go through those reports and I - my file wasn't in there." You confess, crossing your arms.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses, stepping closer with his fists clenched, angry that you’ve put him in this position. “You tricked me.” He knows that it’s technically not true, you didn’t lie to him, but he wouldn’t have touched you if he had known it was you. He has too much respect for you, not wanting to get tangled up in the mess of an office affair. Or damage your reputation.

Your mouth opens and closes, tears stinging in your eyes at how furious he is. You wonder if he’d be so mad if he found out it was Karen from HR that he always eyes up. “I- I didn’t - I never - it wasn’t supposed to go that far. I just wanted a night out to be someone - to feel like someone different.” You admit, choking a little over your eyes as you see how clenched his jaw is.

“But it did go that far.” Javi reminds you before looking around your apartment again. “So who is the real you?” He demands. “The woman who lives with bold colors and flare and tricks her boss into fucking her? Or the mousy woman who brings my coffee?” He’s not being fair, he was a very willing participant in what happened, but he ignores that right now.

You wince at his harsh words. “I- I guess - I guess I am both. To be the woman I was last night…I want that kind of confidence and the mask allowed me to be whoever I wanted to be. I just - I am not beautiful enough to get away with that much confidence in reality. You - men - want some sexy assistant to fetch their coffee and I didn’t want to be that cliché. I wanted to become a field agent but they didn’t think I had it in me so I ended up as a secretary. I have been overlooked my entire life and I wanted one night to be the woman that was wanted, instead of being overlooked because I’m not good enough, not beautiful enough.” You finish breathlessly.

Javi’s frown deepens, shaking his head at the bullshit that just came out of your mouth. “Why me?” He asks. “Or would anyone have worked?”

You shake your head, pushing off of the door to walk towards him. “No. No. I- God. No. That’s not - it has always been you. I’ve always wanted you since I started working for you.” You admit, flustered and wanting him to know you didn’t just want sex. “I didn’t go there to see you. I mean, I hoped you’d talk to me but I- I just wanted to have a good time and dance and - oh God. This is such a mess.” You shake your head.

He knows he’s going to regret it, he always does when he thinks with his cock but it doesn’t stop him from reaching for you. Dragging you towards him and covering your mouth with his own in a bruising, yet passionate kiss. He can’t deny that he wants you, especially since you are the woman who had captivated him after last night and he hasn’t stopped thinking about how it felt to be inside you.

You are shocked for a moment, his mouth pressed against yours but you soon react, moving your lips with his and moaning into his mouth. Your hands tangle in his hair like you’ve always wanted to do and you press yourself against him, letting yourself enjoy this last moment before he likely pushes you away and fires you.

He hasn’t showered, shouldn’t be touching you, but he can’t help himself. His hands grabbing your ass and hauling you closer and sliding up under your shirt to caress your back. You aren’t wearing a bra, the larger sweaters and drab office dresses exchanged for a t-shirt and shorts that expose so much of your skin. His teeth bite down on your lower lip before his tongue slides into your mouth possessively.

You groan when his tongue touches yours, your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you cling to him, letting him touch you however he wants. You know you should push him away, make him explain, but your need for him is far too great. This is the last time he will touch you like this, certain to end things after. You manage to untuck his shirt, sliding your hands under it to caress his back while his tongue tangles with yours.

Javi groans into your mouth, shuffling you back towards the couch that he had seen. He doesn’t know if can wait to get you back to your bedroom. Desperate to touch you again and see if your cunt was as tight as it had seemed last night. He kisses down your neck and grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling away to pull it up over your head and expose your breasts to the cool air of your apartment.

“Oh God.” You gasp when his hands grab your tits after he tosses your shirt on the floor. You feel drunk on lust, unable to believe how good everything feels when he pinches your nipple. You scramble to unbutton his dress shirt, needing it off of him while he walks you back towards the sofa, his hands massaging your tits.

Your moans are driving him crazy, tits hot under his palms and he ducks his head down and takes one into his mouth. He shouldn’t be doing this, but the way your cry fills his ears is almost addictive. Biting down on the sensitive tip and sucking on it to soothe after your fingers tangle into his hair again, abandoning touching his chest after you strip his shirt off.

“Fuck baby.” You whimper when he switches to the other breast. You stumble back and he follows you as you fall back onto your sectional, his body covering yours, and you feel how hard he is when his groin presses against your thigh. You move your leg, loving the groan he pushes into your flesh and you need more. “Javi. Baby. I- I need to see you.” You beg, wanting to see all of him.

Javi rears back, ripping at his belt just like he had last night. Kicking off his dress shoes and standing up so he can push off the pants, along with the underwear he had been wearing. You are laying on the couch, watching with hungry eyes that makes his hard cock twitch. “Fuck.” He hisses, “take off your shorts.” He orders you, unable to do two things at once.

You scramble to take off your shorts, pushing them down along with your panties. Last night, you’d both been fully dressed but now you can see every inch of each other. He’s gorgeous, muscular, and strong but with a small tummy that makes him even sexier, his eyes nearly black as they trail along your figure once you’ve tossed your shorts on the floor.

“Beautiful.” He promises, swallowing when you spread your legs and he can see the puffy lips of your cunt. “You claim you’re not beautiful, but I see a woman who hides it.” He slides his hands along your thighs as he kneels down on the sofa again, desperate to sink into you again, his lips starting at your breasts and kissing up as he moves into position.

You scoff, “you say that as you’re about to fu- oh fuck.” Your retort dies on your lips as he pushes inside of you, his lips pressed against your jaw as he sinks deeper into your cunt and you hitch your thigh onto his hip, allowing him to sink even deeper.

He chuckles, enjoying the way that you cut yourself off to moan. His arms hold himself up over you but he ducks down and kisses your lips and then along your jaw. “When do I ever lie?” He asks you, to remind you of how blunt he can be with his other liaisons on what he is looking for. His hips push deeper and he grinds into you before he pulls out of you to push back inside with another groan, delighted to find you are as tight as he thought you were last night.

You caress his back as he rocks into you, your heart thumping at his words and you force yourself to not read too much into it. “God, you feel so good baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to allow him more access to your neck.

He grunts, agreeing with you. You feel like a glove around him, making his eyes close every time you flutter those tight little walls around him. “Fuck.” He breathes against your skin. “Thought about this all night. How good you felt.” He confesses, nipping at your skin again.

“That- that's why you wanted to find me? Because I’m tight?” You tease breathlessly, stomach clenched from how he’s hitting every spot inside of you with ease. “And you - you wanted to fuck me again.”

“Of course I wanted to fuck you again.” He huffs, lowering himself down to an elbow and presses himself closer. “And you are tight, but I wanted to talk to the sassy woman who captured my attention.” He admits, not sure of what he wanted to do when he found that woman, but wanting to see her again beyond fucking.

“I’m not- I’m not always that woman.” You confess, looking into those dark eyes as he rocks into you, a moan escaping your lips when he hits something deep that makes your pussy soak him with another wave of arousal. “Because - oh God - because I’m not confident enough.”

“Shit.” He hisses, gritting his teeth at how wet you get. Making him rock into you just a bit harder. “You should be.” He pants out, biting your chin. “It’s sexy.” He has no problem with sassy women, enjoys them over someone who would just roll over for him. A strong woman is one to be admired.

His words embolden you, making you smile, and you reach down to squeeze his ass, pushing him as he thrusts back into you. “Then I want you to make me cum.” You demand, needing it more than you need air.

Javi groans, reaching down for one of your thighs to press it back, folding it towards your body as he starts to fuck into you harder. Deep, measured thrusts so that he can bottom out inside of you with the loud slap of his hips against yours fill your living room and make your sofa squeak.

“Oh fuck. Oh my fucking God.” You cry out when he gets a spot you’ve never even felt before. “Javi. Oh God. I’m gonna - I’m gonna -” A strangled cry escapes your lips as you cum, squirting onto his lower stomach and dripping down onto your - thankfully leather - sofa.

“Jesus - fuck.” Javi moans, panting out your name as his thrusts become frantic, unmeasured. Enjoying the way that your cunt sounds as he pushes into it. “Fuck baby.” He moans as he ruts into you once, twice more before he buries himself deep and cums. Grunting as he fills you again like he did last night.

You gasp at the way he cums inside of you again, your nails digging into his back until you smooth your palms over the skin to caress it. Your chest heaving from the pleasure that is now fading and your eyes are still closed as he stills above you. “Fuck that was - wow.” You breathe out, unable to believe how good you feel.

His forehead drops down to press against yours, panting quietly. “Fuck.” He breathes out, body relaxing at the extreme pleasure before he kisses your lips once more. After that, he starts to shift back, pulling out of you and rocking back to sit on the end of the sofa.

You can’t move, body warm and relaxed as you watch him kneel on the sofa. His cum is dripping out of you but you don’t care, too obsessed with the way he looks now that he’s glistening with sweat and his hair is all messy.

Javi leans back, wishing he had a cigarette. He could definitely use one after that. “Fuck.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and giving a small chuckle. He had been furious and now…he doesn’t know what he is except tired. He hasn’t slept in the past two days. His hand is on your knee, stroking it idly while he closes his eyes for just a second.

You watch him, wishing you could stay in this moment forever but eventually, you know you need to talk at some point. Talk and not yell. “You want a smoke?” You ask, remembering your stash in your kitchen for when you’re particularly stressed. You have never been an avid smoker but sometimes the occasion calls for it. He nods and you shift, legs shaking as you stand up, “I’ll go get them. They’re in my kitchen.”

Javi shifts, reaching for his pants and sliding back into them. Looking around again and wondering where to go from here. You are still his secretary and he doesn’t know what you want.

You come back a few moments later with the cigarettes and the lighter, searching for your glasses as you watch him light a smoke. “You want one?” He asks and you shake your head, pulling on your oversized t-shirt and panties.

“I, uh, I know you don’t want to get involved so we can - we can forget this ever happened…if you want.” You fidget, watching him blow out the puff of smoke.

“It’s too late for that.” Javi tells you bluntly. “I’m still your boss and I know how it feels to have my cock inside you.” He sighs, blowing out another breath of the cigarette smoke. “It’s something I’m going to be hard pressed to forget.”

You swallow, part of you thrilled he won’t be able to forget, the other part terrified that he hates the very idea. You bite your lip, knowing you could never have him the way you want him but you could have a part of him. Anything is better than nothing when you’ve been wanting him for so long. You walk over to stand in front of him, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the air.

“Or we could continue doing it…having sex. No one has to know except us. I’ll be professional at work, business as usual, and after…you could come over here and fuck me however I want.” You could’ve said “how you want” to sweeten the deal but honestly, you’re sick of denying yourself to please others, it’s time you pleased yourself.

Javi lifts his brow, shocked you had proposed something like that. He had taken you for a relationship or just type of girl. “We could do that.” He tells you, nodding slightly. “I- if people find out about us, they will judge you.” He sighs. “I don’t want that for you.”

You shake your head, stepping closer to run your fingers through his hair. “No one will know. I can keep it a secret. I don’t - I don’t want to stop doing this.” You admit, “and I can make sure we aren’t caught. This remains between us.”

He looks over at you again. “Are you sure you want that?” He asks softly, knowing that most women wouldn’t be happy for that kind of arrangement. “I don’t want you to be unhappy with it, or me.” He flashes you a grin. “You might poison my coffee at the office.”

You chuckle, “no. I wouldn’t do that. I’m a big girl, I know what I’m getting into. I’m not - I’m not dating and I don’t care about chocolates and flowers and dates. I just want you in my bed.” You are truthful to some extent, knowing that this could hurt you but it’s worth the risk, he’s worth the risk.

“Okay.” Javi nods, watching you carefully to make sure you just aren’t saying that. When he’s satisfied, a yawn interrupts what he was about to say, suddenly ready to drop off to sleep now that his search was at an end. “I should go home.” He tells you reluctantly.

“Oh yeah. You must be tired. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You step away from him and walk towards your front door. You’re not expecting a goodnight kiss, but when he just walks out of your house after picking up his things and grunts out, “see you tomorrow,” you can’t help but sigh. Shutting the door, you walk back into your place and wonder if you’ve done the right thing. Can you keep your heart intact? After washing off, you get into bed and decide that you can stop yourself from getting hurt by remembering who he is…the infamous Javier Peña.

****

Javi leans back in his chair. He’s early, just like he has always been. You aren’t in yet, your desk chair empty and he wonders how you will act when you get there. Last night he had slept the best he had in months, thinking of you when he had closed his eyes.

You carry Javier’s coffee in one hand, the files he wants in the other and your purse slung over your shoulder as you rush down the hall. You’re running late since your alarm decided to reset itself overnight. You exhale shakily as you enter his office, wondering if he will be full of regret now but he offers you a stiff smile as you set his coffee and files down. “Sorry. My alarm didn’t go off.” You reveal, adjusting your purse now that your hands are empty.

His eyes run over your form, knowing how that body looks under the loose dress you are wearing. His cock twitches and he knows that you are so much more than you show everyone else. “It’s fine.” He tells you, nodding. “Go settle in and I’ll call you if I need you.” He tells you as he opens one of the files and picks up the glasses to slip on the end of his nose.

You nod, nearly tripping as you walk out of his office. Cursing yourself for thinking how handsome he is wearing those glasses instead of focusing on walking. You roll your eyes at yourself and sit down, manning the phone and typing those reports he’d given you yesterday. When the intercom buzzes a couple of hours later, you stand up and brush your dress down as you make your way into his office. “Yes sir?” You ask. “Can you get me those files on Santiago?” He asks and you nod, turning around to get them after you say “yes sir.”

It’s been hours since he’s seen you and you’re already a problem. The second you showed up in his doorway his cock started to harden. He had known this was going to happen, that he was going to want you right here. The idea of taking you on his desk was vastly appealing, letting you sit outside his office with his cum dripping out if you. Ten minutes later, you come back with the file and he stands up. “Close the door.”

You shiver at the command in his voice, obediently shutting the door behind you, and you make your way over to his desk. He doesn’t waste a moment, grabbing your waist to pull you close until his lips crash against yours, desperation and need apparent in his touch. You moan softly into the kiss, grabbing onto his dress shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

He’s not thinking about anything but bending you over his desk. “Turn around.” He pulls away and turns you himself, not giving you a chance to do so. “Driving me crazy in this fucking thing.” He huffs, kissing along your neck. “Want to see what you’re wearing underneath it.”

You gasp when he pulls your dress up to expose the lace panties. You need to do laundry and these are among your last pairs - the sexier kind you haven’t worn for a while because they aren’t comfortable. His groan of appreciation is worth it though and you wet the lace immediately, unable to believe he’s doing this but fuck you love it.

“Fuck, I knew it.” He groans again against your neck, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down to your knees. “You’re dirty under that nice, mousy little facade.” He growls in your ear, kicking your legs apart and reaching for his belt buckle. “Fucking love that I get to know that. Gonna fuck your pussy full of my cum and you’re gonna sit it in while you answer the phone.”

You swear you nearly cum from just his words. A whine escaping your lips as his belt buckle clinks and you wiggle your ass. "Please. God, please. I need you to fuck me." You plead and gasp when he smacks your ass. "Yes. Javi. Please." You whine and hiss in relief when his cock slides between your ass cheeks.

“Fuck, you’re so eager.” He would chuckle, but he’s too busy biting back a groan as he feels how wet you are. Apparently you get turned on really easily or he affects you like this. “Be a good girl and take it.” He grunts as he pushes inside you.

You fall forward, his files beneath you as you take his cock like he orders. It's intoxicating, feeling his length fill you up in a way you've never felt before. It takes your breath away. Sex has never been this good. "Javi." You moan, fluttering your walls around his cock to get him to move.

“Shit.” He hisses, immediately rocking back to slam his hips forward and filling you again. “God, you feel good.” You bite your lip to keep from moaning and he appreciates that. “Gonna have to be quick.” He pants, reaching around you and starting to rub your clit frantically as he rocks into you.

"Oh fuck." You hiss, grinding back against him and when he hits just right after five or so thrusts, in combination with his fingers rubbing your clit, you climax. Gripping the edge of his desk and biting your lip hard to smother your squeal, you clamp down on his cock and shake as you cum.

It’s quick and dirty. He doesn’t have enough time for it to be anything else. Groaning when he feels you come apart around him. “Fuck yes.” He hisses quietly, grinding into you harder. “Gonna cum.”

"Cum for me." You plead quietly, loving the way his hips slam against your ass until he finds his own high, his hot cum painting your walls while he softly groans your name. You slump against his desk, reveling in the sensations surging through your body, and you close your eyes for a moment. "So good." You whisper, loving how intense the sex is.

Javi sighs and leans down to kiss the back of your neck before he pulls out of you. Slapping your ass before he tucks himself away and pulls your panties up while his cum is dripping out of you. “It was good.” He comments as he pulls your dress down over your ass. “Now you get to feel me for the rest of the day.”

You giggle, loving how cheeky he can be and you gather the strength to stand up straight. “I’ll get you your coffee with your cum sticking to my thighs.” You quip as you stand up, quickly pecking his lips. “I’ll head back to my desk, sir.” You offer him a soft smile then walk towards the door.

He calls your name and you turn to look back at him. “Call me Javi, not sir when we - you know.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Yes si- Javi.” You correct yourself and slip out of his office, taking a seat to continue typing.

****

It continues on. Quickies over his desk, dragging you back to his house on occasions, but most often, he’s at your apartment after work. Fucking you in every conceivable position and on every surface. Even staying the night once on a Friday when he was too tired to drive home after spending hours between your thighs. Everything is going great, he’s even gotten comments on how he’s not as much of an asshole as before. The arrangement he has with you is perfect.

The arrangement Javi has with you is a nightmare. Every single time the man is between your thighs, all you want to do is tell him you're in love with him. Between quickies, he brings you coffee instead of you getting it for him. He buys you lunch and one time he even brought in a pair of his aviators because you told him you wouldn't mind a pair so he gave you a pair of his.

He professes to be an uncaring asshole but you see a different side to him. Tonight, you decide you're going to end it. He doesn't love you and you know you're just gonna break your own heart eventually so you decide to end it. When the doorbell rings, you swallow nervously and open the door. Frowning when you see how distraught he looks. "Javi? What's wrong?" You ask.

Javi sighs in relief, even though he knew you would be home. Walking in with the weight of the world on his shoulders when you move back to let him in. “The mission that I authorized went south.” He tells you, his voice rough with emotion. “Two agents are dead and the other is in surgery - and it’s not good.” He closes his eyes and feels useless. He’s half a world away and he can’t do a goddamn thing, but he is responsible.

You respond immediately, surging forward to wrap your arms around him. "I'm so sorry baby. Come on, you need to relax. I have whiskey and I'll run you a bath." You pull back to cup his cheeks, "this wasn't your fault. Shit - it is dangerous and the agents know that. You knew that. It's a risk, every mission is a risk, and you did what you thought was best. Now, sit down, lemme get you that drink and you can relax in the tub."

It’s stupid but he doesn’t want to be alone. He had thought about not even coming over, knowing he would be shit company but he needed you. He tells himself that it’s so he can fuck you and forget about his problems, but right now he’s not even thinking about that. A bath sounds amazing. He snags your arm as you turn to get him a drink, stopping you. “Will you- will you get in the bath with me?” He asks, wondering why he’s so shy about asking for you to take a bath with him when he knows your body like the back of his hand.

You nod, knowing it's best to not say a word as you reach out to caress his cheek, a move you wouldn't normally dare to do but it seemed right. He releases you and you quickly set about running the bath, putting plenty of bubble bath in it, before you work on getting his whiskey. "Here you go." You hand him the drink, “take a few minutes to relax then come meet me in the bathroom.” You want to light some candles, really create a relaxing atmosphere.

Javi feels better just being here, watching you as you rush around to help him. He leans back and takes a sip of the whiskey, closing his eyes as he replays the audio feed from the mission and his stomach drops again. He shouldn’t have let them go tonight. It takes a few minutes, but he gets up, groaning as he gets to his feet. The idea of getting drunk in the bath with you holds enormous appeal, and he shuffles towards the bathroom.

You test the water, making sure it's not too hot, and you turn to look at him as he enters your bathroom. "I bought this house because of the tub." You tell him, unsure of why you've told him that but the look in his eyes is haunted and makes you want to comfort him. You reach out to begin unbuttoning his shirt, working fast to strip him off. "Come on, get in." You order, taking the glass from his hand to hold it while he gets in the water.

He obeys your order without thought, getting into the tub with a groan of appreciation at the hot water. Cupping his cock and balls to protect them from the heat until he gets underwater and then he takes the glass from you. “Get in with me.” He nearly begs it, wanting you here with him, the physicality of touch is what he craves, even if he’s not even hard right now.

The look in his eyes has you immediately stripping off, patting his back to push him forward so you can get in behind him. He shifts and you sigh as you step in, settling behind him. You reach for him, pulling him back into your chest, your hands immediately running through his hair. "Relax." You order, loving the way his muscles stop tensing as he relaxes against you.

Leaning back against your shoulder, Javi sighs and closes his eyes. “I- I know it’s stupid.” He murmurs softly. “But I had hoped the guilt would go away, being out of the field.” He tries to focus on your touch, the way your fingers feel on his skin and in his hair. The soft press of your breasts against his back. “I just feel guilty for not being there. For leaving them alone to die without trying to save them.”

"I understand. Well, I haven't been in that environment so I don't understand, but I recognize how you are feeling. Javi, the job you did, the job they did...it's dangerous. You know that when you take up your post and it - the mission you authorized...it looked right on paper. You weren't there. There was nothing you could do. Nothing you could've done. I know you and you will beat yourself up but it wasn't your fault. Those agents knew the risk and you know how desperate you can get to get the bad guys." You caress his chest, cupping the water in your hands to wash his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your touch.

He sighs, knowing what you are saying is true and he feels emotional about the fact that you are trying to comfort him. It’s been a long time since he’s opened up to someone but you know what he does. You see everything that crosses his desk and you are a damn smart woman. Should have been an agent yourself. “Very desperate.” He acknowledges that as the fact that it is.

"You need to relax. Get your mind off of things you cannot control." You murmur, kissing his neck as your nails scrape his nipples. The little sigh he releases makes you hum in approval and you slide your hand lower until you are wrapping your fingers around his cock - half hard - but you grip him and kiss along his neck.

He whispers your name, body reacting to your touch like you’ve learned he likes. He’s probably in over his head but he slides his hand down to cover yours. “You don’t- I didn’t-” He doesn’t know why he came here, but for the first time, it hadn’t been to fuck you. He just needed you and it scares him. “You don’t have to.” He murmurs weakly when you squeeze him.

"I want to. You need to relax. Stress isn't good for you." You don't move, allowing him to remove your hand if he wants but when he doesn't, you begin to pump him. His body practically melts into yours as you lazily pump his cock, wanting him to feel good after such a bad day. "You're so good, Javi. You think you're a bad man but you're not. You care so much about people and it shows every single day. You're good. You're funny, sarcastic but funny. You are furiously loyal and constantly smell like Marlboros and whiskey but it suits you. You are a good man and you can't keep beating yourself up for something that was out of your control. Relax baby. Let me take care of you." You know your words are way beyond those of fuck buddies but you mean every one. Your feelings that you thought could be contained are breaking free and that terrifies you.

It’s the first time he’s let you take control. Yes, he gave you pleasure, reminding himself that it was because you allowed him to touch you. He stayed in charge, breaking you down and making you cry out while he also chased his own release and burst of endorphins. This is the first time he’s given himself to you and it’s shockingly easy. His head rolls to the side and his lips graze your jaw as your hand slides up and down his cock, the water sloshing against the side of the tub and the precum spurting into the hot, fragrant water while all he can think about is how good you feel. “Fuck.” He groans. “So good to me.”

“That’s it baby.” You coo, kissing him softly on the cheek as he completely slumps against you. Groans escaping his lips and you hum in delight that he is finally relaxing. “Gonna make you feel good.” You promise, twisting your wrist just how he likes. You know his body as well as your own by now, swiping your thumb over the head when the foreskin is pushed down.

“Shit.” He hisses, bucking his hips up slightly to chase the feeling. Groaning when your hold on his chest tightens. “Don’t move, baby.” You whisper in his ear. “Let me take care of you.” His eyes close again and he throbs in your hand, never hearing those words in a way that felt anything more than sexual but it sounds like you want to care for him. Something he desperately needs right now.

You work his cock, caressing his chest and kissing along his neck as you listen to his breathy moans. His eyes close as he lets you work him closer to an orgasm. The hot water sloshes onto the floor but you don't care, wanting to make him feel good.

You don’t say another word, focusing on making him cum. You nibble on his ear, groaning at the way he moans your name. You twist your wrist just right and the whimper he lets out tells you he’s close. He grunts, hips bucking as he cums, cock twitching in your hand as you kiss along his neck, loving the way his chest heaves as he lets go of his demons for a moment.

It’s probably the hardest he’s cum in God only knows how long. His mind was completely blank except for the pleasure roaring through his veins, ears filled with white noise and shuddering through the aftershocks. He practically whimpers your name as he slumps back down against you again. “Holy shit.” He pants quietly, your hand stilling and the silence deafening except for his labored breaths.

You love how he melts against you again. You caress his chest, letting go of his softening cock to wash his chest. You kiss him over and over on the neck and jaw until you allow yourself to relax too. “You want me to-?” He rasps and you shake your head.

“No. This wasn’t about me. It was about you.”

Javi bites his lip, unable to believe that you don’t want anything in return. Swallowing down the sudden emotions, he sighs and reaches up to cover your hand with his and squeeze it in thanks. “Thank you.”

You kiss his cheek and cup his jaw to turn your head so you can kiss his lips. He groans into the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth and you're unhurried, lazily kissing him as you let him just enjoy being relaxed.

The two of you kiss until the water starts to cool, he feels the way that his toes are starting to prune up and he sighs. Pulling away, he nudges his nose against yours. “Can I stay tonight?” He asks, not wanting to go home to his empty place and keep himself company.

You’re surprised but you don’t let it show on your face as you look at him. “Are you - yes. You can stay.” You amend your response, not wanting to freak him out by overthinking it. You are soon out of the bath and dry, offering him a pair of sweatpants that you kept from your ex. “Sorry. This is all I have.” You fluster. “You want some water?” You ask, suddenly exhausted and ready for bed.

“No.” He shakes his head, ready to crash with the emotional upheaval of the day and actually feeling like he will be able to sleep. “I’ll just wear my underwear.” He tells you, not wanting to wear another man’s clothes. He reaches out and touches your arm. “Thank you.” He offers. “For everything.”

You nod, offering him a small smile before you head to the kitchen to get a water bottle for you both. Returning back to your bedroom, it is bizarre how comfortable he looks in your bedroom. Like he is always meant to be here. You push that thought aside and hand him the water then get into your bed. “Night Javi.” You say as you get under the covers after turning off the light.

He pulls you back into his arms, curling around you. “Night hermosa.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he doesn’t feel the same way.

Crawling out of your bed at five in the morning was probably the hardest thing he’s done in a long time. He was careful to ease out of the bed, not wanting to disturb you so you could sleep until your alarm went off. He had slept like a baby, and felt refreshed despite what happened the day before. Closing the door to your house softly and smirking to himself as he makes his way to his car. He will have to make it up to you today, spread you out on his desk and have you for lunch.

When your alarm goes off, you expect to see Javi still asleep beside you but when you don’t, you know you will never truly have him. Not like you want. You’ve tried to convince yourself that sex is enough for you but you love him. You’re in love with him, every stupid detail like the annoying way he chomps on his food to the way he holds his cigarette. It’s impossible not to fall in love even more and you know that it will be your downfall.

He doesn’t love you, doesn’t want you for more than sex, and you knew this going into the arrangement. It’s not his fault nor are you blaming him for how you feel. You can, however, handle it by deciding to take some time. You decide to hold back the tears and get the yellow pages to call the directory. You know who will help you out for a couple of weeks while you get your head together.

Javi frowns, the door to his office open as he waits to see you come rushing up. More than likely apologizing for being late although he never cares about that. The disposable cup of coffee he had picked up on his way into the office sits on your desk, waiting for you. His own already drunk and tossed into the wastebasket while he crushes out the second cigarette of the morning. After showering and changing, he had come straight to the office, starting the endless reports he needed to fill out about the botched arrest.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Mr. Peña. I didn’t get the call until this morning.” The young man stumbles into his office. Javi narrows his eyes at the man, immediately demanding to know where you are. “She called out sick. I- I’m here for the rest of the week. I’m an intern down in the basement working with HR so it will be fun to have some experience with the higher ups. My name is Jason. I can get you a coffee. She said that you take it black.” He rambles and spins on his heel, leaving before Javi can say anything.

Sitting with his mouth open in shock, he slumps back in his chair. You hadn’t been sick when he left. Why did you call out? He snatches up the phone, punching in the numbers for your house and presses the receiver up to his ear and listens to the ringing on the other end. “Pick up, pick up!” He hisses angrily.

Your phone rings and you know it’s him but you can’t answer. You need to detox yourself from Javier Peña. That night of the fundraiser was your chance to cleanse yourself of your feelings but he charmed you even more and got you into this mess. You need space and you need time to figure out your heart, to break it and mend it before you go back to work and end things for good.

By lunchtime, Javi is furious. He called you every half hour and you haven’t picked up. He doesn’t believe that you are sick, but he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Pushing back angrily from his chair, he snatches up his coat and storms out of his office. “Go home.” He barks at Jason, making the man jump as he makes his way to the elevator, determined to go see if you will answer your door.

You are sitting on your sofa, glass of wine in your hand, as you try to ignore the way your heart aches. Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing and he left several messages telling you to phone him. You ignore them all, trying to figure out what you’re gonna do next.

Sitting in front of your house, he doesn’t get out and immediately storms up to your door to beat on it. He knows you will just ignore it, like you have been ignoring your phone. He has to be calm, to try to understand why you had called out. Gripping the steering wheel, he looks over at the bags he had stopped and picked up, the soup and medicine a handy excuse for why he would be knocking on your door, given you had said you were sick. Although you both know you aren’t sick. Sighing, he reaches for the bags, and pushes the driver’s side door open to make his way to your door.

When your doorbell rings, you freeze. Wondering who it could be - surely it’s not Javi, he would still be at work - you think it’s the mailman and make your way to your door. Eyes sore from crying your heart out, you don’t care as you open the door. “Javi?” You choke, clapping eyes on the very man you’ve been trying to get away from, to try and forget.

You look sick. Sick with heartache or worry. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, are swollen with tears still left un-shed and red rimmed from the ones you had spilt. Worrying has him stepping closer, brow furrowed and he’s reaching out for you. “What’s wrong?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “What happened?”

You pull yourself away from his grip, knowing you’ll give in if you let him touch you. “You - you need to go, Javi.” You plead and he shakes his head, stepping closer to you again.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” He insists and you choke on a sob.

“Please. I’m trying- I’m trying to stop - we can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sleeping with you.”

His hand falls back down to his side, eyes widening in shock and he’s stunned for a moment. The happiness and security that he had felt right here last night is gone, ripped away. He wants to ask why, what changed in the hours that he had left your bed and now. Swallowing, he drops the bag's hands from the take out bag he had brought you on the door knob of your front door. “Feel better.” He manages, turning on his heel and hurrying away from your door.

You are so frustrated, the emotions bubbling up inside of you and you can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stop yourself as you scream at him while he makes his way to his truck. “I’m fucking in love with you!” You shout, eyes widening after a moment when you realize what you just screamed, covering your mouth.

He is two steps from his truck when he hears your screamed confession. Freezing and turning back to see you covering your mouth, wide eyed in horror. Gripping his keys tight enough that he swears he might cut himself. Breaking out into a run, headed straight for you as fast as he can. “What did you say?” He demands, reaching you and pushing you back into your house and against the wall, holding you by your arm. “What did you just say?”

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to say, shocked from your own confession and you’re certain that he hates you now. You swallow harshly and he squeezes your arm. “What did you fucking say?” He demands again and you close your eyes, unable to look at him and see any anger because you’ve broken the rules.

“I’m in love with you.” You whisper, terrified of the imminent rejection.

“Fuck.” Javi lunges forward, kissing you with a kind of frantic desperation that shakes him to his core. Knowing that everything that he has been feeling and trying to ignore was exactly what you had just said. He’s in love with you too. Letting go of your arms and wrapping them around your back, crushing you against him while his tongue slides into your mouth.

You are shocked by his reaction, certain that he was going to reject you, laugh in your face, and never speak to you again. The way his tongue caresses yours has you melting into him again. Your hands tangle in his hair to pull him even closer, your chest pressing into his.

Javi groans and he presses closer to you, breaking away from your mouth to start kissing along your jaw up to your ear. “Idiot.” He huffs, unable to believe that you would think that he doesn’t care about you. “I love you.” He murmurs. “Baby, I’ve been in love with you.” He confesses, finally able to see it for the truth that it is. He’s been in love with you.

You inhale sharply, unable to believe he wants you like that, that he loves you. “I- God. I was scared you’d hate me for loving you. I know - I know you don’t like entanglements and - oh God - baby, I love you. I - I need you.” You plead, wanting to feel him and you slide your hands under his shirt after tugging it out of his pants.

He smirks against your skin, sucking and nipping it with his teeth before he pulls back. “Yeah? Been ignoring me all day and now you need me?” He huffs, letting you continue to undress him. “Ruined my plans for today,” he grumbles. “Was gonna spread you out on my desk and have you for lunch.”

You giggle, almost high from him saying he loves you. You work on his belt next after he reluctantly lets you go so you can shove his button down off. “You can still do that. It’s lunch time.” You glance over at the clock on the wall, a grin that you can’t seem to wipe off of your face makes him wink at you and he grabs the back of your thighs, making you squeal.

Javi grunts, picking you up to carry you the few steps to your sofa and drops you down on it. “Take your fucking shorts off.” He growls, shoving down his pants and kicking them off.

You move fast, kicking your shorts and panties off, tossing them across the room and you have no idea how you don’t get used to seeing his body, his cock. He’s so beautiful and he takes your breath away every time. You inhale sharply and watch him, a smile on your lips after you quickly remove your shirt.

You look incredible, spread out. Javi takes a moment to just look at you, eyes softening from his normal dark gaze. Kneeling down and running his hands up your thighs. “I love you.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your knee and shuffling closer.

You gasp when he kisses along your thigh. “I love you too.” You whimper, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. You can’t believe how lucky you are to have him, this beautiful man loves you. When his breath hits your hot core, you fidget and he swings his arm over your stomach to keep you still.

It’s not that he’s never eaten pussy before, but he’s not gone down on you. Most of your encounters were just straight sex, he never even asked for a blow job. The hand job you gave him yesterday was the first time he hadn’t finished inside you. But right now he wants to do this. He looks up at you, dark eyes boring into yours as he flattens his tongue against your clit.

“Oh God.” You gasp, your entire body lighting up from his touch. “Javi.” You keep your eyes on his, feeling like you are the only woman in the world with the way he’s flicking his tongue over your clit. “It’s - wow. It’s so good.” You pant softly.

His hands push your thighs apart, eager to get more access to your cunt. Wanting to hear you and make you feel like he had last night. His nose presses against your clit while his tongue curls up inside you, keeping his pace light because he’s in no hurry to make you cum.

You moan his name, bucking your hips up into his mouth to grind on his tongue but he won’t let you move too much. His nose pressed against your clit has you gasping for breath as he expertly works your cunt. The way his hands are caressing you combined with his eyes has your heart thumping. There is no doubt about how he feels about you.

He can’t believe that this is how far this has come. The woman who had captured his attention was his assistant, his assistant who he loves. Javi groans into you, squeezing your hips and focusing on the way your eyes flutter with every flick of his tongue inside you.

He’s slow, working you up with laps of his tongue and rubs of his nose. No frantic fucking, this is romantic and takes your breath away. It’s not long before he sends you over the edge, clamping down on his tongue with a moan of his name.

Grinning into your cunt, he works you through it until you are trembling and gasping his name, hand pushing at his head. Kissing along your inner thigh and up over your mound, he rests his chin on your pubic bone and sends you a lazy smile. “That’s what I wanted to do at the office today.” He murmurs, squeezing your hip again.

You smile, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “Would’ve been sexier on your desk.” You tease, watching him as he shifts to kneel between your legs and you drag him down on top of you, pressing your lips to his and uncaring of tasting yourself on his tongue. “Make love to me baby. I want you inside of me.”

“Make love to you.” Javi likes the way that it sounds. Curling an arm around your back to hold you close while he uses his hand to guide himself to your core. “I like that.” He presses his lips to yours and starts to push inside you. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You gasp when he pushes inside of you, making you cling to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You kiss along his neck, sighing his name as he starts to slowly move inside of you. “I’m so sorry for all of this mess.” You murmur, making him pull back to look at you.

“What do you mean?” He frowns, stopping his movements.

“The fundraiser, pretending to be okay with just sex. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

Closing his eyes, he leans forward and kisses your forehead and presses his win against yours. “It’s okay.” He promises you. “Things happened how they needed to. We don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

You smile, grateful he’s not mad at you, and you kiss his lips when he begins to move inside of you again. You roll your hips to meet him, slow and not in a rush. So unlike the other times you’ve been together. “It’s always so good.” You sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the feel of him above you. The weight of the moment rests on you both but it’s not suffocating.

Grabbing your hand, he laces his fingers with yours and holds your hand while he slowly rocks into you. His lips press to yours again and again, keeping it light and not deepening it but the emotions are there. “So good baby.” He promises. “From the first time. Knew it from the first time I felt you around me.”

“As me, or as the woman at the fundraiser?” You tease, caressing his back with your free hand and you squeeze his other hand.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you. “Aren’t they the same?” He asks, grinding his hips a little deeper. “The mousy assistant is the act. The wild, wonton woman at the party is the real you. The one that only I get to see.”

You grin, realizing he truly knows you. “Yes. Only you get to see me. The real me. God, you bring the best out in me. I’m so - so wanton around you.” You hiss when his cock hits deep. “Fuck. Love you and love this cock. Makes me feel - feel so good.”

Javi chuckles and makes sure his next thrust is nice and deep, loving the way you clench around him. “Always want you to feel good. Love the way you feel when you cum, love you.” He picks up the pace. “Want you to cum now.”

The way he grinds into you, his pubic hair rubbing your clit and his cock pressing deep, it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. With a gasp, you clamp down on his length, soaking him with a soft cry of his name. The orgasm is slow, overtaking your entire body until you feel boneless beneath him.

“Yesss.” He hisses, loving the way that you shatter under him and he keeps grinding into you, chasing his own release. “Good girl, God you get so wet for me.” He’s suddenly stiffening, moaning your name as he fills you up.

You sigh in bliss at the way he fills you up, making your back arch beneath him and you kiss his jaw as he pants, relaxing above you. “Love you Javi.”

“I love you.” He pulls out of you gently and moves to the side, curling around you. Reaching up, he cups your cheek and kisses you again. “Janice in HR is going to be pissed.” He chuckles and kisses your nose. “Told her I wouldn’t fall in love with my assistant and I lied.”

You giggle, shifting to curl into him, caressing his neck and running your fingers through his hair. “She had a feeling it would happen? Or is your reputation that bad?” You joke, making him snort.

“Probably both.” He retorts.

You sigh in contentment before you kiss his jaw. “We will figure it out. If I have to switch to another department or - or if I have to quit, we will figure it out. I don’t want your job to be in jeopardy.”

“It won’t be.” Javi promises, closing his eyes and sighing softly as he leans back. “I’ll make sure of it and I don’t want you to stop being my assistant. You- you’ve changed my life in so many small ways, I didn’t realize how much until you didn’t show up today. I hate Jason, by the way.”

You roll your eyes playfully at that, “he’s sweet. Just - he gets flustered. I’ll call him and tell him he can go back to the basement.” Javier chuckles at that. “As for you, I’m glad you finally started wearing those glasses. Your squinting was ridiculous.” You joke and it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t recognize me that night.”

He shakes his head, “no. I just - I should’ve opened my eyes and seen you, my beautiful assistant.” He admits and you smile, kissing his cheek.

“Well, I’m here now baby. Your mystery woman unveiled.” You tease and he caresses your side.

“My very own Cinderella.” He grins, knowing that the night you walked into that fundraiser changed everything.

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña imagine #javier peña fanfic

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asterias-record-shop · 1 year

Note

Hello darling! I was hoping you’d write something I’ve had stuck in my head. Ethan Landry being completely in love/obsessed with the reader so much so that it started back in Woodsboro. Maybe Richie told Ethan his plan and he showed Ethan a picture of the friend group and he thought the reader was pretty. Richie told him that she has a boyfriend but he’d take care of it. And maybe the readers boyfriend wasn’t the best so she didn’t really mind him dying so when she meets Ethan and he’s so nice, it’s as if everything happens for a reason. If you decide to write this, that would be amazing! ❤️❤️

—𓆩[mine - sleep token]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[song that inspired it (mine by sleep token)]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Ethan Landry x Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 2.8K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Ever since he saw that picture of you, he couldn’t stop fucking thinking about you. He’d find reasons to go where you were after he killed your boyfriend, your favorite coffee shop and bookstore or running into you at the store, he just… can’t get you out of his head, and it all comes together when a young girl trying to sell your school’s newspaper gets your attention.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - violence || foul language & cursing || obsessive! Ethan || timeskips sorry || you’re a journalist now || friends to lovers || loss of virginity (both) || unprotected sex || oral || fingering || marking kink || possessive talk || morning after pill talk ||

I have waited…

“S-So… who is she again?”

Richie was so fucking annoyed already. Ethan had been asking question after question about you, especially after he killed your boyfriend. “She’s some kid, dude! Oh my fucking god, you want the picture? Here, take the picture! Her name is Y/N L/N, she goes to the same fucking school those other ones go to, I killed her boyfriend, and now she’s single and ready to mingle!”

He pressed the picture into Ethan’s chest, mumbling in annoyance as he continued walking down the hall. Ethan looks down, his fingers stroking over the picture of your face cropped out of a group picture with Tara and Sam. Richie met you a while ago, while he was still dating Sam, but Ethan hadn’t had the chance - yet.

He quickly went to his room, pulling out his laptop and quickly going to search up your school. It wasn’t surprising you were friends with Sam and Tara, but as soon as he saw you on the main slideshow for the school with the title ‘Our school newspaper’s Editor-In-Chief got a full ride to Blackmore University on a Journalist Scholarship’. How the fuck did you become friends with Sam and Tara while being a journalist?

He clicked on the slideshow, a large picture of you and some other people showing up with links to issues and how to get a subscription and such to the newspaper. What caught his eye though was the Instagram link, quickly clicking it and logging in to actually open it, your face in many of the posts. He clicked on one of the posts, your voice matching you perfectly as you yell out, “Come get our latest issue!”

He inhaled sharply, the tight shirt you were wearing and ripped jeans made a shiver run down his back. He listened to it over and over again, the only thing registering in his mind being come, come, come.

It didn’t take him long to lay back, getting ready to get himself off to the sound of your voice before staring at the caption. ‘Come see us at our monthly fundraiser at the Coffee Bean this Saturday!’

Oh he was definitely going that day, but he was focused on other things right now.

That Saturday, of course he attended. It was pretty full, not overly but enough, and he quickly got a drink before sitting in the corner. He had brought a book he wasn’t going to read, the only reason it was with him was because he was using it to hide his eyes whenever you looked anywhere in his vicinity. You were handing out copies, giggling and smiling with everyone you saw, and by fucks name he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“Hey!” A voice made him jump, looking over at a young girl who offered him a magazine. “You’re in high school, right? My cousin is the chief editor of this thing or whatever, you should read it and buy something!”

“Charlie!” A voice yelled, both of them looking back as you ran over. “That’s rude, you can’t do that!”

“Why not? He’s just sitting there pretending to read a book!” The young girl supposedly named Charlie says, flapping around the magazine as you shake your head.

“Charlie, go drink your frappe!” You take the copy of the magazine as she groans. “Go!”

“Oh! Her boyfriend was just murdered, you should buy it!” Charlie tries to play the guilt card, a smile on her face as you quickly push her away.

“Go!”

“I’m trying to get you sales, Y/N! Oh, hey, do you want a magazine?!” She runs after a bystander making Ethan laugh, a groan falling from your lips in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, pressing your face into your hands as he laughed even harder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ethan smiled at you before offering his hand. “I’m Ethan.”

“I’m Y/N,” you giggled, taking his hand and shaking firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So… your boyfriend was murdered or was it like… a tactic?” He asked with a smile, knowing full well he was dead.

“Oh no, he’s dead,” you say, eyes widening. “Sorry, I should sound more concerned! I’m not, though, he was an asshole. Do you go to Woodsboro-”

“No,” Ethan says quickly, shaking his head. It could’ve been a lie, you certainly wouldn’t have known that. “I just came to support a pretty girl.” He holds up his coffee, smiling at you.

Normally, he wouldn’t have done that not one bit of him would’ve done that because he’s a fucking pussy, but holding your hand made him confident. You paused as he stared at your face, your eyes flickering down at your hands as you smiled. “Oh yeah? That pretty girl here?”

“She’s real close too,” Ethan smiled widely at you, leaning down to maintain eye contact. “Real close.”

“What did you say your name was again?” You look up at him, biting your lip. “Hm?”

His face turned a bright red as he started to pull his hand away before your fingers moved around him. “Ethan. Ethan Landry.”

Your smile grew. “Well then Ethan Landry,” you tilt your head. “Can I get you another one of those drinks?”

Ethan smiled. “Why don’t I get you a drink instead?”

I know you can see… that you will be mine.

You and Ethan both got into Blackmore University, and while he roomed with Chad, you got your own apartment. You both hadn’t started dating just yet, but he was so close, so so close. He wanted to make you his before the murders started, so that he could… comfort you during the murders. Protect you with everything he had, he was so, so close.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Ethan whispered, tugging on your hand while the movie played loudly on the screen, the middle of a sex scene making his stomach twist and his dick hard.

“Hm? Oh yeah!” You paused it, smiling over at him as you raised a brow. “What’s up, E?”

He inhaled shakily, shrugging as he pulled you closer to him. You sighed, hugging him tightly as you laid against his chest. “You know I love you, right?”

You nodded, humming as you looked up at him. “I know, Ethan. I swear… you came at the most perfect, perfect time. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t meet you.”

“Well, we will never have to find out, right?” He smiled down at you, stroking your cheek. “We were made for each other, baby.”

You giggled. “Baby? That’s new.”

Ethan shrugged, leaning down. “You like it?”

You smile, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I do.”

“Y/N, you… you came into my life at the most perfect time,” he smiled widely, stroking your face as you shifted to lay back. He moved to stay above you, leaning forward to tuck his face into your neck. “I don’t want you to leave… ever. I want to stay by your side forever.”

You gasped as his hands snake around your waist, pulling your body closer to his own as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You promise? Promise to never leave me?”

You had gotten to the point where Ethan was next to you all the time, he was your support system - he couldn’t leave you. He promised you that, your fingers interlocked in a pinky promise whenever he got into Blackmore and followed you here. He couldn’t leave you, you both needed each other.

“I promise, baby, I promise.”

You looked up at him, moving your hands hooking behind the back of his neck as you pulled him down for a firm kiss. “Were you ever going to get to that part, or were you going to keep talking?”

He smiled, leaning down for another kiss. Your lips were soft and tasted like that cherry chapstick you always seemed to lose - even though he always took it from you - and you bought yourself another one the next time you went to a gas station that sold your favorite chapstick.

He always slipped it on whenever you weren’t looking, throwing it away whenever the layer you put your lips on disappeared.

The taste was addicting though, your taste and the cherry flavor he only subjected you to as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, trying to get as much of your taste in his own mouth. You gasped, back arching as his tongue pushed into the back of your throat, swirling around your own tongue and making mixed saliva gather at the back of your throat.

You choked softly making him pull back, lips shiny and swollen as you swallowed with a clearing of your throat. “St-Still need to breathe, honey.”

He laughs, his hands rubbing your sides. “Sorry. Got a little carried away, didn’t I?”

You nodded before sitting up, Ethan quickly followed as you started pulling at your shirt. He gasped when he saw your pretty bralette, black and lacy with chiffon underneath the only thin material covering your tits. “You did, but it’s okay. I want… I want you, but I’ve never done this before. Have you?”

He goes quiet, unable to answer as he stares at your tits and his hands twitching in anticipation to squeeze and grab at them. You giggled, leaning forward to instead cup his face while your other hand pulled at the hem of his plaid button down that you got him for his birthday one year.

It was easy to pull it off him, his body immediately at your mercy as you pushed him onto his back instead, hovering over his cock before sitting down on him. He groaned loudly, his cock pressing against his pelvis as you leaned forward, rolling your hips into his as his hands held your waist and pulled you closer. He groaned as you leaned down, kissing his lips softly. “Think that’s a no, right?”

He shook his head quickly, staring up at you. “N-No, I’ve never done this before.”

“Sex or seeing a woman naked?”

“I-I… does porn count?” He asked mindlessly, as though it wasn’t the stupidest question in the world, but you laughed as you leaned down with a firm kiss.

“Sure, baby, if you want it to.” You responded, bringing his hands up to your bra as you fixed yourself. “Do you want to take it off?”

He nodded immediately, smiling as you fixed your arms so his hands could slip behind your back and quickly unclasp your bra with a quick flex of his fingers. You giggled as it quickly slipped off, his hands going around the band to finish tugging it off of your body, sitting up to suck at your skin. You gasped as his mouth sucked against your skin, hot and slippery as his tongue dragged over before sucking and digging his teeth into your skin. You gasped as his hands pushed between the both of you, squeezing and cupping your tits as you pressed kisses to his head.

“This something you’ve seen in those pornos, baby? Hm? Playboy magazines?”

He shook his head, grabbing your hips and laying you back against the couch as he stared at your now hickey littered form. “No, honey. This is what I’ve thought about every night for the last year. Thinking about making you mine over and over again.”

You gasped as his hands tugged at your bottoms, slipping into the band of your underwear and pulling them down as you lifted your hips for him to take them off. He stared at the string of arousal that came from your cunt to your underwear, the floral cloth pattern being thrown to the side as he ducked down to press kisses against your thighs.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, his tongue flattening against your cunt making you whine loudly. “Y-You’ve never done this before, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’ll learn. You tell me what feels good.”

You inhaled deeply, nodding as he ran his fingers down your slit, experimenting. He leaned forward, licking down your cunt and letting his nose tap against the hood of your slit and his tongue curl around your clit and his finger push against your entrance. He hummed, watching as your entrance greedily opened up for him, sucking his fingers into you and clamping down almost immediately.

A gasp fell from your lips as he pushed it in knuckle deep, your walls clamping down on him as your thighs spread wider, your hands pushing down as you held the back of his head. He thrusted his finger in and out of you, twisting to push another finger in and curl them to push into that perfect spot. Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as he sucked on your clit, teeth nibbling on the bud before your nails dig into his scalp.

He could feel your walls clamping down on him, the sensitive ring of nerves tightening around the base of his knuckles, his eyes watching as spit gathered against the sensitive bud before spitting against your clit. It must’ve pushed you over the edge, a loud scream leaving your lips as your cunt convulsed around his fingers and your fingers tugged on his hair, thighs shaking as he pulled away from your clit to watch the spit fall down your cunt.

He stared as your pretty cunt convulsed when he pulled his fingers out, a whine leaving your lips as you buck your hips, your entrance fluttering as he sat back. He stared at you, your hazy eyes and your hickey littered form, everything that made you feel good was from him - everything was from him.

“Ethan, do we need a condom?” You whisper, staring up at him as he starts taking off his pants.

“Do you want me to get us one? It’ll take time baby, can you wait that long?” He knew you couldn’t wait that long, there was no way you could wait that long.

“P-Promise you’ll get me a pill?” You whisper, making him nod, smiling down at you as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips.

“I promise, baby.”

You gasped as his tip teased your entrance, whimpering as your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer to you. “Fuck baby, it hurts. It hurts, it hurts!”

“Did I not stretch you out enough? Do you want me to stop, I can find lube? You have lube, right?” He was asking because he knew damn well that you had vibrators, so you had to have lube too.

“Y-Yeah, bottom drawer in my room, dresser.”

He couldn’t have run faster to your room, quickly digging into your drawer and grabbing the pink tube before running back out. Your fingers were pushed into your cunt, scissoring and thrusting inside of yourself with both hands as you whimpered. “Fucking hell, you never said you were thick and long.”

He laughed as you threw a leg over the couch, sitting in front of you before spitting into his hand and rubbing it up and down his shaft. “Still want the lube?”

“J-Just a bit,” you whisper, staring up at him. “Not too much.”

He quickly opens the lid, squirting some into his hand and the smell of cherries fill his nose. He laughed, smiling. “You’re just a cherry girl, aren’t you?”

You giggle, nodding. “Yeah.”

He spreads it onto his cock, keeping some on his fingers to push it into you. You gasped, whining as he pushed them in a few more times before pulling them out and pushing his tip to your cunt. Your eyes rolled back before snapping his hips forward, wiping them against your clothes on the floor before holding your thighs around his waist.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight. So fucking tight, you’re perfect for me baby, so perfect. Like you were made for me, remember when you said that? Did you not say we were made for each other?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yes! Yes, I was made for you… and you were made for me. All for me.”

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